“Yes.”
“No.”
“Old man, it is time you lived a little! And went out and did things. Reading the paper, working out, occasionally fishing, and just sitting there, barely existing outside of work, are boring hobbies.”
“I read books too.”
“You do not! I have never once seen you read a book!”
Harlow slowly smirked. “Just yesterday I read a book calledHow to Tell If Your Cat Is Plotting to Kill You.”
“I AM NOT A CAT!”
“Why? Are you plotting to kill me?” His smirk widened at the death glare sent his way.
“I wasn’t, but I’m happy to make your bloody delusions a reality!”
Harlow chuckled.
“We are going to the craft fair,” Foxx said with a hiss.
“No, I don’t think we are.”
“We are going!”
“Nope!” He laughed.
Foxx went silent. It was concerning. He glanced at the man and found a serine smile on his face, dimple flashing. All of Harlow’s alarm bells began to ring.
“Craft fair, or I buy this super pretty, sparkly rainbow bear sunsuit I’ve been eyeing. You know, those at the office have never seen my cute sunsuits! I bet Charity and everyone there would love to see me in it!” Foxx said with a wide shit-eating grin. “The balls in your court, old man.”
He shuddered in horror. Harlow could still remember the looks on the faces of the police and firefighter as Foxx carried him past them. It had only been pure luck that no one had taken a picture. Then again…maybe they’d been too shocked.
Fuck… He glared at the vampire. It wasn’t even a choice.
“Fucking fine! We’ll go, you brat!”
Foxx gripped his gun, glaring at the snowflakes falling down as he marched forward through the snow. At least it wasn’t super deep at the moment. The sun was, however, making it sparkle annoyingly—it was bloody blinding.
“Ugh…winter. Why, oh why, does it have to be winter? It’s cold, there’s ice, and snow, and slush. I—”
Harlow shushed him, holding up a finger to his lips.
He glared, unimpressed. “If they can’t hear us at this point then they are high off their asses on something,” Foxx grumbled. “Though, this close to the full moon…with how young they are, they may be too lost to the change to make sense of anything anyway.”
Young werewolves during the full moon were honestly like fucking puppies stuck on zoomie mode…except generally more murderous. It was why most werewolves locked their young away during the full moon. They were a bitch and a half to control, and impossible to reason with.
When the wolf side was fully in control, as it often was with young werewolves during the full moon, it meant the rational, speaking part of the wolf’s brain was out of reach. And born werewolves didn’t really gain total control during the full moon until they were like thirty-five-ish. Mind you, they had some control by mid-twenties, but it was still easy for them to lose it. For changed wolves, it usually took about five to ten years after the change, but really depended on the individual and the age of the person turned.
“I know all that. I was just hoping you’d shut up,” the human mused.
Foxx stopped in shock before glaring at the man’s broad back. “The option of murdering you is sounding better by the second.”
Harlow chuckled.
The human could chuckle now, but once he realized that Foxx had already bought the sparkly rainbow bear sunsuit, Foxx would be the one laughing.
He started forward again, catching up so he was walking alongside him. Harlow glanced over, a look of disgust on his face.
