Page 17 of Last But Not Leashed

“Hybrid males are in higher demand than females.” Helen rolled her eyes. “Add in Ethel, and we’re going to have to keep a close eye on both of you until this asshole is dealt with. Jerome’s also getting into a squabble with the pack that mauled you, so that’s another concern.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

“It gets better.”

“I really don’t want to know.”

“But you do, Dale. You really do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Helen grinned. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t think anything you could tell me could possibly make me feel better.”

“Ethel and Dana had a fight over you this afternoon. It was glorious. Dana claims Ethel is incapable of being nurturing, thus will ruin you, our most delicate and precious little flower. My mate almost died from laughter. It was a thing of beauty. I thought Ethel was going to rupture something in her head. She was very offended Dana implied you were weak.”

“My fighting skills leave a lot to be desired, and thanks to Monday, everyone knows it.”

“You’re sweet, and you don’t like hurting people. Some idiots, like Dana, assume this means you’re weak.”

“Dana can’t stand being within ten feet of me.” I sighed and wondered how I’d become the center of pack gossip. “If it’ll get you to be quiet for at least ten consecutive minutes, fine. I like my boss, I’m stuck on the whole I like my boss problem, and this is because I like being a professional at work. Furthermore, I refuse to commit to a relationship until I have a proper home. Have you seen my apartment? Are you happy now?”

Helen stood on her toes so she could pat me on the head. “Very, especially as I recorded every last word for blackmail purposes.”

“I hate you, Helen.”

“I know. That’s what makes this so much fun. Have a nice shift. Please stay out of trouble. I’m about to have my nails done. I’d hate to ruin them.”

Chapter Five

Had I been a wiser man, I would’ve remembered Murphy’s Law. That the gorgon hive and their lycanthrope friends cleared out of the food court without incident should’ve tipped me off something bad was about to happen.

Murphy’s Law always kicked in right after I experienced some good luck. It was the one thing in life I could rely on.

As I counted my problems with wanting my boss for my life-long mate as a good thing, I should’ve been on guard against Murphy and his damned law. While I wanted to believe no good deed went unpunished applied over Murphy’s Law, I hadn’t done any good deeds worthy of notice.

As so often happened in my line of work, trouble started with a pixie. The bat-winged blight hadn’t been one of the gorgon groupies; his species preferred being loners, and unlike his cheery cousins, his dust was the kind likely to send someone straight into a murderous rage.

Whether by accident or design, a lycanthrope—a cat, judging from his scent—and a human got a full dose of the dark gray, shimmering powder. In the time it took me to curse, the blighter darted off.

The lycanthrope roared, and his body twisted, grew orange and black fur, and tore through his clothes. I could’ve dealt with another wolf, but a tiger was a whole different ballpark, one I wanted nothing to do with. The human, or what I had thought was a human, showed off a pair of pointy teeth and hissed.

A tiger and a vampire tangoing in the food court would end in bloodshed, and I didn’t want to find out who would be the victor. I also didn’t want to breathe in any of the gray dust, either. If I did, I likely wouldn’t remember a damned thing. Part of my training with the CDC involved controlled tests of dangerous substances.

Pixie dust was good.

Bat-winged blight dust was bad.

My beautiful boss would kill me if I got a dose of it. After she finished killing me, she’d find a way to bring me back from the dead so she could kill me again.

Why was breathing necessary?

All I could do was hope my canister of foam neutralizer would be enough to keep me from joining the rampage. Expecting the worst, I gave the can a good shake, prepared for the run of my life, and stepped forward, spraying the infuriated pair in the face in hopes of limiting the damage to a lycanthrope, a vampire, and me.

I succeeded at my primary goal: the tiger and vampire were no longer interested in killing each other. Their attention fixed on me, and just like good prey did when crossing the path of predators, I ran like a bat out of hell. Running as a human wouldn’t work; the tiger would catch up and sink his claws into my ass before I escaped the food court. As a wolf, I had a chance of outrunning them as long as they didn’t corner me.

The tables served as blockades, buying me enough time to shift. I left my clothes a torn pile on the floor along with my abused wallet and the CDC’s temporary phone. I’d get hell over that later, but living trumped keeping my CDC identification card and phone on me.