Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

journalism all with environmental themes. She is an avid reader who has loved science fiction and fantasy ever since her parents gave her a birthday gift of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The Hobbit, her first two full-length novels. In addition to The Ravens Crossing , readers can find Amanda blogging at Creative Antics and The Keeper of the Zoo , and on Facebook , Goodreads , and Twitter . She has several fiction books, including two M/M stories, scheduled for release this summer.
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CROCODYLUS ACUTUS
    by J. Rocci

    Craig is a crocodile shifter who loves nothing more than to sit in the river all day among his pure croc brethren. Over the past few days he's been watching this cute conservationist gather data about his dwindling habitat. But when the guy falls into the mud, the rest of the crocs think lunch but Craig thinks love.
    ~ Diane

    genre: contemporary/fantasy
    tags: college, scientist, shifters (non-wolf/cat), geeks, nerfs, soul mates or bonded
    word count: 5,692
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    CROCODYLUS ACUTUS
    By J. Rocci
    The houseboat rocked particularly violently at the same time a couple snowy egrets had a domestic dispute up on deck, knocking Craig out of a sound sleep. Yawning with a guttural growl, he rolled out of his small bunk and scratched absently at his stomach as he climbed to his feet.
    The boat swayed again, which was unusually choppy for the river. Frowning, he headed for the door and stubbed his toe on the edge of his hoard, cursing the mangled license plate and hopping on one foot until the pain died. Then he started walking normally just in time to clip his forehead on the low-hanging lintel that separated the bunk area from the boat's small galley and main cabin.
    After that, he just curled over his kitchen counter for a moment, cheek plastered to the cool surface, and glowered at his beat up alarm clock. It was the old fashion kind with twin bells on top, that he'd found in the river a couple years back like most of his trove. Sure, it was a little rusty, but he had replaced the guts and it was happily tick-tocking along now, kept safely in the main cabin where Craig couldn't accidentally crush it in the mornings.
    Sighing, he carefully pulled it over and toggled the button on the back to off. Stupid birds. He could've slept another hour, since his new friend didn't arrive at the wildlife refuge until late morning.
    Well, "new friend" might be stretching it. More like acquaintance? They'd totally made eye contact. Granted, Craig was a crocodile at the time, so it might not count.
    The dispatch on the truck radio and that old dude who accompanied him always called the latest G-man intern Grady, so Craig at least knew his name. And that Grady liked his coffee black and that his lunch was tuna every single day. His voice was wonderful, too, like Grady was just a breath away from laughing, and he was dying to hear Grady's voice with his less-sensitive human ears, to see if it was still as great.
    But Craig's little houseboat was moored as close as he could legally get to the southern tip of the Florida everglades, so it wasn't like there was a coffee bar or supermarket where he could conveniently run into the— Was a Fish and Wildlife employee technically a G-man? Or was that title just reserved for the FBI or those other guys?
    Craig realized he'd just asked the question of his rarely used stove and took that as a sign that he needed to go socialize with living creatures. Otherwise he might end up finding where his delectable object of affection lived and standing in Grady's bedroom at night, watching Grady sleep like a creeper.
    Creepers weren't cool.
    He whistled as he went up on deck, snagging a new T-shirt and jersey shorts as he went. The noisy egrets scrammed as soon as they heard him coming, going to roost in the low-hanging branches that spread over the water from the banks.
    "Good morning to you, too, Breakfast. Dinner," he greeted their retreating backsides cheerfully, tossing his clean clothes at the usual spot on deck for when he returned.
    Slipping naked over the side of the boat, he carefully descended a ladder into the brackish water. When he had first moored in the area, he'd made the mistake of diving straight into the river without being able to see what was hidden in the sediment at the bottom. He shuddered at the remembered pain.
    Once he was in up to his neck, he closed his eyes and slipped underneath the surface completely. The river was