Weremones (12 page)

“Two-foot, eh? I haven’t heard that one. Meet me at The Blue Dolphin for a beer. You’ll want this bone.”

“I don’t think so.”

He started to hang up.

“Don’t hang up.”
The desperation in the rough voice made Adam pause. “Please. Just don’t hang up, man. You got some bad-asses talking shit about you. That’s your bone. Okay?”

Adam rubbed the bridge of his nose with one finger.

“I don’t care what
people
say about me.”

“You’ll care about this. My name is Grady. Grady Dobbs.
Please.
”

The last please got to him. And Grady Dobbs earnest waiting. The problem with befriending too many humans was that eventually you went soft on them. You let yourself be dragged into their problems.

“Look, I don’t have time to meet with you. Tel me what you want. Maybe we can deal.”

Maybe
.

Grady coughed. Adam could hear the flick of a lighter and the sound of the man inhaling on his cigarette.

“All right. There’s this girl I’m looking for.”

This wasn’t starting out good. “I don’t think ....”

“Wait a minute. Okay?” Grady took another drag from his cigarette. “This girl. My woman. She went missing a few weeks back.”

Adam’s hackles rose.

“Why don’t you call the police? I’m not going to track your runaway girlfriend.”

“Lynn didn’t run away from me. She’s different.”

Please, God
,
don’t let it be her.
He tunneled his fingers through his hair. He really, really did not want to be involved in this.

“I’ll be honest. We’re just a couple of strays passing through. I’m not even your kind. But Lynn is. She said, if we ever got separated, she’d leave a message with the local Canis where to find her.”

Adam had a message all right. Not the one Grady Dobbs wanted to hear. He sighed.

“Is your girlfriend’s name Lynn Garner?”

“Yeah. She left me a message?” Excitement lit the man’s ravaged voice. “Where is she?”

“I’m sorry. Lynn Garner is dead.”

The phone fell silent. It dragged out long enough that Adam thought the connection had been lost.

“Grady?”

A coughing fit answered. A breath shuddered as the man inhaled air. The line clicked dead.

———

By the time Adam arrived at the restaurant, he had a raging headache. His nose flared at the mingling scents of food, exhaust, and people. A petite blond female, smelling of wolf, bounced excitedly in front of the door. She looked away, exposing her neck for his greeting when he came near.

He drew back, surprised when the female cuddled close, rubbing her nose over his chest.

“Tamara Linden?”

The scent of her nervous excitement made him smile. “Relax, I’m not going to bite. Everyone calls me Adam.”

“Okay, Adam.”

Tamara rushed the words together. Her big china blue eyes made him think,
young
. Another noncombatant to protect. Opening the door with one hand, he urged her inside with the other.

“They grill a good steak here. Let’s order before we get down to business.”

———

Once she placed the chicken in the oven, Diana gathered her courage and picked up the phone. Jittery fingers smoothed the front of her dress as she dialed the number in the phonebook. The phone rang once. Twice. A third time. The receiver picked up and a masculine voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Bob. This is Diana.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

Diana’s stomach clenched. There was nothing to be nervous about. She was only asking a friend out to dinner. That was all.

“Ah, um, actually, Bob, I wanted to know if you were busy for dinner tomorrow night?”

The other end of the line lapsed into silence.

“Bob?”

He chuckled.

“I was listening for the ice crackling.”

Confused, she wrinkled her brow.

“What?”

“The sound of Hell freezing over?”

“Oh. I didn’t mean ….”

Bob’s warm laugh filled her ear.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Of course I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow, pretty lady. I never believed you’d actually go out with me.”

For an accountant named Bob, he sounded wonderfully gallant over the phone.

Diana forced her suspicious nature to be quiet.

“Okay. Tomorrow night then. What do you like?”

How did a girl go about this?

He chuckled again in her ear.

“I like you.”

Oh. What a nice thing to say, she thought.

“I, ah, like you too.” I think.

“Why don’t you wear something nice and I’ll surprise you. I’ll make reservations and pick up at about seven.”

“Okay.” She was certainly surprised all right. Surprised that she had actually followed through with this crazy plan.

