“I guess I’ll have to take your word for that,” he replies, shaking his head. One side of his mouth quirks upward and he pats me on the shoulder. “But congratulations on the fated mate part.”
“Thanks,” I say, warmth filling my chest.
He shakes his head again, then points to the hatchback. “This what you’re hoping to get rid of?”
“Yeah, how much will you give me for it?”
Touchy-feely time apparently over, he gives me a flat look and ambles over to the vehicle, walking around the outside to assess the condition. Once he’s made a complete circuit, he stops. “I can give you five hundred for it.”
I wince. That’s way less than I expected. “A thousand.”
“It runs,” says Raquel, her voice a little too high, nerves obvious. “That counts for something, right?”
Phil snorts. “Not for much,” he says. “It’s worth more as scrap.” He rubs his chin and studies the car for a few more seconds. “Six hundred.”
“Eight.” My fingers brush against the collar on Wolfie’s neck and Phil’s gaze follows the movement.
“What’s that collar made of?”
“I have no idea. Why?”
He studies my face with narrowed eyes as if assessing me. Or maybe how much he can take me for. “Six fifty for the car, and I’ve got a cutter spreader tool that should be able to get through that collar.”
My brows shoot up. Of course a junkyard would have things that could cut through metal. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.
“Deal,” I say quickly. That’s less money than I wanted—and less than the car is worth even as scrap—but getting the collar off Wolfie is equally important since we’ll be a lot less conspicuous if we aren’t dragging around a giant wolf. Easier to get a hotel room, too.
Phil sticks his hand out to shake on it, then jerks his chin toward a large metal building behind the smaller office. “My tools are in the workshop. Come on.”
The four of us trek toward the workshop and Phil uses the keys on his belt to unlock a hefty padlock at the base of the door. He opens the latch, then rolls the door up and motions for us to come inside. The interior is like a gearhead’s wet dream with towering metal tool boxes, a couple hydraulic lifts, and a variety of power tools I can’t identify.
Phil ambles over to one of the metal counters that line the far wall and pulls down one of those tools I don’t know the name of.It has a wide cylindrical body, a handle, and two hand-sized blades in front that look like scissors on steroids. He plugs the cord into a socket on the wall and waits for us to get closer.
“That thing’s safe, right?” I ask, eyeballing the blades. “It’s not going to hurt him?”
“It’s the smallest one I have,” he says. When I don’t respond, he rolls his eyes. “Do you want the collar off or not?”
“Yes. Of course.” I blow out a breath, then motion Wolfie forward.
I’m not sure what my face is doing, but Phil loses some of his gruff attitude and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll be careful.”
Wolfie meets my gaze, some combination of hope and anticipation in his eyes. However long that collar’s been on him, he has to be anxious to get it off.
I reach out and run my hand over his fur. “It’s okay.”
The wolf stares at me for a beat, then dips his chin and moves to stand within reach the tool. Phil slides the flatter section at the tip of the blades between the collar and Wolfie’s fur. He presses a button and the machine whirs to life. The blades slowly close, and Phil guides the blades further under the collar until they compress the edge of the collar, the metal parting with a screeching sound.
Phil has to readjust the blades a couple times, but a minute later, there’s a gap in the metal collar. He grips the edges and pulls, increasing the diameter of the collar enough that, with a little maneuvering, it can be slipped over Wolfie’s head.
As soon as the metal ring is gone, Wolfie returns to my side, sitting down and scratching at his neck. The fur where the collar sat is thinner, damaged from the friction most likely, but that seems to be the worst of it as far as I can tell. Physically anyway. Who knows what kind of mental state Wolfie will be in when he’s finally able to shift again.
There’s no doubt his human side is still there, but I’ve also seen what happens when his wolf takes control—his very violent and aggressive wolf—and I’m not sure how much of that feral side of him will remain once he’s in human form.
I’m yanked from my musing when a flat tone sounds from the intercom near the door to the workshop. Somebody’s at the gate, and going by the puzzled frown on Phil’s face, I don’t think he’s expecting anyone.
Sixteen
Neil
