"Cal, playtime is over. Let's go."
The juvenile killers, who'd been shaking off what they considered love taps, moaned in disappointment and loped back toward the muck at their mother's beckoning snarl. I dropped to the ground and did some snarling of my own as I holstered the gun. "You know, Cyrano, as a therapist, you suck out the ass."
"It's a hit-or-miss process," he responded solemnly as we wove through the trees. "Constantly changing and developing. Jung once wrote…"
What I had to say about Jung wasn't hit or miss at all. It was very precise, graphic, and involved Niko's intestinal tract.
"You didn't enjoy yourself? Why not? Children are always enamored of you."
Yeah, kids loved me. Loved to eat me. Werecubs, boglets, I was walking milk and cookies for them all, but I wasn't thinking about that, and I wasn't concentrating on Niko's dry teasing either. Seeing boggles again had brought up some buried emotions all right, but not the one my brother had planned on. No, that wasn't true. It was the emotion…guilt…that he'd hoped to resolve, but this time the guilt was focused elsewhere. Niko and Robin hadn't ended up the casualties as intended a year ago, but someone else had.
"I miss Boggle," I said quietly. And I did in a way. Not for who he'd been, but for what he'd been. He'd been our informant and like Robin's tended to be, he was homicidal as hell, but he'd been a piece of our lives. When you lived life on the run you didn't have many constants. Boggle had been one for two years and I'd gotten him killed. He'd deserved it, no doubt, but I didn't have to like the fact it had been because of me.
Nik, like Bog's mate, didn't waste any tears as he said without a trace of doubt, "He was a killer, Cal. Through and through, a killer."
I looked away, said, "Not the only one," and kept walking.
13
Recruiting isn't as easy without the glossy pamphlets and television ads. I'd been thrown out of so many wolf bars and social clubs that night I was beginning to lose count. I never would've thought the boggle would be the easy part. It was seven in the morning when we finally dragged ourselves to Robin's place in Chelsea, choosing it only because it was closer than ours. I had a black eye, Robin was limping again, and Niko had a hair or two slightly out of place. Normally I would say it was because he was the better fighter, but the reality was it could well be a toss-up between him and Goodfellow. Niko's abilities were nothing less than astounding, but Robin had had many more thousands of years of practice. It wasn't a lack of skill that had Robin on the short end of the stick this time.
Wolves had only scorn for humans. They were nothing but sheep…weak and existing only to be preyed upon. It wasn't an attitude you wanted to be on the receiving end of. Then again, when it came to pucks and the Auphe-tainted, being a sheep was a step up.
As Nik settled on the couch, long black-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, Goodfellow asked him acidly, "Could I get you a comb perhaps? At least until the paramedics arrive?"
"I told you eight breasts in a sequined halter was not our top priority," Niko offered mildly as he clasped hands across his abdomen, "did I not?"
"Monogamous sex is rotting your brain." Robin flicked both arms in a gesture that wasn't quite obscene, but definitely full of outrage. "They were all on the same woman."
"We were there to enlist wolves, not grope them. And offering to include her mate in on the exercise did not improve matters any."
I ignored them both and went to the freezer for ice. Applying a towelful of the crushed stuff to my eye, I leaned against the counter as the discussion continued. "Oh, don't let him fool you. He was completely into it. He simply feared he'd be overshadowed by my prowess and endowments. Although, to be just, his seemed impressive behind the leather. Male wolves." Green eyes gleamed. "They do love their leather."
Truthfully, the fight hadn't had much to do with Robin hitting on two wolves, but it was easier on the stomach than discussing how our two kinds were so loathed. Not all wolves felt the same, about me at least, but enough did to make things uncomfortable. To be hated was one thing. To be considered a worthless, utterly detested thief or a mixed-breed abomination that inspired disgust and revulsion…it was less uncomfortable to talk about the results of gawking at wolf boobs.
Then there was the fact that we'd killed a Kin Alpha.
Yeah, none of us were too popular. Niko just happened to be a little less unpopular than Robin and me. So far we hadn't found a single wolf willing to work with us, no matter what the pay. And Goodfellow trying to include himself as a bonus wasn't helping. If he kept it up, he wouldn't have to worry about a mysterious assassin ending his life; Niko would handle that himself.