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She held out her hands. "The ******** you think I was tryna do with approachin' you and sayin' sorry n' s**t - pay my damn taxes?" Preacher came over to apologize, not to talk to fuzzyhead's d**k brother. At least Shiloh seemed to understand a bit. "I'll tyn n' find 'im, I guess." She sighed and shoved her hands in her pockets.

"Look, you can punch me, but only if ya wanna get punched right back, y'know." Them's the rules, Shiloh Beaumont. "And I'm not int'rested in touchin' any were, on the a** or no. I wish I could ********' tell on sight, so I could avoid it. It ain't exactly easy to know who's what."

"A slip? Ya do ********' realize this all happened 'cause I got touched. It ain't like I knew he was a ******** were and could avoid him!" She scowled at him. "Ain't like ya can control a goddamn panic. I knew ya wouldn't understand. No one ever does." It was said bitterly and with a world of hurt behind it.

She grunted in acknowledgement. "Oh yeah, 'cause I ********' love good ol' pack mom. She ain't my mom. Whatever. ********' bye." With that, she transformed into a mink and prepared to scurry off.