an answer.
“Shit.”
Saving the world was going to be harder than he thought.
17
“THIS WEREWOLF THING,” SARA SAID ABRUPTLY. SHE puffed a hank of hair out of her face and took a break from struggling with her sleeping bag. It was uncanny. You bought the thing in this nice little roll, and after you used it, you couldn’t get it back into that nice little roll if someone stuck a gun in your ear. Uncanny! “You know, the full moon’s in a couple of days.”
“Seventy-eight hours. Yeah, I know.”
“So . . . what then?”
“Sara, we could all be dead in seventy-eight hours.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” she snapped. “I’m not going to destroy the world.
And what’s with you this morning, you big blond grump?”
He mumbled something. It sounded like “I know you are but what am I?” but even he wouldn’t be that immature. And boy, had he woken up on the wrong side of the truck this morning!
“I’m just curious about what would happen, is all,” she said. “What if you lose control and bite me?”
“What if I do?” he grumped.
“Oh, very nice! Think I want to be worried about full moons and biting people and—and getting rabid and eating undercooked food and maybe getting Mad Werewolf Disease?”
He covered his face with his hands and squatted by the smoldering remains of their fire. “It’s sooo early . . .”
“Seriously, Derik.”
“I am being serious. It’s too early for this shit.” He took his hands down from his face. “Besides, it’s not the flu, Sara. You can’t catch it. I could give you a blood transfusion, and you wouldn’t catch it. We’re two different species.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that. So all the movies are wrong?”
“Totally, totally wrong.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and yawned. “Don’t waste your time watching them, unless it’s for entertainment value. Also, we don’t carry babies off in the moonlight, and I wouldn’t eat a person on a bet. Yech.”
“Yech?”
He shuddered, and she took offense. “What’s wrong with eating a person? You should be so lucky! Not that I want you to.”
“You taste terrible, that’s what. All of you. The omnivore diet . . . blurgh.” He actually gagged!
“Well, nobody’s asking you to eat anybody.”
“I’d make an exception,” he grumbled.
“Very funny. Don’t even think about eating me. And if we’re two different species, how do you have children with humans? And speaking of blood transfusions, would one of those even take?”
“Yes, and yes. It doesn’t happen all the time—cubs with a human—but it does happen. I don’t know why, I’m not a goddamned biologist.” He groaned again and got up, then loped off toward the truck. “Are we ready? Let’s go. Ready?”
“What’s the rush? And why are you so scratchy this morning?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied shortly, stomping on the clutch and starting the truck with a roar. “Went for a walk. All night.”
“Well, excuuuse me, Mr. Insomniac—wait!” She ran to throw the last sleeping bag into the back of the truck. “Nobody told me werewolves were such rotten morning people!” She lunged, and just managed to pop the door open as he accelerated.
“Well, now you know,” he said, shifting into second as she slammed her door.
“So, what’s the plan, Grumpy McGee? Besides a second, possibly third, breakfast by ten o’clock?”
“Drive until we’re tired. Stop again. Eat. Sleep. Drive more. Find Arthur’s Chosen. Kick their asses. The end.”
“A fine plan,” she said.
“Except . . .”
“What?”
He yawned again, which was startling—his jaw stretched wider than she thought would be possible, and he showed a lot of teeth. “Well, I have to stay in touch with my people, or they’ll start to worry about me. Maybe send someone else out here. So I thought tonight we’d stay at a safe house.” This was a rather small lie. He didn’t have to stay in the safe house; he could
“Shit.”
Saving the world was going to be harder than he thought.
17
“THIS WEREWOLF THING,” SARA SAID ABRUPTLY. SHE puffed a hank of hair out of her face and took a break from struggling with her sleeping bag. It was uncanny. You bought the thing in this nice little roll, and after you used it, you couldn’t get it back into that nice little roll if someone stuck a gun in your ear. Uncanny! “You know, the full moon’s in a couple of days.”
“Seventy-eight hours. Yeah, I know.”
“So . . . what then?”
“Sara, we could all be dead in seventy-eight hours.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” she snapped. “I’m not going to destroy the world.
And what’s with you this morning, you big blond grump?”
He mumbled something. It sounded like “I know you are but what am I?” but even he wouldn’t be that immature. And boy, had he woken up on the wrong side of the truck this morning!
“I’m just curious about what would happen, is all,” she said. “What if you lose control and bite me?”
“What if I do?” he grumped.
“Oh, very nice! Think I want to be worried about full moons and biting people and—and getting rabid and eating undercooked food and maybe getting Mad Werewolf Disease?”
He covered his face with his hands and squatted by the smoldering remains of their fire. “It’s sooo early . . .”
“Seriously, Derik.”
“I am being serious. It’s too early for this shit.” He took his hands down from his face. “Besides, it’s not the flu, Sara. You can’t catch it. I could give you a blood transfusion, and you wouldn’t catch it. We’re two different species.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that. So all the movies are wrong?”
“Totally, totally wrong.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and yawned. “Don’t waste your time watching them, unless it’s for entertainment value. Also, we don’t carry babies off in the moonlight, and I wouldn’t eat a person on a bet. Yech.”
“Yech?”
He shuddered, and she took offense. “What’s wrong with eating a person? You should be so lucky! Not that I want you to.”
“You taste terrible, that’s what. All of you. The omnivore diet . . . blurgh.” He actually gagged!
“Well, nobody’s asking you to eat anybody.”
“I’d make an exception,” he grumbled.
“Very funny. Don’t even think about eating me. And if we’re two different species, how do you have children with humans? And speaking of blood transfusions, would one of those even take?”
“Yes, and yes. It doesn’t happen all the time—cubs with a human—but it does happen. I don’t know why, I’m not a goddamned biologist.” He groaned again and got up, then loped off toward the truck. “Are we ready? Let’s go. Ready?”
“What’s the rush? And why are you so scratchy this morning?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied shortly, stomping on the clutch and starting the truck with a roar. “Went for a walk. All night.”
“Well, excuuuse me, Mr. Insomniac—wait!” She ran to throw the last sleeping bag into the back of the truck. “Nobody told me werewolves were such rotten morning people!” She lunged, and just managed to pop the door open as he accelerated.
“Well, now you know,” he said, shifting into second as she slammed her door.
“So, what’s the plan, Grumpy McGee? Besides a second, possibly third, breakfast by ten o’clock?”
“Drive until we’re tired. Stop again. Eat. Sleep. Drive more. Find Arthur’s Chosen. Kick their asses. The end.”
“A fine plan,” she said.
“Except . . .”
“What?”
He yawned again, which was startling—his jaw stretched wider than she thought would be possible, and he showed a lot of teeth. “Well, I have to stay in touch with my people, or they’ll start to worry about me. Maybe send someone else out here. So I thought tonight we’d stay at a safe house.” This was a rather small lie. He didn’t have to stay in the safe house; he could
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