Croc's Return
Authors: Eve Langlais
Croc’s Return
Bitten Point, #1
Eve Langlais
Copyright © April 2015, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Yocla Designs © July 2015
Edited by Devin Govaere
Copy Edited by Amanda L. Pederick
Line Edited by Brieanna Roberston
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
1606 Main Street, PO Box 151
Stittsville, Ontario, Canada, K2S1A3
ISBN: 978 1927 459 81 2
Croc’s Return
is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Welcome to Bitten Point, where the swamp doesn't just keep its secrets, it sometimes eats them.
Take one deadly bite and, bam, a man's life is changed forever, or so Caleb discovers when a loss of control leads to him joining the military and leaving everything behind. Now that he's back, making amends is harder than expected.
His ex-girlfriend, Renny, is not interested in excuses. Caleb might have returned, but her plan is to keep him at arm's length. Only she can't. Her son deserves a chance to get to know his father, but that doesn't mean Renny is letting Caleb back into her heart. Now if only her heart would cooperate.
Things get dangerous when a mysterious being starts stalking the residents of Bitten Point. When the monster threatens his son, Caleb knows it's time to unleash his dark inner beast so he can snap at danger, and take a bite out of life.
Coming home doesn’t always solve things…but it does pave the way for second chances.
Immerse yourself in this
series, by New York Times bestselling author, Eve Langlais.
I can’t believe the dog gets the front seat in the truck.
Indeed, the big-eyed canine—who barely consisted of a mouthful at five and a half pounds—that his brother called Princess, held the seat of pride
inside
the truck while Caleb merited the box at the back.
Forget logic. Caleb had tried to argue at the train station where his brother awaited him, leaning against the blue body of his Ford pickup truck.
“Hey, Connie,” Caleb had said to his bro upon spotting him, which was the first thing he did wrong, closely followed by his second, “Packed on a few pounds while I was gone, I see.”
It wasn’t just women who took offense at weight jokes.
By the time Caleb stated, “Can you get this rat out of the front seat?” things had evolved from awkward to someone was gonna get hurt.
The frost in his brother’s expression would have made a more easily intimidated man shiver.
“That is not a rat. That is a long-haired Chihuahua,” his brother informed him coldly. “And my name, since you seem to have forgotten, is Constantine.”
Caleb might have argued about it a bit more, but given he was trying to make amends with his family—and this particular branch of his family had grown quite a bit since he’d left—he didn’t push the point. He’d wait until later, after a few beers.
Or we could set the tone for how things are gonna go right now.
Caleb’s time in the military had given him a boldness that resulted in more than a few scraps—his version of stress relief. “That is not a dog.” A comment that was met with a low grown and a lifted lip from the fresh appetizer in the front seat.
A dog?
Snort.
More like a snack.
The snap of a hungry jaw jarred Caleb, and he pushed back against the dark thought.
No eating Connie’s pet.
There were some lines even he wouldn’t cross. Antagonizing his brother wasn’t one of them. “Dude, whatever that funny looking hairball is, it’s in the way.”
“No,
she
is not. That’s Princess’s spot.” Constantine reached in and stroked the tiny creature.
“Princess?” His level of incredulity rose a few more notches and teetered in the I-must-be hallucinating zone.
And yet I didn’t snack on any mushrooms.
“It’s Princess Leia to be exact.”
Bigger snort.
His brother shot him a look before turning back to his rat, crooning, “Ignore him, Princess. He doesn’t understand your cuteness.”
Cute? Had his brother been punched in the face one too many times? “Are you feeling all right?”
“Fine. Why?” His brother shot him a glance while still continuing to pet the hairy rat.
“I have to ask because I don’t understand why a grown man would want to own something that wouldn’t even double as a proper snack.”
“Eat my dog and I will skin you and make you into boots.” Judging by the hard flint in his brother’s eyes, he meant it.
Caleb almost hugged him in thanks. Nice to see some things hadn’t changed, such as their love of bodily-harm threats. Question was, would Constantine follow through?
Caleb should have let the matter go at that point. After all, loving a poor excuse for a dog wasn’t the worse thing his brother could have done during Caleb’s absence—
at least he didn’t fuck up like I did—
but the fact that Caleb ranked lower than a pet stung. “It’s a dog. Shouldn’t it ride in the back?”
“No. And unless you’d rather walk, I’d suggest you get your ass on board. I’ve got better things to do than hang around here arguing with an a-hole.”
Caleb’s spine straightened, and he faced his brother, unable to hide the flatness in his eyes. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Neither was what you did.”
That stung, even if it was true. “I had my reasons.”
“And I have mine. So choose.”
Nice choice. Either tell his brother to fuck off and find his own ride, which would really set a tone. Beat the piss out of him and remind him that he was still the oldest? Or let his brother enjoy his petty revenge?
Doing the right thing really wasn’t any fun.
