I wrote a short story about Thanksgiving and the Nightfury pack a while ago. In celebration of American Thanksgiving this weekend, I thought I’d share it here for you to enjoy.

Happy Thanksgiving to all those who are celebrating. I hope you have a great long weekend with family and friends.

Happy reading!

xo,

Coreene

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Thanksgiving: Dragonfury Style

The first foray out of Black Diamond in weeks, and Angela didn’t know what to do first: embrace the freedom or curse the sheer volume of choices. An f-bomb made the rounds inside her head. All right, then—swearing it was. And no wonder. Super stores weren’t her usual thing. Stake outs, high-powered rifles, and taking down bad guys? No problem. She could handle that. But as she stood in the middle of a grocery isle, facing off with a shelf full of pie fillings, she knew she’d lost her mind.

It was the only explanation. Well, that and love. 

Yes. Love. Sheer Geronimo! craziness. The kind that propelled women into unusual feats of stupidity.

Case in point? The fact she felt compelled to bake a pie. A Thanksgiving pumpkin pie, at that. Why? The answer was simple. It started and ended with one guy: Rikar, frost dragon extraordinaire, her mate, the love of her life. Angela scowled at a can with cherries on the label. Freaking guy and his unpredictable sweet tooth. Idiot her and the drive to please him. But whatever. It was what it was, all ridiculousness aside. No changing it, so Better Homes and Gardens here she came.

Blowing out a long breath, Angela reached out, and shoving the apple and blueberry flavors aside, grabbed a can of pie filling. As cold metal settled against her palm, sunlight streamed through the windows at the front of the store, kissing the pumpkin stamped on the label. Yup. This was it. The moment of truth. Would she, could she…or better yet, should she? 

 Pursing her lips, she shifted the can from one hand to the other. After a second of hesitation, Angela shook her head. No way. Not going to happen. Quitting wasn’t an option. She was smart enough to figure it out—was a former SPD homicide detective…damn it!—so time to armor up and button down. Making a homemade pie for her mate, after all, couldn’t be all that hard. 

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the pie filling into the air. Light glinted off the steel lip as the pumpkin label whirled, orange streaking under industrial grade fluorescents. Catching the can mid-flip, she pivoted and, strides even, headed for the frozen food section. She could do it, seemed harmless enough, just a long list of ingredients that needed to be put together and thrown into the oven. A little time, a lot of patience and poof, fait accompli…pie in hand and Rikar happy. File it under done. 

 “I mean, really,” she murmured, walking past a display of fancy olive oils. “How difficult can it possibly be?”

Reading through the grocery list inside her head, Angela rounded the end of the isle. She turned left, boot treads squeaking on the floor and stepped—

Right into the middle of a tug of war.

Over a bag of peanut M&Ms.

“Daimler, for the love of Pete!” A death grip on the chocolate treat, Myst—her new friend and the Nightfury commander’s mate—glared at Black Diamond’s butler. “Let go or I swear to God—”

“But my lady, it’s full of sugar,” the Numbai said, pointy ears hidden beneath a traditional golf hat, his expression so sincere Angela’s lips twitched. “Candy isn’t good for you. You must think of the baby.”

“I am thinking of the baby.” With a growl, Myst yanked. Yellow plastic crinkled then slid. Daimler yelped as he lost his grip on the package. The instant he did, her friend hid it behind her back, playing keep away, and shuffled backward. “He wants M&Ms. I’m his mother. I should know.”

Daimler frowned. “Unborn babies do not—”

“I’ll tell Bastian on you,” Myst said, threatening him with her mate’s wrath.

He harrumphed, then opened his mouth, no doubt to argue. Angela cut him off. “One package isn’t going to hurt her, Daimler.”

“Hurt who?” Entering the fray, Tania stopped beside them, five pounds of butter stacked like bricks in her arms. As she dumped her load into Daimler’s already overflowing grocery cart, the third member of the female trifecta, now living inside the lair and mated to Mac, met her gaze. Angela raised a brow, asking without words. Tania grinned, answering in an instant. “I’m making Shortbread cookies. They’re Mac’s favorite.”

Well, all right then. Mystery solved. She wasn’t the only one on the crazy ‘please her man’ tact. Which…phew…made her 100 percent normal.

Tania’s focus dropped to the can in her hand. “What are you making?”

“Pumpkin pie.” Shy all of a sudden, she shrugged. “Rikar wants one for Thanksgiving.”

Momentarily distracted from keeping her candy safe, Myst blinked and swung in her direction. Giving her the once over, her mouth curved. “You’re going to bake a…a…”

“Pie.” Registering her friend’s disbelief, Angela tossed her a dirty look. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” Struggling to keep a straight face, Myst cleared her throat. “But you do realize we’re talking about you…a kick-ass never go anywhere without a gun kind of girl?”

“I’m well rounded,” Angela murmured, adjusting the Glock concealed under her leather jacket.

“Sure, you are,” Myst said, violet eyes sparkling. “You’re a regular Martha Stewart…packing heat while—”

“Oh, Lady Angela!” His flair for the dramatic riding shotgun, Daimler clasped his hands together. His gold front tooth winked as he smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Wonderful! Such a lovely idea, but…”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. Every time Daimler used the word but plans changed and culinary chaos followed. In a hurry. Even so, Angela braved the fallout. “But what?”

Leaning forward, the elf plucked the pie filling out of her grip. He set the can on the nearest shelf, then grabbed her hand. A slight tug full of major manipulation later, and she was headed toward the produce section, Myst and Tania in tow. 

Eyes bright with excitement, Daimler glanced over his shoulder at her. They blew past the frozen food isle. “Canned filling will never do. We must get a real pumpkin. Make everything from scratch. I will teach you how.”

God help her. She was in so much trouble. Way over her head with a culinary wizard who didn’t understand her limitations in a kitchen. Making desert from scratch, after all, was light years from pouring ready-made filling into a frozen pie shell. But as Daimler stopped in front of a wooden bin full of pumpkins and said, “pick one, my lady”, Angela didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. He was past the point of no return. And she was so screwed, ’cause yeah…

Love and pumpkins. Cinderella had nothing on her.

© Coreene Callahan