Some Were In Time (5 page)

"I can do that," Junior said somewhat doubtfully. "It would prove to the world I'm not a man whore and then Sandy would have to go out with me."

I exchanged a covert glance with Hank who was biting his lip.

"Okay," Hank said encouragingly. "That's a good start. You are going to use your big head, not your little one."

"It's not little," Junior cut in.

"Whatever," Hank grunted in frustration. "You're gonna keep it in your pants and dedicate yourself to governing our people and keeping them safe. You follow?"

Junior sat in silence and digested the information for a long moment.

"Yep. I can do this. You're right. It's time, but the pants thing is gonna be hard. No pun intended," he said honestly.

I rolled my eyes and gave Junior a hug. "You are strong, brilliant and compassionate. You will be an outstanding leader."

"You forgot good-looking." Junior amended my list with a wink.

"And humble," Hank added sarcastically as he took his brothers hand in his own and shook it.

Both Hank and I went to our knees in respect for our new Alpha. Junior was overwhelmed for a second and then gently laid his hands on our heads. I felt his magic entwined with Hank's fill the room. I was awed as I closed my eyes and let their power wash through me. Junior was going to be fine.

I just hoped our mission in Chicago would work out as well.

Chapter 3

"It was glorious," Dwayne gushed as he danced around the shooting range. "Layla was balled up in the corner with the peignoir sets rocking like she was insane, but Lori pulled up her big girl panties and got with the program fast."

"Yep." Granny laughed. "Dwayne insisted we all wear wedding gowns and parade up and down Main Street for two hours."

"Um… oookay," I mumbled.

I noted Hank's completely confused expression and Junior's ear-to-ear grin. Thankfully they'd removed their gowns and were back in their regular clothes. Granny now wore a colorful peasant skirt, jeweled sandals and a boob tube. Dwayne wore skinny jeans, starched wife beater and low heeled pumps.

"It was their highest sales day of the year," Dwayne boasted. "Lori offered me a permanent job at the shop."

"And Layla puked in a potted plant," Granny added.

"What did you tell them?" I asked as I examined the array of weapons on the table. We'd met up at the gun range after hours to get some practice in and to make sure Granny was up to snuff.

"I told them they could only have me for three more days because I have to go kill some stuff in Chicago. However, I offered to Skype with customers twice a week," Dwayne said, quite pleased with the compromise he'd worked out.

Granny slipped on her ear protectors and picked up a Beretta 92. I put mine on and picked out a Glock 22. Junior, Hank and Dwayne stood back and watched.

"You want me to kill him or maim him?" Granny asked as she squinted at the targets.

"You think you're good enough to choose?" I inquired with a grin.

"Little girl, I'm as good as they get."

"Maim," I challenged.

She took aim and nailed every non-kill spot on the body, missing all major arteries and organs.

"Holy sheeeot." Junior whistled and applauded. "Nice work, Granny."

"Can I kill him now?" she asked as she chuckled.

I shouldn't have doubted my granny's skills. She was one freakin' surprise after another. The most major being I'd just found out she'd been WTF before I was born. She'd been partnered with my overworked and grumpy boss Angela. Angela had worked her way up the WTF food chain and Granny had gotten out. Of course she had voluntarily gone back in for this next assignment and I was worried. If anything happened to her my world would not be okay.

"Kill him," I said.

With one clean shot right through the heart of the paper target, he was dead.

"Think you can beat that?" she asked with a smirk.

"Not think—
know
," I informed her cockily.

"Be my guest, sugar puss."

My pleasure," I said as I raised my gun, kicked off my flip-flops and aimed.

And I killed him.

Shot him thorough the heart ten times and only made one hole.

One small hole.

"He's dead," I announced to my shocked audience.

"Guns down," Hank said with a huge grin on his face as he approached the targets.

"What in the hell was that?" Junior shouted. "I heard the damn gun go off ten times but I only see one hole."

"I'm that good," I said silkily.

"Damn right you are," Dwayne said as he put his arms around me and squeezed. "Boys, move. Let her show you the other thing."

"What other thing?" Granny asked as Hank and Junior hightailed it out of the way.

"Oh, hell to the no," Junior moaned as he and Hank jack-knifed forward in anticipation.

"Geld him," Dwayne instructed.

And I did. I shot his balls clean off his body and then some. Hank, Junior and Dwayne were all leaning forward and wincing in solidarity with the paper man who had just gotten his jewels blown to Kingdom Come.

"That is some fine shootin', honey bun," Granny yelled with pride. "Hank, I'd suggest you stay on my granddaughter's good side."

"Noted," Hank said as he shook his head and laughed.

"Do we really need to be here?" Dwayne whined. "All of you can shoot the teats off of a cow with your eyes shut. I need to start packing for Chicago."

"What do you have to pack?" I asked. We'd been in Georgia for two weeks and Dwayne had brought one suitcase—one large suitcase, but only one.

"I shopped," he told me.

"Nuff said," I replied.

"Speaking of Cows…" Junior said.

"Did you find anything else out?" Dwayne paled and dropped dramatically down on a chair.

"No, not yet, but I have some friends looking into it."

"Want to get me up to speed here?" Hank asked as he and I put the weapons away.

"Dwayne?" I gave him a look and he groaned.

"Fine," he huffed. "A few hundred years ago I kinda sorta married some cows."

"Holy hell," Hank muttered with disgust. "Vampyres marry farm animals?"

"Were Cows," Dwayne hissed. "And I didn't marry them. I pretended to marry them."