Reservations? What was she going to wear?

“I’ll meet you at seven then. Bye.” Diana hung up and fanned herself.

She opened the refrigerator door and stuck her head inside to cool. While she was there she decided on the merits of a salad. She’d bet money that only Karen and the geek twins would eat anything green and leafy.

Shake-and-bake chicken, salad, and rolls. What a gourmet accomplishment. A sense of defeat hovered around her. She rubbed her forehead.

Who was she kidding? Forget healthy. These kids weren’t going to eat this.

“If you serve it, they will eat.”

Diana hadn’t realized she’d spoke out loud. She turned to face the teasing voice.

Brandon stood in the middle of the kitchen with his hands shoved in his back pockets, offering a shy smile.

“They will, will they?”

He nodded. The smile grew mischievous. “Oh, yeah. Shake it. Bake it. Burn it. Smother it in ketchup.”

She laughed. “The salad, too?”

He drifted closer to look over her shoulder into the refrigerator. Diana could feel the warmth radiating from the boy soaking into her back. She’d bet werewolves made nice electric blankets in the winter.

“Well,” he drew the word out as if thinking over the merits of ketchup on salad.

“I’d bet that with enough ketchup, the most discriminating teenager will swallow veggies.”

He reached around her to grab a bottle out of the door shelf. He flipped the bottle into the air and caught it.

“But me, I like Ranch.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Finals were in a few weeks.

Brandon shook his head. “Nah. I already know that stuff. I came with Bradley.”

He swiftly refolded napkins into perfect triangles, placing the correct silverware beside each plate.

“So your brother is the one in need of tutoring?” She was shamelessly fishing for information and both of them knew it.

Brandon grinned and brushed by her, opening upper cabinet doors until he found her good glassware. The warmth of the boy’s passing seemed to reach out and absorb into her skin with a tingle. The contact felt nice. Comfortable.

It was her natural empathic gifts, amplified. The difference was between black and white TV with tinny speakers and 3D with stereo surround sound. She pushed the disconcerting feeling into the background.

“Nah. Bradley’s really good in school. He’s making sure the others don’t get mad and tear the twerp’s arms and legs off before their grades come up.”

Diana surveyed the table. Perfect. Formal dining, only with paper plates and napkins.

“I’m missing something here,” she muttered. “Something important.”

“Missing?” Brandon looked over her shoulder at the table. She imagined that could feel the concern radiating with the warmth from his body. “What did I forget?”

“Yo. Some-ting sure smells good.”

Rick sauntered in swinging his arms. “What’s wrong bro?”

Diana noticed that Rick didn’t take his gaze from the table and still picked up on the undercurrents in the kitchen.

“I forgot something for the table.”

Brandon’s dejection cut her to the quick. Diana began to speak when Rick beat her to the punch.

“Oh, man. That’s gotta suck. Looks good anyway. Smells good, too.”

The short Hispanic teen sidled up close Brandon. Close enough that Diana felt sandwiched between the fevered heat that the werewolves emitted. Rick’s hot fingers brushed Diana’s back before making contact to lay a comforting hand on Brandon’s shoulder. The strange connection she’d felt with Brandon jumped to encompass Rick.

She felt weirded out by the whole experience, disorientated when Brandon yelped and jerked away. The connection she’d formed with the older boy earlier slammed shut.

Rick’s confusion echoed within her.

“Don’t touch me! Ever!” Brandon backed up until he bumped against the counter.

It took a moment to realize that he wasn’t yelling at her.

On Diana’s other side, Rick snarled.

Uh-oh. Diana had a flashback to the bloody kitchen fight.

“You better back down bro.” Rick started around her.

“Fuck off!” Brandon crouched. Either to run or fight, she didn’t know.

Rick growled, a real animal growl.

“Oh yeah? Wait till I really get my hands on you.”

Diana reacted without thinking. She put a hand out, taking a fist full of Rick’s tee shirt. The kid was shorter than she, slighter built, but strong. Very, very strong. She began to drag behind him as he stalked Brandon. She felt his fear as much as she felt Rick’s anger. The need to assert his dominance in pack order.

Enough was enough.

“Not in my house!”

