Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

By the time I got done explaining the majesty that was Jeffrey, Butters eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. “No way,” he said, tail thumping against his thighs as it wagged. “No. Freaking. Way.”

“He is lovely,” I explained with a proud huff. “He has hair like autumn and spots all over.”

“A ginger!” Butters cackled. “That’s so sick.”

“He is not sick.” I glared at him.

“Sorry. My bad. I forgot you were dumb. Lemme educate you.” You’re the dumb one, I thought but didn’t say. “Sick means good in humanspeak.”

“Oh.”

“Therefore, calling your ginger sick was a compliment.” Still though, it was funny how Jeffrey’s hair color was the part he latched onto, but I wasn’t going to complain. “It’s a good thing you came to me.” Butters led us through the woods, phone held high, all earlier insecurity forgotten. “Leave it to your big bro, I got this.”

Forty minutes later I had lost all confidence in both of us. But me especially. If there was such a thing as the opposite of the woods back home, it would be this place.

The lights were so bright.

And there were so many…things.

Things everywhere. Small things, large things. Things in weird packages. Things covered in plastic and painted bright, overwhelming colors.

Sights. Smells. People.

The sheer amount of objects polluted my senses as I squinted down the length of what Butters had told me was the “cosme-something” aisle, and did my best not to panic. How was I going to find soap with no scent in a place like this? All I could smell was plastic, chemicals, and people.

No.

No.

I was a hunter.

I could do this.

I wanted to surprise Jeffrey, dammit.

I wanted to make him smile.

And I was going to fucking nail this.

I rolled my shoulders back, cracked my knuckles, and glared at the brightly packaged mystery objects. I was grateful I’d memorized the size and shape of the bottles, as I was sure that would help. Half the words on the labels I didn’t understand. Acetone, for one. It looked like soap but when I opened the bottle, leaned in and sniffed, the rankest, nastiest smell assaulted my senses.

I dropped the bottle immediately, clawing at my eyes as they burned and more of the foul smelling liquid spilled across my feet. My nose ran a little and even though I was overwhelmed and a little in pain, I pressed onward. I got the lid back on, replaced it on the shelf, and wheezed my way down the aisle.

But a good hunter doesn’t give up.

I had learned that lesson the hard way.

The human clothes I’d borrowed from Butters clung to my form and I plucked at them absentmindedly. My ears flattened against my head to block out the sound of those awful things Butters had called “shopping carts” as their squeaky wheels wailed down the aisles.

Butters appeared a few minutes later, his arms full of ice cream containers, his violet eyes soft. “Need help?” he asked, juggling a carton of rocky road so he had a free arm. His tanned bicep flexed and I scowled at him, though it didn’t take long for me to relent.

“Please.”

Butters grinned before taking a few steps down the aisle and stood in front of what I now recognized to be an entire section of soap. How had I missed that?

My head hurt.

“Now we just gotta find which one it is.” Butters set his ice creams down, his hands on his hips as he hummed. “Do you remember the brand?”