When Elena vetoed a wedding, I thought it was just the weight of human mores again-that it didn’t feel right when we already had kids. So I’d decided I’d give her one, as a surprise. Jeremy talked me out of it, and it was then, as he waffled and circled the subject of “why not,” that I finally understood. There could be no wedding because every step-from sending invitations to walking down the aisle-would only remind her of the wedding she’d planned all those years ago and the hell she’d gone through when it all fell apart.
But the honeymoon was one part of the ritual we hadn’t discussed. So, if a wedding was out, the least I could do was give her a honeymoon.
So I’d planned everything. I’d picked St. Louis because she’d mentioned once that she’d like to go there. I’d made all the arrangements-my way of saying that I’d fucked up eighteen years ago and I knew I was damned lucky we’d ever reached this stage.
The mutt resurfaced at dinner, spoiling my second meal in a day. Not just any meal this time but a special one at a place so exclusive that I-well, Jeremy-had to reserve our table weeks ago. It was one of those restaurants where the lighting is so dim I don’t know how humans can see what they’re eating or find what they’re eating-the tiny portions lost on a plate filled with inedible decorations. But it was romantic. At least, that’s what the guidebook said.
I didn’t know what was romantic about eating in the dark surrounded by strangers, but it matched Elena’s expectations and that was all that mattered. She’d enjoy the fussy little portions, the fancy wines, the fawning wait staff, then fill up on pizza in our room later. Which was fine by me… until the mutt showed up.
As I was returning from the bathroom, he stepped into the lobby to ask the maître d’ for directions. Our eyes met. He smiled, turned and sauntered out.
I knew I should walk away. Take care of him later. But there was no way I could enjoy my dinner knowing he was prowling outside. And if I didn’t enjoy it, Elena wouldn’t enjoy it, and we’d get into a fight about why I’d take her someplace I’d hate only to sulk through the meal. I was determined to make it through this trip without any knockdown, drag-out fights… or at least not to cause any myself.
I waited until the maître d’ escorted a couple into the dining room, then I took off after the mutt.
I found him waiting for me in the lane behind the restaurant. He was leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, eyes closed.
This was one problem with mutts. Not all mutts-I’ll give them that. Some teach their sons basic survival, and a few do as good a job as any Pack wolf, but there are far too many who just don’t give a damn.
Here stood a perfect example of poor mutt parenting skills-a kid not only stupid enough to challenge me but stupid enough to feign confidence to the point of boredom, lowering his guard in the hopes of looking “cool.” Now I had to teach him a lesson, all because his father couldn’t be bothered telling him that I wasn’t someone to fuck with.
Werewolves earn their reputations through endless challenges. Twenty-seven years ago, when I’d wanted to protect Jeremy on his rise to Alphahood, I didn’t have time for that. So I’d sealed my reputation with a single decisive act, one guaranteed to convince every mutt on the continent that the infamous child werewolf had grown into a raging lunatic. To get to Jeremy, they had to go through me, and after what I did, few dared try.
I could only hope this mutt just didn’t realize who he’d challenged and, once he did, a few abject apologies and a brief trouncing would set the matter straight and I could get back to my honeymoon.
I walked over and planted myself in front of him.
He opened his eyes, stretched and faked a yawn. “Clayton Danvers, I presume?”
So much for that idea…
I studied him. After a moment, he straightened, shifting his weight and squirming like a freshman caught napping during my lectures.
“What?” he said.
I examined him head to foot, eyes narrowing.
“What?” he said again.
“I’m trying to figure out what you’ve got.”
His broad face screwed up, lips pulling back, giving me a shot of breath that smelled like it’d never been introduced to mouthwash.
“So what is it?” I asked. “Cancer, hemorrhagic fever, rabies…”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You do have a fatal disease, right? In horrible agony? ’Cause that’s the only reason any mutt barely past his first Change would call me out. Looking for a quick end to an unbearable existence.”
He let out a wheezing laugh. “Oh, that’s good. Does that line usually work? Scare us off before you have to fight? Because that’s the only reason a runt like you would have the reputation of a psycho killer.”
He stepped closer, pulling himself up straight, just to prove, in case I hadn’t noticed, that he had a good five inches and fifty pounds on me. Which did not make me a runt. I’d spent my childhood being small for my age, but I’d caught up to an average size. Still, mutts like to point out that I’m not as big as my reputation, as if I’ve disappointed them.
“You do have a daddy, right?” I asked.
His face screwed up again. “What?”
“Do you have a father?”
“Is that some kind of Pack insult? Of course I have a father. Theo Cain. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
I knew the Cains. Killed one of them a few years ago in an uprising against the Pack. “And your daddy warned you about me? Told you about the pictures?”
“Pfft.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard about those. Photos of some dude you carved up with a hatchet.”
“Chainsaw.”
“Whatever. It’s bullshit.”
I eased to the side, getting my nose away from his mouth. “And the witness? He’s still alive, last I heard.”
“Some guy you paid off.”
“The pictures?”
“Photoshopped.”
“It was almost thirty years ago.”
“So?”
I shook my head. The problem with stupid people is you can’t reason with them. Waste of my time, while my meal was getting cold and Elena was spending our romantic dinner alone and wondering where I was.
Screw this.
I surveyed the dark service lane. There was never a convenient Dumpster when you needed one. I eyed the garbage cans, eyed Cain, sizing him up…
“So when do we fight?” he asked.
“What?”
“You know. Go mano a mano. Fight to the death. Your death, of course. I’m looking forward to enjoying the spoils.” His tongue slid between his teeth. “Mmm. I gotta thing for blondes with tight little asses, and your girl is fine. Bet she’ll fix up real nice.”
“Fix up?”
“You know. Get some makeup on. Get rid of that ponytail. Trade the jeans for a nice miniskirt to show off those long legs. You gotta keep after chicks about things like that or they get comfortable, let it slide. Not that she isn’t damned sweet right now, but with a little extra effort, she’d be really hot.”
I shook my head.
“What?” he said. “You’ve never tried?”
“Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it. Another waste of time. “So you think if you kill me, you get Elena?”
“Sure, why not?”
“If it didn’t require my death, I’d be tempted to go along with it, just to watch you tell her that.”
“Whatever.” He rolled on his heels. “Let’s get this over with. I’m hoping you brought your chainsaw, ’cause otherwise this fight isn’t going to be nearly as much fun as I was hoping, with your fucked-up arm and all.”