Page 54 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“Daddy, Papa, it’s a raccoon,” a kid shouts as she jumps in front of me.

How did I not notice a family of civilians? Until I met my fated mate, I never got distracted. Now, it’s twice in one day. First up in the Del Ray tower, and now here. I cannot let it happen again.

I stumble to a stop and eye the girl. I could shift and throw her in the lake in three seconds flat— I shove that thought away. My training has taught me to be ready for any threat, but this is a kid.

“Stay back, honey bunch.” One of the fathers scoops up his daughter into his arms. “Raccoons don’t come out during the day unless they’re sick.”

I hiss at him because that’s a damn myth. There are plenty of reasons for masked bandits to be out before dark—like finding something to eat. And the way this one’s talking, he’s practically begging to be on the menu.

“Maybe it’s a shifter,” the girl suggests. She’s a smart one.

The family aren’t shifters, but they are supernatural. And I’m nearing the yacht club, so there’s a good chance they have ties to whoever kidnapped my fated mate.

“A shifter would shift.” Her second father starts nudging them away from the water. “We should get out of here before it bites us.”

“Raccoons don’t bite unless they feel threatened!” I snap, which is a complete waste of effort since it comes out as chittering and he doesn’t speak raccoon.

I could tie all three of them up—their clothes could easily serve as bindings and gags—and leave them out here until my mission is complete. But I’m not one to traumatize children unless it’s necessary.

I decide to let them go and focus on my mission. The yacht club is just up ahead. Get in, get out, and get the fuck off this island.

I keep to the shadows and weave between trees until I reach an open stretch of grass. The fancy-looking building has floor-to-ceiling glass walls, which will make sneaking up a challenge. One of the patio tables outside is occupied, and I frown at the mishmash of people eating together.

A twenty-something with purple hair, dressed all in black, is at a table with an old lady who’s in her pajamas. I could take them out with a single chair—a blow to their heads, and done. But I won’t need to, they’re just enjoying their lunch.

Their third companion, a large, angry looking man in a pink apron, would be my biggest challenge. Kitchen staff aren’t usually trained in hand-to-hand combat, but I thought the same thing about that cook in a noodle bar in Japan, and I won’t make the same mistake again. I could snap off a chair leg and break his knee cap. Slice his carotid artery with a splinter from the chair. But I doubt it will come to that.

But my gut tells me something isn’t right. These people aren’t the usual sort to frequent a yacht club. They don’t look similar enough to be family members—yet they’re different enough that it’s unlikely that they’re friends.

There’s no sign of the water taxi driver who kidnapped my mate, so I don’t need to bother with this mismatched group—and it’s not fair to smack around people who can’t fight back. Keeping to the trees at the edge of the lawn, I run past the patio and around the corner to the back of the building.

The walls are still floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the club’s dining room. I spot my mate sitting on a table and smirk. Never doubted that I’d find her.

She’s alone in the room, but when I look at her, something’s off. The pull I’ve felt every time I’ve seen her before isn’t there.

They did something to her!

Anger courses through me. Without thinking, I race toward the building. I stay in raccoon form until I reach the door, then I shift and throw it open.

My running shoes pound on the dining room floor as I rush toward my espresso machine. I reach for her, my fingertips just brushing her sparkling side, when something slams into the back of my head.

I crash onto the table next to my mate, but she doesn’t make a sound. Given how vocal she was with the kidnappers earlier, it just doesn’t seem right.

My skull throbs like a bad hangover and my vision blurs, but muscle memory takes over and I roll to the side. I fall to the floor seconds before something slams into the table where my head was seconds earlier.

My vision cuts in and out as I take in the water taxi driver. His face is twisted with rage as he looms over me, a wooden chair raised above his head. It’s well-made to have survived an encounter with the table and the back of my head.

He swings the chair toward me. Without hesitation, I slam my foot into his knee.

The kidnapper stumbles backward and drops the chair with a curse. I climb to my feet. The world spins around me and I probably have a concussion, but I stalk after the man anyway. I throw a punch to his gut, and he doubles over with a grunt.

My vision comes in and out of focus, but I don’t need to see in order to fight. I grab the back of his head, raise my knee, smash it into his nose, and feel something crack.

Blood splatters onto the floor. His somewhat blurry face doesn’t look quite so handsome as he stumbles away from me.

I’d knock him out, but I need answers.

“What did you do to her?” I demand as I stride after him.