Chapter 1 #2
The geeks were the brain trust of Wulf, Inc.
, and Yordan had been pulled in to help train them.
They were nice enough for nerds, but somehow they got the idea that they were supposed to fight as well as think.
Talk about a disaster in the making. Those nerds were always tripping over their dicks.
Then they started having feelings—not just about how things were done, but about each other.
Werewolves were naturally horny, especially at their age, but three of the six recruits had already coupled up, one with the group’s alpha.
All that lovey-dovey bullshit made Yordan feel old and alone, which was why he’d hightailed it back to Gummy’s pack as soon as he was able.
Meanwhile, his alpha was staring at him thoughtfully. “I thought you liked them.”
“I did. Until they started having feelings about everything.”
“Like getting therapy?”
“Exactly like that. It’s whiny and—”
“Yeah, whatever.” Gummy folded his arms over his chest. “Maybe being around a bunch of whiny babies will remind you that you’re a goddamned adult and you can’t take your shit out on the rest of us.”
“I don’t have any shit—”
“Keep lying to me if you want, but you better damn well work it out or I’m not letting you back after the puppies are housebroken.”
Fear did shitty things to a man’s gut, and Yordan could feel acid’s toxic rise in his belly.
Yordan was a career Wulf, Inc. guy. Like so many others, he’d been there since high school and had no job prospects outside the paranormal world.
And since he was a werewolf, he worked at Wulf, Inc.
or nowhere. There was literally no other job for him, and getting cut from a combat pack was akin to being tossed into the reject pile.
Worse, eighteen months ago, a black hole of death had opened up in Wisconsin. It had taken everything Wulf, Inc. had to stop it, but the disaster had taken its toll. His hometown was now a blighted circle of nada. Which meant he had no one and nothing outside of Wulf, Inc.
Typically, terror made him square his shoulders with a show of bravado. “I’m the best you have, Gummy. I’m the reason we survived in Alaska. I took down that fire-breathing vamp, and if it weren’t for me—”
“I’d still be burning to death in Hell.” Gummy meant literal Hell, thanks to a devil cult.
“Exactly—”
“So I guess you know how serious I am that you get help.” Gummy’s eyes softened as his shoulders drooped. “Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I can’t watch you pull another idiot stunt. You gotta work your shit out.”
“There isn’t any shit!”
Gummy’s eyebrows went up. They were bushy things, like two thick caterpillars crawling upward on his otherwise bald head. “Are you sure?”
Yordan didn’t say anything. The last few years had been brutal.
He’d lost good friends when the cataclysm in Wisconsin was followed by an ugly mop-up.
For the last eighteen months, Wulf, Inc.
had been run ragged, chasing down every monster juiced up by the black hole.
Everyone was exhausted, and those who could leave had turned in their resignations in favor of a quiet, mundane life.
That wasn’t an option for him, though. He didn’t have family in the civilian world. So, he’d toughed out the creeping loneliness and aging body, but apparently he wasn’t as cool as he’d thought.
“Everyone’s fucked up,” he muttered. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Eight flying alligators say you haven’t.”
Yordan’s eyes narrowed. “Eight? I thought there were—”
“Turns out there were two in NG’s truck,” Gummy said with a snort. “Didn’t you hear him squeal?”
He had. “We should name him Squeaker.”
Gummy chuckled, the sound warm as it mixed with the hum of the cicadas. And that told Yordan more than anything that Gummy wasn’t worried about the prank so much as the problem behind it.
“My shit’s clean,” he stressed.
“Talk to the shrink anyway.” Gummy’s eyes hardened, though there was an element of regret in the look. “Or you’re not coming back.”
It was the regret that made Yordan realize Gummy was serious. But what the hell shit did he have to work out?
He had plenty of time to mull that over as he drove the crap van up to Michigan. Wulf, Inc. had an estate there, complete with a huge mansion where the geeks had been based. All sorts of toys were available up there.
But work was his life—for the moment anyway—so he drove through the night and arrived midmorning to the one thing he hated worse than feelings.
Paperwork.
A huge damn stack of it on a clipboard held by the king of all paper pushers, Kit McNabb, aka The Scot. Not just A Scot. Not a Scotsman. No. He was The Scot because he was big enough, officious enough, and annoying enough to be labeled THE. As in The Biggest Pain in the Ass.
Technically, he was Gummy’s boss. He coordinated all seven combat packs and, by all appearances, was fairly good at it.
The guy was objectively handsome with his blue-gray eyes and red hair.
Some people called him charming with the way he turned on and off his brogue just to get the girls to go “oooh.” But what really made him a waste of space was the fact that he was a natural shifter from a whole line of Scottish werewolves.
Some of their best fighters had come from the Highland McNabbs, but this guy—the heir to the clan chief—was nothing more than a bureaucrat.
Right about when the shit hit the fan in Wisconsin, the great heir to the McNabbs requested a transfer from his combat team and turned into a paper pusher.
Coward.
Unfortunately, he was a coward with authority. And he was waiting for Yordan with the gift of several hours of bureaucratic bullshit.
Too bad Fuse wasn’t here. Yordan could use a few flying alligators right now. Especially if one landed right on top of The Scot.