Oinking between snorted laughter, he got his legs under him and lunged at me with inhuman speed. I let him scoop me off my feet, wrap his long arms around me, and pin me against his chest.
And then I crushed his grapes with my knee using every ounce of strength Ambrose could loan me.
“My…” Mendelsohn wheezed in my ear, “…balls.”
“They’ll drop again,” I assured him. “Eventually.”
Coughing up slurs and swearing a blue streak, Mendelsohn leaned all of his considerable weight on me. We both went down and landed on our sides. I was still trapped within the cage of his arms, and he was ratcheting them tighter around me until breathing hurt worse than the alternative.
“Let her go.” Bishop hooked his hands under Mendelsohn’s arms. “Unless you’re done siring offspring.”
The threat slid right off him, unable to gain traction in his addled mind.
“Diiie.” The alpha thrashed and giggled as Bishop hauled him off me. “Biiitch.”
“Calling Bishop names is rude.” I got to my feet. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“Ouch,” Bishop deadpanned, yanking Mendelsohn’s arms behind his back.
I palmed the modified pen in my pocket, almost dropping my pot of emergency ink for more traditional workings, and I drew on the one sigil I used on the regular. The magical restraints clicked into place and locked the insides of his wrists together. With that done, I gave his ankles the same treatment to make escape impossible without assistance.
Together, we lifted the writhing, babbling alpha and carried him to the nearest van.
The cleaners, who were paranormal crime scene techs, not brute enforcers, kept well out of spitting range. They might be in charge of cleaning up messes, but that didn’t mean they liked getting their hands dirty.
Only after we dumped Mendelsohn on a bench and traded his magical restraints for silver ones, did the sentinels arrive wearing Atlanta Police Department uniforms. They waded into the fray and helped us herd the more docile females toward their alpha and the waiting transportation.
“We’re missing two,” Gayle called. “Any sign of them?”
“Hadley,” Bishop yelled, jamming his finger toward a flesh-toned streak. “She’s making a break for it.”
The female clutched her distended belly with both hands and squeezed her thighs together as she ran.
“Ma’am.” I jogged after her. “Can you please…?”
Once her feet hit grass, she squatted and…peed.
“I love my job, I love my job, I love my job,” I chanted while I waited on her to finish. “Ma’am?”
Unable to stand again, the female toppled sideways, thankfully not into her mess. I helped her upright then escorted her to Gayle, who got her settled. Bishop rounded up the last holdout, who had fallen asleep under a tree, and handed her off to a pair of sentinels.
“That’s everyone,” Gayle confirmed, then sought out my face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I squished when I walked now, and my heels rubbed in my wet shoes. “Take care.”
With a tired wave, Gayle sat next to Mendelsohn. He lowered his head onto her lap, finally exhausted, and she stroked his hair with a fond smile softening her expression.
“Come on, heartbreaker.” Bishop slung his arm around me. “I’ll buy you lunch.”
As much as I wanted to go home, shower, and bleach my brain…free food won.
Leaning against him, I rested my head on his shoulder. “From Tex-Mex Momma?”
“Keep eating those ghost chili tamales, and they’re going to burn through your stomach lining one day.”
“But not today.” I straightened and adjusted my soggy top. “I take omeprazole.”
“Omeprazole isn’t a hazmat suit for your digestive tract.”
Flicking water at his face, I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Or is it?”
Writing me and my stomach lining off as a loss, he shook his head. “We hitting Greenleaf before or after?”
There was no question we had to investigate. “Before.”
We caught a Swyft to the Midtown club, but the street was quiet, and the entrance locked when we arrived. I mashed the buzzer, since it was a private party, but no one answered. I didn’t like it, any of it, especially how affected the wargs had been, but we couldn’t kick down the door without probable cause.
When no other options presented themselves, we left with the intent to return the following night and try our luck catching it open then.
After Bishop and I ate, which left me sweating in my chair at the outdoor table, we hit the streets for a few hours before I went home to Midas. How weird was it to think about him waiting on me? Weird, but nice. I could get used to it, and that terrified me. Happily, those ghost chilis were guaranteed to burn the fear right out of me, at least for a few hours. It was as good a place to start as any.
Three
The trauma of the previous night, and the cringeworthy memory of Deric Mendelsohn’s hairy butt cheeks shining like twin moons, if the moon was made of moldy cheese, had been dimmed somewhat by spending the remaining hours before dawn enjoying Their Eyes Are Always Watching while snuggled up to Midas on the futon with dinner in our laps and chopsticks in our hands.
I woke in much the same position, minus Midas, ready to face the night. As soon as I got my eyes open.
A musical ting prompted me to check my phone, and I groaned at being forced to move.
Fingers groping for my cell, I touched paper and pulled the scrap to me where I could squint at it better.
“Duty calls,” I read out loud, snuggling into his pillow. “See you at home.” I breathed him in. “Midas.”
Sadly, the phone didn’t see fit to stop ringing while I basked in the giddy thrill of receiving his note.
Clearly, it didn’t have the circuits of a romantic.
Unable to ignore the persistent racket, I palmed the blasted cell, read the growing string of urgent texts, then shot upright with a growl on my lips. “Do you believe this crap?”
Ambrose stretched and yawned, faking interest in my outburst, but I didn’t waste breath
