Page 22 of Bears Behaving Badly
“Thanks.”
Never, obviously.
Well, that was plain enough.
Just as well, his dead mother whispered.You could only bring her pain.He would have told his dead mom to shut it, except she was right. Blunt, as in life, but correct. Still. He wouldn’t deny the sting.
He left the kitchen and headed through Annette’s big, pretty house, intent on the lower level. He hadn’t shifted in weeks—contrary to fiction, changing was mostly a matter of personal choice, not an irresistible paralogical imperative dictated by the lunar cycle—and he was itching for it. The Caro case was getting more fucked by the hour, and being in close proximity with Annette was distracting in all the worst ways. Which was made worse by her devastating yet honest comments to Nadia.
Never, obviously.
about the possibility of their…dating.
Drop it, will you?
Or sport fucking. Or whatever Annette wanted to do. He would’ve been on board with any of it.
Drop it.
There was no escaping her ripe fruit/clean cotton scent; he was surrounded by it. By contrast, the roommate’s scent was barely noticeable.
The roommate. He couldn’t blame the kit for being curious. The guy who took up farming (but just today, apparently) was like water: not much of a scent and it held whatever shape you dumped it in, or in Pat’s case, whatever shape you felt like. And the scar was impressive, because it didn’t matter how fast Shifter metabolism ran, some injuries left permanent reminders.
In Pat’s case, he couldn’t completely hide the seven-inch mark that started at the forehead, slashed down, narrowly missed his eye, and ended halfway down his cheek. Deep, too. David couldn’t imagine the fight that had caused it.
Whatever the cause and whoever the assailant, it had been deeply personal; they’d gone for the face, not the throat, which was smooth and unmarked. And Pat kept the rest of himself covered, so no telling how extensive any other scars might be.
But David couldn’t worry about that now. Lund was unhelpful, and then he was dead. Caro was in custody, and then she wasn’t. Someone tried to kill the three of them. Or just Dev. (Which was worse.) And Annette had zero interest in him as anything but a work colleague. And he wasn’t even that, really; he didn’t work for IPA. He was an independent contractor; IPA was just one of his clients.
“Can I come?”
The kit, right on his heels. Should’ve guessed. “No. I won’t be gone long. Stay here.” He reached for Dev’s shoulder. “I mean it, kit. You…wait.” Dev had flinched, then tried to cover. “Thought you said you weren’t hurt.”
“I’mnot.” Dev twisted away. “Not bad, I mean. It’s no big deal.”
“Let me see.”
The young werefox sighed and stood still while David took a peek and saw deep-purple bruises blooming along the boy’s shoulder and side. “From Annette tossing you,” he guessed. “You smacked into something—the SUV?—before you could get back to your feet.”
“Don’t tell Net,” he pleaded. “She’ll freak, she’ll…uh…”
David almost smiled. “There’s not a German or Italian or French word for ‘freak’?”
“I guess not,” he admitted. “But please don’t tell her. She’ll get all upset andverärgertand…um…irritato. And I’ll take bruises over getting smeared all over a parking garage pillar.”
“Me, too. If it gets worse, you’ll tell me? Or her?”
“Yeah.”
“Eat a big supper. Couple of ’em.”
Dev waved that away. “Yeah, yeah, ‘sizable caloric intake with an emphasis on protein is essential for wound healing as protein is found in all cells and thus speeds up the healing process.’ I’ve known that since I was a kid.”
“Yeah, for ages and ages, I’ll bet.” This time David did smile. “If you were a kid way back when, what are you now? A short adult?”
Dev ignored the question. “I’ll have some eggs or something. And before you say it, I won’t leave the house.”
“Not sure I believe you.”