"I am so lost," Hank said as he ran his hands through his hair.

Hank had known Dwayne for a year. It was one of the ways he'd secretly kept tabs on me after I had run away because I stupidly thought he had cheated on me. I was training in Chicago and trying to have a new life, which wasn't working out all that well. I was freakin' miserable without Hank. He befriended my BFF under a fake name and since Dwayne had no filter whatsoever, Hank had been able to find out all he wanted to know. Most people would think that was psychotic and stalkerish. After I got over being pissed, I thought it was hot. Hank had always known we were true mates even if I was too dumb and immature to realize it.

Werewolves could mate with whomever they wanted. Some lasted and some didn't. We had long lives and over-active sex drives. If you didn't find your true mate you often had several relationships in a lifetime. True mates belonged together. If they had crossed paths, even as children, they would never be happy with someone else. Hank was my true mate and luckily we had a second chance.

"Let me simplify this," Granny said as she put her hand over Dwayne's mouth so he wouldn't spout more redonkulous bullcrap. "Dwayne posed as a priest and performed an illegal wedding for two Were Cows. It's really not all his fault. He was enamored with the outfit, so he made a poor choice."

Dwayne nodded in agreement with Granny's summation.

"Still lost," Hank said.

"Bottom line," Granny continued as she seemed to realize her version had a few holes in it. "There might be thousands of illegitimate Were Cows roaming the earth that will want a piece of Dwayne. From what I remember reading back in school, they're
extremely
religious and would take issue with being Cow bastards."

Hank shut his eyes and took a breath in through his nose and blew it out through his mouth. This was never a good sign. It was all kinds of sexy, but it usually meant he wasn't happy.

"Good news is I hacked into a few databases and it looks like they're extinct," Junior said, watching his brother carefully.

"Your info is wrong," Hank said quietly. "They're not extinct."

"What?" Dwayne screeched.

"They. Are. Not. Extinct," Hank repeated tightly. "There aren't many, but they definitely still exist."

"What the hell?" I groused. "Does everyone know about Were Cows except for me?"

"Yep." Granny answered as she adjusted her boob tube and narrowed her eyes at me. "You skipped a lot of Were history in high school and college."

That shut me up because she was correct. Balls, now I wondered what else I missed.

"Rumor has it they're working with the Dragons," Hank said.

"Well, Dwayne, you're screwed. That could be inconvenient since we're going after the Dragons," Granny muttered the obvious.

"I'm going to hurl," Dwayne whimpered.

"Vamps can't puke," I reminded him.

"Watch me," he hissed.

"We have no clue if they're related to the Cows that Dwayne duped," Junior said reasonably. "What was the surname of the couple?"

"Dung," Dwayne answered.

I waited for the punchline. It didn't come.

Chicago was going to be very interesting.

***

"I got a Hummer," Dwayne shouted as he flopped down on my granny's plastic slipcovered couch. Granny's house was literally a museum to junk. She had more knickknacks than Dwayne had shoes—Dwayne had several hundred pairs of shoes. Thankfully we wore the same size seven.

I froze in terror. I was unsure if he meant a car or a blowjob. It took all I had not to ask. I wasn't going there again.

"There is no way all my luggage will fit in your tiny metal death trap. Not to mention my legs were cramped for days after we drove down," he informed me as he smoothed out his shirt.

Shirt was pushing it. It was a wife-beater with Hello Kitty in pink sequins plastered on the front. I was certain his booty shorts were going to make his legs stick to the plastic covered couch.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief and laughed. "A Hummer guzzles gas and is ugly," I said as I popped a cookie in my mouth.

"Yes, but it doesn’t smell like old French fries like your car does."

"Point," I agreed. "How many suitcases do you have?"

"Eight."

"Eight?" I gasped and squinted my eyes at him. How did a person go from one suitcase to eight in two weeks?

"I have to bring wedding gowns for my bi-weekly Skype sessions with the customers from Bring on the Bride. I want to wear gowns from the shop, considering that's what we're trying to sell," he explained logically.

As if anything Dwayne said or did was logical…

"Alrighty then," I replied as I wondered if he packed any gowns in my size.

"I did," he squealed as he clapped his hands with glee.

"Are you reading my mind?" I demanded.

"Nope, your face. I can only read minds of people I share blood with…
oh shit
," he muttered. "Maybe I did read your mind."

Dwayne began to immediately rearrange the miniature plaster rabbit family that was the centerpiece on the coffee table and I paced the room in agitation. Just as he started to refold the afghans into a fort pile I lost it.

"Dwayne, I thought you said your blood would leave my system in a few days," I snapped. "It's been weeks and I'm still feeling itchy."

"Itchy or bitchy?" he inquired with raised eyebrows that would have touched his hairline if he had any hair.

"Touché," I said, biting back my grin. There was no way I was going to let on that he made a good one.

"Essie, the operative word in your sentence was
thought
. I had no clue it would last," he said in a world-weary tone. Dwayne was as flighty as they came, but sometimes I could hear in his voice that he had lived lifetimes—and they hadn't been happy.

I closed my eyes and calmed myself. As much as I didn't want any of Dwayne's frighteningly unstable powers, it was what had saved Hank's life and my own. The strength of the Vampyre blood I'd ingested had allowed me to rip the head off of a Dragon with my bare hands. Killing the bad guy didn't bother me a bit—it was him or us. The simple fact that I didn't realize I had done it until after the fact was what I had a difficult time wrapping my head around. I knew I was being a baby about it, but it scared the hell out of me—and I was not a weenie.