Avoiding the truth has been working out just fine for most of my life.
I’m finally happy. I have friends and a kangaroo shifter who adores me. Never in my twenty-nine witchy years did I think I would have a place to call home with people who truly cared.
Now my BFF, Zelda, wants to have a chat. Can’t crappy news wait?
As soon as my varnished Virginia is mobile, I want to go home to my adorable little house I share with with the love of my life and my four semi-violent, adopted, gum-smacking chipmunk shifter sons.
Instead of enjoying a bouncy romp of nookie with my marsupial man whose last name I should really find out, I have to deal with an odiferous, butt-ugly, dead-beat, evil warlock of a dad named Bermangoggleshitz—the very same douchecanoe that tried to kill my rodent children.
Not to mention, said sperm donor has called up a Legion of demons from the Underworld. Fanfreakintastic.
So armed with my questionable intellect, a shaky handle on the French language and a penchant for blowing up buildings, I’m gonna grab this problem by the nuts and squeeze—like a brazilian times…whoops, bazillion. That French gets me every time.
I will have my happily ever after no matter what or my name’s not Sassy Louise…umm… Bermangoggleshitz.