for somebody you met online?” Bill leaned one brawny forearm on the shop counter, worry in his eyes. “And he’s a big guy. What if he turns out to be some kind of nutball? You could find yourself in real trouble.”
“He’s not like that.” She put a hand on her father’s shoulder and gave him her best earnest look. “Dad, trust me. It’s going to be fine.”
Bill glowered at her for another long moment before he sighed, his expression turning resigned. “You’re a grown woman, Eva, so I can’t tell you how to run your love life.” His gaze sharpened. “But if he gives you any trouble, let me know and I’ll kick his ass.”
And he would, too. Or he’d try, anyway. Smiling, Eva stood on her toes to kiss his bearded cheek. “I won’t have to. He’s a good guy, Dad.”
Bill grunted. “Tell him to put on a shirt, would you? He’s scaring the customers.”
Eva was just about to ease her father out the door when it banged open with a furious jangle. She and Bill took a step back as David barged through, the prop sword in one hand, his expression grim. “My enemy has sensed me. We must go.”
Dad gave him the kind of wary look reserved for people in tinfoil hats. Eva wanted to smack David upside his oblivious head. All her hard work, undone with one loony-tunes sentence. “Enemy? What the hell are you talking about?” Bill snapped.
“There is no time for explanations.” He clamped his left hand over her father’s shoulder, pivoted, and started pushing the smaller man out the door, still carrying the prop sword in his right. The bell jangled a discordant note as the door hit the back wall. “We must go now .”
“Dammit, I’m not going anywhere. This is my shop .” Bill tried to set his feet, but David switched his grip to his upper arm and hoisted, forcing him to walk on his toes or be carried. “Cut it out! That hurts. Are you nuts?”
“Where is his vehicle?” David demanded.
Eva stared at him, alarm streaking through her irritation. If the white werewolf really was on the way, David was right. They had to get the hell away from the area as fast as possible.
She pointed over Bill’s thick shoulder toward the line of cars parked nose to the curb. “That red Tahoe. Dad, it would probably be best if we left.”
“Screw that.” He glared at them both. “You and your pet nutjob can leave if you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
In the living room of a seedy little house on the outskirts of Chicago, two Dire Wolves circled, lips peeled back from teeth, growls rumbling. They were in full wolf form, big as ponies, one charcoal gray with white markings, the other red as a fox’s fur. As if obeying some inner signal, they exploded toward each other in a chorus of snarls and snaps. The gray’s fangs sank into the red-furred one’s flank, and the big beast yelped.
Blood flew, splashing across the sketch Tom Danvers was studying. “Goddammit! Cut that shit out! I’m trying to work here.”
The two wolves froze, wide eyes flying guiltily to Danvers as he glared at them. They immediately separated, the gray tearing his fangs from the flank of the other as they slunk in opposite directions, heads down, tails low. The two headed up the stairs to the den, claws clicking on the wooden steps. One beast nosed the door open, and they slipped out. It closed behind them again with a quiet click, leaving the basement in silence.
Danvers watched them go with grim satisfaction. Three months ago, he’d have had to Change and rip into them, but he’d successfully established who was in charge.
“Fuckin’ idiots,” Steve Miller muttered from the other side of the battered Ping-Pong table. A sixty-watt bulb hung over his head, casting his craggy face in deep shadows. The smoke from his cigarette floated in a lazy blue haze over the cinder-block room.
“Yeah.” Danvers returned his attention to the sketch he’d drawn after casing FBW Savings and Loan that afternoon. He tapped the door
“He’s not like that.” She put a hand on her father’s shoulder and gave him her best earnest look. “Dad, trust me. It’s going to be fine.”
Bill glowered at her for another long moment before he sighed, his expression turning resigned. “You’re a grown woman, Eva, so I can’t tell you how to run your love life.” His gaze sharpened. “But if he gives you any trouble, let me know and I’ll kick his ass.”
And he would, too. Or he’d try, anyway. Smiling, Eva stood on her toes to kiss his bearded cheek. “I won’t have to. He’s a good guy, Dad.”
Bill grunted. “Tell him to put on a shirt, would you? He’s scaring the customers.”
Eva was just about to ease her father out the door when it banged open with a furious jangle. She and Bill took a step back as David barged through, the prop sword in one hand, his expression grim. “My enemy has sensed me. We must go.”
Dad gave him the kind of wary look reserved for people in tinfoil hats. Eva wanted to smack David upside his oblivious head. All her hard work, undone with one loony-tunes sentence. “Enemy? What the hell are you talking about?” Bill snapped.
“There is no time for explanations.” He clamped his left hand over her father’s shoulder, pivoted, and started pushing the smaller man out the door, still carrying the prop sword in his right. The bell jangled a discordant note as the door hit the back wall. “We must go now .”
“Dammit, I’m not going anywhere. This is my shop .” Bill tried to set his feet, but David switched his grip to his upper arm and hoisted, forcing him to walk on his toes or be carried. “Cut it out! That hurts. Are you nuts?”
“Where is his vehicle?” David demanded.
Eva stared at him, alarm streaking through her irritation. If the white werewolf really was on the way, David was right. They had to get the hell away from the area as fast as possible.
She pointed over Bill’s thick shoulder toward the line of cars parked nose to the curb. “That red Tahoe. Dad, it would probably be best if we left.”
“Screw that.” He glared at them both. “You and your pet nutjob can leave if you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
In the living room of a seedy little house on the outskirts of Chicago, two Dire Wolves circled, lips peeled back from teeth, growls rumbling. They were in full wolf form, big as ponies, one charcoal gray with white markings, the other red as a fox’s fur. As if obeying some inner signal, they exploded toward each other in a chorus of snarls and snaps. The gray’s fangs sank into the red-furred one’s flank, and the big beast yelped.
Blood flew, splashing across the sketch Tom Danvers was studying. “Goddammit! Cut that shit out! I’m trying to work here.”
The two wolves froze, wide eyes flying guiltily to Danvers as he glared at them. They immediately separated, the gray tearing his fangs from the flank of the other as they slunk in opposite directions, heads down, tails low. The two headed up the stairs to the den, claws clicking on the wooden steps. One beast nosed the door open, and they slipped out. It closed behind them again with a quiet click, leaving the basement in silence.
Danvers watched them go with grim satisfaction. Three months ago, he’d have had to Change and rip into them, but he’d successfully established who was in charge.
“Fuckin’ idiots,” Steve Miller muttered from the other side of the battered Ping-Pong table. A sixty-watt bulb hung over his head, casting his craggy face in deep shadows. The smoke from his cigarette floated in a lazy blue haze over the cinder-block room.
“Yeah.” Danvers returned his attention to the sketch he’d drawn after casing FBW Savings and Loan that afternoon. He tapped the door
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