In an eyeblink, one of the damn grindylows popped into existence and landed on his head. It grabbed his ears and tugged. Hard. The steel claws of the were-creature killer extruded and cut into his ears. It chattered and snarled in anger.
Brute’s reaction was instant. He sat and he whined. And when the supernatural neon green grindy didn’t stop cutting, he dropped to his stomach on the cold floor. The grindy cut deeper. He whimpered, carefully not shaking his head again.
This is not a good day to die,he thought. Thereareno good days to die.
Liz Everhart walked into Alex’s office and straight up to Brute. The stench of evil, of death and demons and the darkness of caves in the famine of winter ice sailed toward him as she moved. An ancient instinct from a time of glaciers and blizzards and never-forgotten hunger, long buried in his subconscious wolf memory.
Brute’s heart raced. He started panting. His drooling got worse. The grindy chittered louder. The smell of his own blood was tart on the air, and he wasn’t fighting back, he wasn’t losing it. He was in control. But the grindy wasn’t backing down this time, even when he cowered.Fuck this shit, Brute thought. He half rose and shook his entire body, his wolf coat sliding back and forth, slinging.
The grindy went sailing. Liz caught it midair. She was holding it by its ears, like a rabbit, exposing it’s strange teeth. “You try to kill me,” Liz said softly to the grindy, “and I’ll turn you into a toad a few decades early. Now put those claws away or I’ll wring your neck like that critter did the chickens.”
Brute wasn’t sure, but Liz threatening his nemesis might have been sexiest thing he ever saw, back when he was a human. He licked the drool from his lips and also from where it had landed, cleaning up his were-taint. When he was done, he lay down, gave a friendly whine, and thumped his tail on the floor.
Liz had glared at him the whole time, but the whine and tail thumping made her face relax. He thought she might be the prettiest thing he had ever seen. Too bad the Ranger had claimed her, not that he’d ever be human again to tell her any of that.
She said, “I’m sorry my sister gave you to a demon for dinner. Like, really sorry. But I need a favor chasing down the thing that you smell on my jeans. It’s the blood of a paranormal predator. Maybe a Dwayyo. It killed chickens like a human does and ate some of the dead birds in the coop.”
The witch transferred her, ‘turn you into a toad if you annoy me,’ look back to the grindy. “He lost control. You cut him. He’s fine. Even I can see that. But you hurt him even after he restrained his wolf. Shame on you.” She shook the kitten-like critter by the ears, its body juddering. “He’s bleeding. Apologize.”
The grindy’s wide-open eyes swiveled to him. Its claws retracted. It mewled. Close enough. Brute had learned to forgive. That was the first thing the angel had demanded when it healed him and let him live. Brute snuffled softly and belly-crawled a few inches toward the witch and her trapped prey. It brought him closer to the blood, but he had himself and his wolf nature under control now. He snuffled again. The grindy chittered quietly.
Liz said, “Don’t let it happen again. I’m putting you back down on the wolf.” She bent and placed the kitten-sized killer on his back.
The grindy licked all the blood off his ears and vanished into thin air, just the way it had appeared, leaving behind cuts that now stung like someone had poured cheap rum into his wounds. The pain was enough to keep him sane, even with the blood-reek, so he’d take it. It was better than being killed by one of the were-creature judges and executioners for losing control. Damn grindylows.
“You okay?” Liz asked.
Brute chuffed and gave a happy dog smile to her, wagging his tail. She was just the kind of woman he had wanted back when he was human. All curvy, with hips that were just right for—
“What did you smell that made you go all werewolf-nutso?” she asked. “Paranormal killer?”
Brute nodded and looked at Alex. He stood and patted his front paws on the floor as if playing drums.
“You want the soundboard?” Alex asked.
Brute chuffed and nodded.
“You refuse to even look at it,” Alex said, “until a grindy makes you bleed, and all of a sudden you’re Mr. Agreeable.”
No. I ignore it until a pretty woman needs a favor. No way to say that. Besides. Eli had weapons and knew how to use them.
Alex pulled a mat from under his desk and slid it into a clear place on the floor. To Liz he said, “I saw this online and made one for Brute and Beast. Until recently they’ve both ignored it.”
Brute walked around the mat and studied the words beneath all twenty-four buttons. Each button, when pressed with a paw, said a word and provided a punctuation mark. He nodded at Alex and looked at Liz. Deliberately he stepped on the button, that said, “Yes.” Then on the one that said, “Talk.” It was better than a typical computer generated voice, sounding deep and growly, like he used to sound when he was human. He missed being able to talk. Missed having fingers. Missed a lot of shit.
Could be worse, though. He could have been turned into a three-hundred pound mouse, or a snake, or something that would have gotten him killed by the witches in a heartbeat.
Liz said, “Did it smell evil?”
“Yes.”
“Magical?”
Brute thought, his head low, tail tip twitching slightly. He tapped, “Maybe.” Then he tapped, “Human.” And, “Female.” Thinking about the scent and why he had reacted—and still was reacting, though he had a handle on it now—so violently. He tapped, “Human. No. Human,” in quick progression.
“So human, but not just human, and female, and maybe magical?”
“Yes.”
