Page 54 of Bears Behaving Badly
“I am positive,” Pat said to David, “that if she was wearing a sweater and I locked her in a freezer, she’d ditch the sweater.”
“At least I’m not a slave to my hypothalamus.” At their blank stares, she added, “The body’s thermostat.” Still nothing. “The cold doesn’t bother me, all right? It didn’t bother anyone in my family. My folks lived in Alaska for years before we came here. And the cold shouldn’t bother you guys, either.”
“Gotta be a werebear thing,” Pat guessed. “This time of year, all her systems are telling her to load up on protein, hoard chocolate, stop shaving her legs, and get ready to hibernate beneath her Pottery Barn comforters.”
“That’s offensive,” she snapped. “That’s like me saying all werefoxes are born troublemakers. Obviously, that’s a gross…” She glanced around, eyes narrowing as she realized no one was arguing the generalization. “Oh, come on!”
David cleared his throat. “I think we’re getting off—”
“Dammit, if you’re cold, grow fur!We can all grow fur.”
“Just admit you’re trying to give us hypothermia! Very, very slowly. It’s like the reverse of when you try to burn someone out. You’re gradually freezing us out. Admit it!” Pat demanded. “You’ll feel better.”
She groaned, seized David’s shoulder, ignored his surprised yelp, and started propelling him toward the stairs. “Enough. If the syndicate is dumb enough to send more foot soldiers, they’ll never get in here in time. The big house isn’t safe—”
“I’ll say. It’s a goddamned frigid tundra up there.”
“—even if it’s stuffed with snacks. Which it is. Which we can’t get at.” Annette sighed, no doubt wondering if her potato chip bags were still intact. “There are snacks here, but only a day’s worth. So.”
“Yeah, well, the big house is also stuffed with rapidly cooling corpses,” Dev pointed out, “so we’re good down here.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Annette replied, “because you’re stuck here for the duration.”
“We all are,” Pat said. “Trapped like bugs under a glass, slowly dying.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Before she could elaborate, a howl from the house split the air.
“Oh shit,” Dev breathed. “The dead warwolves brought reinforcements!”
“Worse,” Annette said glumly. To David: “Come on. He’ll just keep yelling until we come out.”
Chapter 21
“This is the polar opposite of stay away,” Annette muttered. Then, louder as they climbed the hill to the big house: “Do you hear me, Oz? Polar. Opposite!”
The werewolf up top watched them approach, so still he could’ve been mistaken for a statue save for the breeze ruffling his fur. He had typicalCanis rufuscoloring: reddish fur on legs and belly, fading to tawny on his flanks, face fur a pale gold, bright-green eyes standing out from the white markings around his muzzle. His ears were large and alert, ringed in red fur, and twitched as they approached.
“Jesus,” David muttered. Oz’s beast was lanky and lean, the tips of his furred red ears a good four inches above Annette’s waist. Like a greyhound, if greyhounds had accounting degrees and could bite through femurs.
“Why are you here?” Annette had breezed past Oz and was stomping around, gathering up the man’s clothes which he’d removed so quickly there were rips throughout the fabric. “Is there nothing that needs doing in Accounting? How is that possible? The end of the fiscal year is only a few months away!”
Oz growled in reply, which raised the hackles on the back of David’s neck.
Don’t! It’s not an actual threat display!This from his late mother, sounding more panicked than usual. She was right, though David was preeeeeeetty sure he could take the wolf. Probably couldn’t outrun him, though—definitely a fun fact to keep in mind.
Oz was still growling when he shifted back. “Gggggggrrrrrrreally, Annette? There’s a bunch of dead guys in your house, but you wanna talk fiscal year-end? First, that’s almost six months from now, and second,dead guys in your house.”
“I have the situation under control!” Annette punctuated her declaration by shoving Oz’s ripped clothing into his arms.
Oz shoved them back. “Again, dead guys. In your house! Christ, I thought you were hurt! Or worse!”
“I’m fine. We’re all fine. And the operative word is ‘dead,’ Oz.” Another shove. “Don’tgive these back to me. This is already ridiculous beyond words.”
David cleared his throat while Annette’s bear went nose to nose with Oz’s wolf. “Uh.”
“I’m not that malnourished fourteen-year-old anymore, Annette. It’s not your job to look out for me anymore. It’s my job.”
