Page 10 of Last But Not Leashed

Allison had spoken the truth, and I wanted to know what my boss thought about it. Ethel Frankwell was the only woman I ever looked at twice. She also snored.

I’d heard softer trains.

Learning to sleep next to the equivalent of an ongoing explosion hadn’t been a part of my plans, but I’d make do. It occurred to me her snoring had woken me. Yawning, I lifted my head for a better look around. A dim glow from the hallway illuminated most of the room, which was a disaster of dirty laundry. If she cared I could see her lingerie, I’d be in trouble when she woke up. From corner to corner, lacy bras and panties waited to be cleaned up and run through the wash, which I determined was the primary source of her scent marker.

I doubted her lingerie did a good job of covering her.

Under no circumstances would I peek under the blanket to discover what she wore to bed. To keep a firm leash on myself and my virus, I wiggled off the bed, stretching out my forepaws so I wouldn’t thump to the floor.

She kept snoring.

I shifted to my hybrid form and prowled around her home, inhaling in her scent and memorizing her lycanthropy marker. To my astonishment, she lived in a tiny trailer. My apartment wasn’t much better, something I’d need to change if I somehow lured my boss into accepting me as her mate. While her trailer was small, rather battered, and old enough to tempt me into breaking things to give her a good excuse to move in with me, she had a washer and dryer tucked into a nook in the hallway.

Restless energy coursed through me, and the simple but tedious task of doing laundry would give me a chance to relax and regain control over my virus, which wanted me to return to bed with my boss, wake her, and test the waters to see if she was interested in me as a prospective mate.

Doing her laundry wouldn’t land me in too much hot water, would it? It was challenging to tiptoe when I weighed in at eight hundred pounds, but I managed, stealthily picking my way through her room and retrieving every piece of clothing I could get my paws on, careful to avoid tearing anything with my claws.

The nightstand clock informed me it was eight in the morning, which would trigger panic in my boss when she realized she’d slept in. Then again, I’d been convinced my boss never slept; no matter how early I showed up at the office, she was always there before me.

Stealing her clothes, I sorted them, taking my time checking labels so I wouldn’t ruin anything before starting the first load. Leaving the machine to work its magic on her laundry, I searched her trailer for my phone, wallet, and keys without success.

A sane man might have worried in my situation, but the thought of being at her mercy had me wagging my tail while I finished sorting through her clothes and preparing her delicates to be taken in for dry cleaning.

The shrill blare of an alarm startled me into yipping, and my boss snarled curses. The alarm fell silent. “Dale?”

I peeked into her bedroom to discover she held the mangled wreckage of her alarm in her hand. When I’d grown up and left home, my mother had never given me any helpful advice on how to handle a cranky woman in the morning.

I either needed a manual for women or a tour guide. Maybe I’d ask Jerome; he somehow survived mornings with Allison.

“My clothes are missing. Why? Where have my clothes gone?” She pointed at the cleaned floor, which was devoid of any lingerie.

“It’s not missing. It’s being sorted and cleaned.” I displayed my long, curved claws. “These tear clothes if I walk on them, so I picked them off the floor.”

“You’re doing my laundry?”

I relaxed at the astonishment in her voice. “I put aside the clothes that needs to go to the dry cleaners, and I sorted the rest by material and color.” Flicking an ear back, I glanced in the direction of her tiny kitchen. “I should’ve made coffee.”

“But you’re a guest. You should be in bed resting.”

The ‘in bed’ part interested my virus, but I rejected the concept that I should lounge around because I was within her territory. For a rare change, my uppity virus agreed with me.

My role was to provide. Hers was to decide, after I made my displays of interest, if she wanted me to be her mate. Until I could provide for her in a better environment, I wouldn’t be satisfied.

She deserved better.

Before I committed to taking the next step and displaying my interest, I had a few questions, although one was more important than the others. Prowling closer, I inhaled to catch her scent. “Your perfume hides the scent of your virus. Why do you hide your virus?”

“It’s made from wolfsbane blossoms. Most lycanthropes hate the smell. I’m used to it. I’ve been helping the CDC with an experiment. The goal is to help unmated lycanthropes avoid unwanted attention by masking the scent markers. We discovered an unexpected benefit, as the perfume also helps lower virus levels. They’re looking into developing it as a method to help lycanthropes stabilize their moods, especially during dangerous virus spikes. If we’re lucky, it’ll also help make it easier for younger lycanthropes to learn how to control their virus and their new instincts and impulses. You’re one of the few lycanthropes who seems to be attracted to the scent. This is especially unusual as you have a general aversion to most women. The CDC has asked several times if I could recruit you for experiments.”

The last thing I wanted was the CDC experimenting on me. I also didn’t want the organization experimenting on her, either, and my hackles rose at the thought. “There are circumstances,” I growled, giving my fangs a lick.

“I’m guessing it’s because I’m your boss.” She laughed and sat up, her blanket falling away to reveal a silky blouse that clung to her chest, which I recognized as one of her work shirts. “It’s not an issue. The CDC accounts for courting and mated pairs. I’d either remain your boss, depending on how our work dynamic changed, or you’d be elevated in rank and work alongside me as an equal. We might be moved to different departments. Some pairs work better together than others, but I expect we’d continue to work as a partnership. We’ve been working together long enough the CDC would hesitate to separate us. Assuming my position as your boss isn’t a factor, which it is not, what would you do, Mr. Jameson?”

I liked the way she growled my name. Crouching, I fought my desire to pounce and show her in intimate detail. “What do you want me to do?”

She chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “Before I answer that, has the pixie dust worn off yet?”

Unlike alcohol, when I got hold of a dose of pixie dust, I rarely comprehended when I was under its influence. I shrugged.