Okay. I was lying. I was a coward—that’s why Rick didn’t know a lot of things.
The knife moving with swift, sure strokes, he scaled the fish, the iridescent scales flying everywhere. I thought fishermen scaled fish before they beheaded them, but I wasn’t a fisherman trying to gross out an old girlfriend.
“Beer,” Kem said from behind me. Rick stopped, wiped his hands on a towel hanging in the tree, and walked to the cooler. He took out a beer, opened the top, and handed it to Kem without meeting his eyes. It was the action of a submissive animal to an aggressive alpha. Beast hissed quietly inside, the hair of her pelt rising, stiff, the phantom reaction tight inside my skin.
Wordless, Rick returned to the fish. I narrowed my eyes, putting things together. I walked to the hammock, placing my feet without care so that Kem would know I was coming, if he wasn’t too drunk to notice. I stood over the hammock, seeing his body, lithe and fit, wearing baggy shorts and a sheen of sweat. He smelled of bug spray and old beer. He was watching me with savage glee on his face. Expectant. Eager. “You want a fight, don’t you. Fine.”
Drawing on Beast-speed, faster than he could see, faster than he could react, I flipped the hammock. Rode him down to the ground. He landed on his stomach. Face in the dirt. My knee in his back, pressing him down. I grabbed his short hair and yanked back. Bowing his spine, arching his neck. Shoved the stake I had found under his chin. The hammock spun and settled. The sound of fish scales flying stopped. The beer bottle landed, spilling in a froth. Everything stopped.
“I am your alpha,” I said. “Listen. Or I’ll make you my dead beta.” Kem growled softly but after a long moment relaxed into submission under my hands. “Two of the werewolves I fought in New Orleans got away because they were in jail when I helped kill the rest of the pack. A big guy and a little scrawny guy. They followed me here, looking for the same thing you want. A fight. To get my attention, they attacked and tried to turn a young woman and her boyfriend last night. They left this silver-tipped stake, my silver-tipped stake, for me to find.
“Your grindy knows about them and is hunting them. I’m hunting them. When I call you, you will get off your drunken ass, get sober, and hunt them too.” I dropped his head. His face bounced on the ground. I stood and walked away. I caught a glimpse of Rick’s face as I did. He was smiling slightly. His eyes were too warm to be remembering me making Kemnebi my beta, so maybe Rick was remembering the first time I took him down. It was our first date, walking along the Mississippi waterfront after a good meal—a great meal—in a New Orleans dive. Rick said something, I don’t remember what, and it ticked me off. I’d dropped him, but he’d been face up for it. I tilted my head on the way past, letting a half smile touch my lips.
“You fight dirty,” he murmured. “Like you do ever [e ynt>
I stopped. He was talking about sex. My face heated. He leaned across the fish-cleaning board, blood and fish and fish heads between us, and breathed in, his nose only inches from my neck. Beast reared up and took me over, faster than I could think. She sniffed, pressing her face, my face, into the soft tissue of his throat. His scent filled my nose, my head, and reached right into the center of me. I/we rubbed my jaw along his, whose bristles were far softer than they looked.
Pelt, Beast thought. Good mate. Mine.
I wrenched away. Moments later I was down the path and keying on Fang. And sooo outta there. Tears would have made the narrow road hard to follow, but I wasn’t crying. I was mad. And not sure why. Halfway down the park road, my cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled onto the narrow shoulder and flipped it open, looked at the display. It was Rick’s number, with his picture in the small screen. I heaved a breath that hurt my throat. “Yeah?”
“The grindy smells weird,” Rick said, “and he’s not hanging around much.”
“Maybe the grindylow is tired of Kemnebi’s drunken anger.”
Rick laughed softly. “The grindy and I would agree on that one.”
I thought about how I might get the little green-golem-Yoda to partner with me. Beast rumbled, Would taste like dead fish. Good eating. Big meal for winter food. I pushed her away as Rick spoke again.
“Kem says he smelled wolf last night. He’ll hunt with you when you call.” His voice dropped an octave, soft as the pelt on a big-cat’s stomach, “So will I.” I laughed, the sound hoarse in my aching throat. “I’ve been given the rest of the day off,” he said. “Wanna do lunch?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Not raw fish.”
“Wait for me at the crossroads. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
About the author