Page 22 of Murder Mittens

Wait. Sebastian Sumners had a sense of humor? “Did you just call this supervisor an asshat?”

“I absolutely did. That is what she is. And I’m pretty sure I got sent out of the area to prevent the bigoted asshat from causing me more problems. I think they were either trying to reward me or evict me from the pool of eligible bachelors, but they’ve never met you before.”

While not a roar, his complaints over his precarious position as a single male lycanthrope pleased my virus. “It’s okay, Mr. Mane. If I wasn’t uglier than sin, I’d be tempted to flirt with a hot supervisor, but honestly? With my face, flirting is more of a horror show. Could you imagine me trying to simper? How about flutter my lashes?”

I fought my urge to laugh at the thought of me attempting to simper or flutter my lashes at some man. I might be tempted to test it on one of my brothers to witness the chaos and horror.

“Are you capable of anything as delicate as a simper?” Sebastian asked, his tone sliding from annoyed to intrigued. “I’ve seen pictures of where you plastered on enough makeup to make your mother cry, but you were always covered in blood and growling. You really need to work on that. You have this tendency of going to the CDC while dressed like a lady but acting rather crudely. The makeup might work better if you aren’t wearing blood along with your makeup. Frankly, don’t bother with the makeup. That would probably help some.”

“You’re just wondering how a body as hot as mine can sport a mouth so filthy you cringe whenever I open it.”

“That wasn’t quite what I was aiming for, but you do somehow manage to piss me off when you start talking for some reason.”

“It’s not my fault you have a nice roar. It’s also not my fault you make it so damned easy to earn one of those roars. It absolutely is your fault you bristle so nicely. If you didn’t want a cat toying with you, you wouldn’t make it so much fun, Sumners. Now you’re stuck with me, and you only have yourself to blame for that. Personally, my work life has gotten so much better since you called me. Yours? Yours sucks, and I’d feel sorry for you, but one of us is happy. That one of us is me. I’m happy. As a fellow feline, you should be well aware of the superiority of cats, and lynxes are so much better than lions. As I am the best of cat species, I deserve a lion. It’s good to tame the second best in the cat world. Or are lions third best? Tigers are pretty amazing. What do you think, Mr. Mane?”

“Lions are far superior to tigers.”

“Spoken like a true lion.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel of my father’s truck. “What do you think the male lynx father of a bazillion children but only one daughter would do to a filthy lion scented near his only daughter?”

“Murder comes to mind. That tends to be what lycanthrope fathers do to males who come near their daughters without their permission.”

I heaved a sigh. “But I don’t want my father to kill you. If you’re dead, you can’t roar for me, Sumners. This is important to me. Pissing you off and making you roar is one of my joys in life.”

“Once the daughter is happily mated, the fathers tend to only beat a little rather than attempt murder,” he replied. “This is a well-established fact about lycanthrope males, accepted as a hazard of picking a lycanthrope female rather than a human woman. As there are so few single lycanthrope females, most convince a human woman to settle down and accept the virus, as your brothers will do because you’re the only single female lycanthrope lynx alive.”

“Lynxes can be happily mated?” I frowned. “But there’s so much fighting. Also, I’m an endangered species, and this sucks.”

“But is your mother happily fighting?”

Oh. Right. “Yeah, okay. That is an accurate statement. She joyously fights with my father, which is why she’s pregnant with yet another litter.”

“I recommend you actively select the man you wish to be mated to. Part of my job as your supervisor is to make sure that right isn’t taken from you. I’m also responsible for making sure you follow the rules when it comes to acquiring your mate. The CDC has opted for a more intimate approach for agents and bounty hunters like yourself.”

“Ew. I don’t want the CDC all up in my business!”

The lion dared to laugh at me. “Until you’re happily mated, that’s precisely what is going to happen. When you’re happily mated, you’ll be asked about testing a new perfume to help hide your status as a mated female. The idea is to use female agents as bait to catch out-of-control lycanthropes, partnered with their mates. It should lower incidents of forced matings in the field.”

I grimaced, as I’d had a few close calls I’d put a lethal end to. Virus contamination didn’t matter if the would-be suitor died, and I took care to make sure I eliminated anyone stupid enough to try to force me. “You have read my file, I see.”

“I already told you I had read it. Five counts of lethal force to prevent unwanted mating. I don’t care what your other supervisors said, but well done. If you could hurry up and find a male you like, that’d be exceptionally helpful.”

“My face makes that hard, Mr. Mane.”

“I’d say there’s nothing wrong with your face, but anytime the CDC wants to offer full reconstructive surgery to address severe self-esteem issues in an exceptional bounty hunter, there’s something wrong with your face. Personally, I don’t see what everyone has a problem with. They’re scars, and there’s something to be said about a woman who can stand proud in spite of them. But I’m onto you. You hate when people flinch when they see your face. You cover it by doing stupid shit, including making me roar at you.”

“Oh, I just make you roar because I like it.” Otherwise, I resented how accurate he was about my life. “Enjoying your roar is not stupid.”

“There are far better ways of making me roar, so yes, it is stupid.”

While I had the relationship experience of the average rock, even I recognized how his comment could be taken as flirting. Puzzled, I frowned, checked the navigation system, which put us at forty minutes away from our goal with a delightful amount of empty space to drive through. Delaying by an hour or six wouldn’t make much difference in my schedule, as we’d gotten an early enough start—and I had their home address and could commit murder wherever I wanted. “I haven’t painted my nails.”

“You haven’t what?”

“Painted my nails.” I held up one hand, careful to keep the other on the wheel, showing off my nails, which I kept neatly trimmed and at a good length for scratching people, unless I needed to adopt my hybrid form. “They’re my best quality.”

“I prefer your face.”

I blinked and pointed in the general direction of my scars. “This face?”