Her Donut Shifters

Mia Harlan

Mia Harlan

My name is Jetta, and I’m not a psychopath, I just hate donuts. Can three donut shifters and a few dozen sugary treats change my mind? Or will my hatred for donuts get between me and my fated mates?

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Read an excerpt from Her Donut Shifters

He hands me a powdered donut hole—a small, bite-sized treat that tastes better than it sounds—and I pop it in my mouth.

That’s all I have, while my two best friends scarf down five full-sized donuts. Each.

“I still think it’s cannibalism, man,” I tell York as he bites into a jelly donut.

He snorts and powdered sugar shoots out his nose. That causes him to laugh even harder, and that’s when he shifts. It always happens when he finds something hilarious, and I’m up to the challenge.

York’s half-finished jelly donut lands neatly on his plate, while a second jelly donut—this one fully formed—glares up at me from his chair.

Because donuts can glare on the inside. Brooks, the sympathetic shifter, shifts too. A lump of dough tumbles off his chair and onto the floor. Good thing he already finished his cinnamon twist.

I lounge back in my chair with a triumphant grin just as the bakery’s back door suddenly flies open. It crashes into the wall, startling me, and then I shift, too.

Karma is a bitch.