Growing up, my dad taught me everything about hunting. Small game, big game, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the prize at the end.

Dad passed away three years ago, leaving me to bag the coveted Thanksgiving turkey for our family dinner.

After all, fresh was best. No one wanted a store-bought turkey.

Like every year before, I was up at the crack of dawn and deep in the woods, ready to bring home the best–and the biggest.

But my hunting trip was shot to shit when three turkeys attacked me before I could even get my shot off.

Yep, those feathered bastards came out of nowhere and attempted to take me down.

Then like magic, the turkeys disappeared, and in their place were three of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen.

I was immediately attracted to the three turkey shifters and wanted to wobble on their gobbles, but after trying to take their lives, would they let me touch their dangly bits?

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