I came back to make amends, not make things worse
. So Caleb rode in the back while Princess got the passenger seat, perched pleased as punch in her basket that hung off straps wrapped around the headrest. When Caleb asked what the heck that was, Constantine replied, “It’s a booster for Princess so she can see out the window.”
My brother’s dog has a car seat.
Meanwhile, Caleb didn’t, but at least he had a ride, plus, on the bonus side, he and his brother had not yet come to blows, although it had been close.
I expect before the week is out, we’ll exchange a few punches.
Constantine harbored a lot of anger and resentment. When Caleb had left home, his brother was just finishing high school, and given there were a few years between them, they hadn’t really hung out much. It hadn’t occurred to Caleb that the skinny runt—who’d packed on a good hundred pounds and a few inches since then—would resent his departure so much.
If sitting in the back of Constantine’s truck was part of Caleb’s punishment, then so be it. It wouldn’t be the worst ride Caleb had ever gotten. At least this one didn’t have gritty sand stinging at his eyes or snipers taking potshots.
As a matter of fact, he quite enjoyed the view and humid air until they hit the highway, whereupon Constantine made sure he hit the gas pedal hard. The truck shot forward with a burst of speed. No problem. Caleb leaned against the cab of the truck and crossed his arms. He could handle a little wind.
The rut in the road, however, almost sent him flying out of the bed of the pickup truck. He landed hard on his ass and couldn’t help his irritation.
“Bloody hell, Constantine.” Caleb banged on the window partition on the cab. “Take it fucking easy, would you?”
To which his little brother—who, at two hundred and eighty pounds of mean muscle, outweighed him—replied with an eloquent middle finger.
A laugh shook Caleb, a rusty sound that took him by surprise. It had been a while since he’d found something worth chuckling about.
It’s good to be home.
Coming home, to be specific, the prodigal son who’d strutted off to war, brash and full of himself, and now returned, a wounded veteran who—
“Is getting no goddamned respect!” he yelled as his brother plowed the truck through a puddle on the shoulder. On purpose.
Little bastard.
He smiled.
The muddy water coating his skin and worn T-shirt couldn’t diminish his contentment. Even out here, still practically in the city, the smells of the swamp surrounded him. Moist and thick, the humidity in the air revived him.
Since his departure from home, Caleb had spent years serving his country overseas in barren wastelands, where the gritty sand got in everything and the heat sucked the moisture from your skin, leaving it tougher than a croc’s hide.
But he’d left the desert behind months ago. Spent some time up north in Alaska, a shifter-friendly town known as Kodiak Point, as a matter of fact. While hiding out there, he’d scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin until he could pretend the stink of smoke and burning flesh didn’t cling to him. Some stains never came out, but they faded to the point where he now felt that he could face the world—scarred in both body and soul. Time to complete his return to the real world and come home, a home that was the same and yet different.
A familiar pink billboard caught his eye. Look at that, Maisy’s gift shop still did business on the edge of the highway. The next familiar ad was for Bayou’s Bite, where a person could eat the best crab cakes in town.
They also used to make the best deep-fried shrimp and served the coldest beer.
He looked forward to seeing if that was still the case.
What he didn’t enjoy seeing, as they headed toward his hometown, was the appearance of several subdivisions that had popped up along a few miles stretch of the highway. Ugh to progress. Not more cookie-cutter houses and townhomes.
Who the hell would want to live in one of those?
Not the folks from his town, that was for sure.
Welcome to Bitten Point, Florida. A tiny town hugging the Everglades and home to a shifter population that spanned a gamut of species, unlike the city groups that tended to cater to one breed and ran all others out.
Rumor had it, the wolves controlled New York and some other big cities out west while the lions owned Texas and Arizona. As for Montana and Colorado, that was bear country.
But down here, where the land was wet and the climate warm to scorching, shifters lived more or less in harmony. Except for that odd flock of Canadian Snow Geese. They spent half their years down south but kept to themselves.
But ignoring those birdbrains—which, rumor held, tasted best when basted with butter sauce—the rest of the shifters lived in peace. And if they didn’t, then Big Jim, the mayor of their town, took them out to the swamp for a talking-to. Sometimes, he came back alone.
In the shifter world, justice was swift, and often without mercy. A secret like theirs couldn’t be risked. Even though some humans knew of the existence of shifters, such as the higher levels in the military and government, the general populace remained ignorant.
And everyone worked to keep it that way.
A swerve of the truck had him gripping the sides as Constantine veered off the highway to take the main road into Bitten Point.
Getting closer…
His heart thumped a little bit faster, and his fingers tightened to the point that his knuckles turned white.
Don’t panic now.
He’d done so well up to this point. Taking deep breaths, Caleb pushed the crippling anxiety back into its little box, a box that also contained a rather large reptile that wasn’t too happy with Caleb right now.
Too fucking bad.
His beast couldn’t be counted on to behave, so it was best to keep him leashed.
For distraction, Caleb watched the side of the road. They should be coming across it soon… There it was.
