My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon Read Free

will.
    Here stood a perfect example of poor mutt-parenting skills—a kid stupid enough not only to challenge me, but to feign confidence to the point of boredom, lowering his guard in the hopes of looking "cool." Now I had to teach him a lesson, all because his father couldn't be bothered telling him I wasn't someone to fuck with.
    Werewolves earn their reputations through endless challenges. Twenty-seven years ago, when I'd wanted to protect Jeremy on his rise to Alphahood, I didn't have time for that. So I'd sealed my reputation with a single decisive act, one guaranteed to convince every mutt on the continent that the infamous child werewolf had grown into a raging lunatic. To get to Jeremy, they had to go through me, and after what I did, few dared try.
    I could only hope this mutt just didn't realize whom he'd challenged and, once he did, a few abject apologies and a brief trouncing would set the matter straight and I could get back to my honeymoon.
    I walked over and planted myself in front of him.
    He opened his eyes, stretched, and faked a yawn. "Clayton Danvers, I presume?"
    So much for that idea…
    I studied him. After a moment, he straightened, shifting his weight and squirming like a freshman caught napping during my lectures.
    "What?" he said.
    I examined him head to foot, eyes narrowing.
    "What?" he said again.
    "I'm trying to figure out what you've got."
    His broad face screwed up, lips pulling back, giving me a shot of breath that smelled like it'd never been introduced to mouth-wash.
    "So what is it?" I asked. "Cancer, hemorrhagic fever, rabies…"
    "What the hell are you talking about?"
    "You do have a fatal disease, right? In horrible agony? 'Cause that's the only reason any mutt barely past his first Change would call me out. Looking for a quick end to an unbearable existence."
    He let out a wheezing laugh. "Oh, that's a good one. Does that line usually work? Scare us off before you have to fight? Because
that's
the only reason a runt like you would have the reputation of a psycho killer."
    He stepped closer, pulling himself up straight, just to prove, in case I hadn't noticed, that he had a good five inches and fifty pounds on me. Which did
not
make me a runt. I'd spent my childhood being small for my age, but I'd caught up to an average size. Still, mutts like to point out that I'm not as big as my reputation, as if I've disappointed them.
    "You do have a daddy, right?" I asked.
    His face screwed up again. "What?"
    "You have a father, don't you?"
    "Is that some kind of Pack insult? Of course, I have a father. Theo Cain. Maybe you've heard of him."
    I knew the Cains. Killed one of them a few years ago in an uprising against the Pack. "And your daddy warned you about me? Told you about the pictures?"
    "Pfft." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've heard about those. Photos of some dude you carved up with a hatchet."
    "Chain saw."
    "Whatever. It's bullshit."
    I eased to the side, getting my nose away from his mouth. "And the witness? He's still alive, last I heard."
    "Some guy you paid off."
    "The pictures?"
    "Photoshopped."
    "It was almost thirty years ago."
    "So?"
    I shook my head. The problem with stupid people is you can't reason with them. Waste of my time, while my meal was getting cold and Elena was spending our romantic dinner alone.
    Screw this.
    I surveyed the dark service lane. There was never a convenient Dumpster when you needed one. I eyed the garbage cans, eyed Cain, sizing him up…
    "So when do we fight?" he asked.
    "What?"
    "You know. Go mano a mano. Fight to the death. Your death, of course. I'm looking forward to enjoying the spoils."
    His tongue slid between his teeth. "Mmm. I gotta thing for blondes with tight little asses, and your girl is fine. Bet she'll fix up real nice."
    "Fix up?"
    "You know. Get some makeup on. Get rid of that ponytail. Trade the jeans for a nice miniskirt to show off those long legs. You gotta keep after chicks about things like that or they get comfortable, let it