She yanked hard, tipping her captive’s balance to gain his attention. Rick grasped her wrist in a painful hold. Thick reddish brown hair covered the back of the boy’s hand.

Normal nails curved into wicked claws that encircled her wrist.

Rick turned, his fanged snarl now for her.

Diana met the dark feral gaze with her own anger. She reached out with the connection she felt to all of the boys, tapping back into Brandon, as well, and absorbed their anger, frustration, and a great deal of humiliation. Following the link of hurt and pain, she gathered it to herself, trying desperately to ignore the horrible images that came attached to the emotions.

Diana reached for her own anger. No one does anger like a divorced woman.

Anger at her ex’s resentment. Discontent with her job. Life. Lost dreams. Sacrifices made for her children. Not just angry now, but
pissed
, Diana lashed out with the lava heat to punish.

Seconds after the confrontation began it was over.

Rick seemed to collapse upon himself. He barely stood, his head tilted at an odd angle, leaving him vulnerable. She realized it was his version of a submissive pose. Rick had given over to her.

He gulped air, shaking off the afterburn of adrenaline. The claws and hair receded as fast as they’d appeared.

Diana’s hand raised on its own accord. Lightly she ran her fingers up the side of the boy’s neck and into the thick silkiness of his hair, acknowledging the honor and respect she’d been given. She pulled his head down and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Diana let Rick go. Dimly, in the outer workings of her brain, she knew there were others in the room. They weren’t important right now. The danger wasn’t quite past.

Brandon crouched into a ball in the corner of the cabinets. Murmuring, she eased up to him. He stared at her out of a furry face with wide, unfocused eyes. The previously shy boy snarled a mouth full of sharp teeth in her direction before hiding his head in his arms and knees.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s safe.”

Diana held out a hand.

“Shhh. Its okay.”

He snarled and curled into a tighter ball. A cornered animal will fight its way free.

She’d tried gentleness and failed. On to Plan B. As if she had any kind of plan A for werewolves freaking out in the kitchen.

“
Brandon.
Cut it out and come here.”

He looked up. Dark familiar eyes watched her warily.

“
Now.
Get a grip and move your furry butt over here.” Be strong. Be dominant.

She pointed to the spot in front of her, hoping her bluff worked.

It did. Brandon crawled to her feet, practically sitting on the top of her bare toes.

He looked up at her, neck bent to the side in obeisance. She bent down, ignoring the slide of her dress to mid-thigh. He tensed when the touch on his neck turned into an embrace.

A second ticked by as Diana waited for a repeat of his outburst. Brandon relaxed into her, shaking as hard as Rick had been a moment ago. Smoothing his hair back, she let go.

Dear God. The thought hit her hard. They were just children. Very needy, very powerful children. Adam Weis had his job cut out for him and she didn’t envy him it.

Diana stood and faced the crowd in her kitchen.

Rick slouched exhausted into a chair. Mark appeared. His arm dropped over Rick’s shoulder.

“Bradley took the normals home. The Nazi Nerd had an asthma attack. Says he’s allergic to dogs.”

Reality had a surreal drunken quality. Getting upset was too much effort.

She’d actually come between two fighting werewolves and come out the acknowledged alpha. Wow.

Her thoughts were as fuzzy as Brandon’s face. And scattered, too.

“I need to sit down.”

A chair materialized behind her. Solicitous hands guided her down into it. A glass was pressed into her hands.

Brandon curled his body around her legs and laid his head in her lap. She could feel the points of his claws wrapped around her bare ankles, secure and unbreakable. Like the ties she felt forming, binding her to the pack whether she wanted to be a part of them or not.

Diana reached down to rub his back. He snuggled closer, a puppy rooting for reassurance. She took a big drink, thankful that someone had found the wine.

“I’m tellin’ ya, something’s gotta be done. He freaks all the time,” Rick said. His voice rose with an edge of hysteria. “What’s Adam gonna do when he finds out Brandon flipped out here.”

“Shut up, Fuckface,” Mark snapped. “You know you’re not supposed to touch him.”

“Watch your language.” Diana interrupted. “At least be creative if you’re going to insult each other.”