Page 17 of Cowboy Devil's Embrace

Truth was, I needed all the help I could get. At least he didn’t stink of licorice and piss.

“How come animals trust your Wolf?” I whispered.

“Don’t know. But I can teach you how to not get bit, and maybe you can help me find some balance,” the Wolf said.

“Okay. What’s your name?”

“Emmet Quinn.”

“Okay, Emmet Quinn, first order of business, help me pick a Crew. Then help me fix my roof,” I grumbled and tossed half the stack of applications to the Wolf, who snatched them from the air.

“No problem, Boss,” Emmet said and grinned.

CHAPTER FIVE-MAX

Several days later.

What the hell were Avail and our grandmother thinking getting me into this mess?

I was killing myself out here and I still didn’t have a clue just what the hell I was doing in North Bumblefuck, aka Dry Creek, New Jersey.

Everything hurt.

My back.

My thighs.

My shins.

My arms.

Name any body part, and I could guarantee it was aching.

Fuck.

Even my hair hurt.

Supernaturals, in general, tended to be more physically robust than our normal counterparts.

How-fucking-ever, I was not an overly physical man. I mean, sure I had muscles. But those were mostly from whatI am, not whatI didon the daily.

Over the past week, I’d used more muscles than I even knew I had.

I admit it. I was stuck, feeling foul as all get, and in a right nasty mood.

Angry.

Hungry.

Or maybe I was just hangry.

What with Mrs. O’Hare abandoning me and all, I was living on bologna sandwiches. I couldn’t even tell you what the fuck was in that father of all mystery meats, but it sufficed for now.

Oh, and goat cheese.

A lot of fucking goat cheese.

Ugh. My stomach turned.

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