“Well, she didn’t precisely choose to be infected, and without a pack, she had no idea there were specialty stores for us—especially not for hybrids. And she’s been wearing that fucking perfume.”
“Oh! Do you need some? I have an extra bottle.”
“Please,” I begged. “I left mine at home. I didn’t think I’d actually need it.”
“No. No, you do not need that damned perfume. You’re fine as you are. Don’t give her the perfume. She’s supposed to smell like a lycanthrope,” Wayne complained.
“Unmated males. Is there anything more obnoxious?” Francine rolled her eyes, disregarded Wayne’s complaint, and went to the register, which had survived the incident unscathed. She pulled out a plain, brown-wrapped box, which she offered to me. “I’ll get another bottle from the CDC. They provide it to shops like mine for emergencies, as they’d rather not have too many brawls like this one. Really, ganging up on one little lady. How rude.”
Rude was one way to put it. I regarded the brute’s truck, which had emerged from the wreck in far better shape than my vaguely car-shaped pancake. “I feel like dismantling that truck,” I growled.
“Go for it. I’ll just tell the nice police officers your virus spiked and you took it out on their truck rather than out on them, the stupid cowards.”
Some invitations I couldn’t ignore, and beyond caring if I received a bill for the damages, I leapt through the broken window, landed on the hood of his truck, and went to work, digging my claws into the plastic and steel.
Sometimes, all a woman needed in life was some good, old-fashioned destruction.
Three police cruisersarrived while I dismantled the truck’s cab, and I flung the steering wheel in the direction of the nearby woods, roaring my fury. Previously, I hadn’t had a chance to do more than throw a damned lycanthrope cat in the face of a brute who infuriated my virus. My virus wanted more of the bastard’s blood, fueling my rage enough I slashed through more metal and flung it at the ground.
“All right there, tiger,” Wayne chided, grinning up at me. “I know you need to vent off some of that steam, but don’t intimidate the police.”
I growled at him, flattening my ears at his criticism, and because I could, I flung a piece of the brute’s truck in his general direction. Wayne sidestepped, and his grin widened.
Bastard.
I considered jumping down and getting in his face over it, but while I added a few inches as a hybrid, he still beat me in height when human.
“You Barnes?” one of the six cops asked. I regarded the man with narrowed eyes, and when I breathed in, I detected the scent markers of a lycanthrope. My virus also identified a second scent, one that marked him as safely mated.
Twisting around, I glared at the lycanthrope, who kept his attention fixed on Wayne. A sane woman played nice with the cops, but at my virus’s urging, I bared my fangs.
If the cop tested his luck or screwed with my target, I’d take my irritation out on him.
“I’m Barnes,” Wayne replied. “Don’t mind the lady on the truck. Her car is underneath the truck, and her virus is currently spiking. She’s taking out her aggression on the perp’s vehicle rather than on someone. The truck was totaled from the get-go, so I figured a little extra destruction wouldn’t hurt anything.”
The cops peered under the truck, and the entire lot of them whistled. “Looks about right. I’d be wearing a fur coat and playing demolitionist, too. Any of you hurt?”
Francine lifted her hand and showed off her scuffed nail polish. “I chipped a claw on an idiot.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive, babe,” the cop replied.
Babe? I hopped and spun, considering Francine with my head tilted to the side. The truck’s roof crunched under my feet, and I thumped down to the hood. “Is he your mate?”
“He sure is. If you think I’m big, he’s got two feet on me and comes in at over seven hundred pounds.”
I slumped my shoulders, wondering how I’d become a shrimp among other lycanthrope hybrids. “Not fair,” I complained.
“You’re a pup, and that you’re a hybrid without a mate boosting your virus? That’s pretty incredible, Joyce. You’ll put on the pounds and the inches in time. Having a mate to fuss over will help your virus.”
“Having a pack will help, too,” Wayne added.
I growled at the thought of a pack.
“She’s a rogue?” Francine’s mate asked.
“She’s sanctioned. The CDC has been providing perfume for her, and she’s been sliding under the radar playing human while working the fast food line as a cashier. She served the lycanthropes.”
“Serves,” I corrected.
