Page 32 of Hoofin’ It

“You can thank my parents for that. They did the footwork. Dad tracked you here with his nose, and once he identified the farm you’d been taken to, they did some research and found links to clubs in the city. This was the first one we tried. So, in that regard, plain luck. When the barkeeper said you were a shy new girl, I figured you were my best bet.” I pointed at my fake eye. “Since I don’t look like a cop, I got volunteered to have a look around. I’m not one anymore, but my parents try to forget that. I lost my eye responding to a traffic accident and pulling a family out of the burning wreckage of their car. Since the insurance company didn’t want to pay for a functional replacement, I’m retired.”

Marian’s eyes widened, and she trailed her fingers along the thin line of my scar. “I wondered why you had stepped in front of a gun to protect an animal. You had no way of knowing I wasn’t actually an alpaca. At first, I thought you were stupid for putting your life in danger like that, but then you just, well, seemed like a nice guy. And since I had no idea when—or if—I’d become human again, sticking with you was my best option.”

I thought about everything that had happened from the instant I’d seen the furry, angry alpaca in the back of the car. “I have a remarkable lack of common sense and no sense of self-preservation, as evidenced by my talking my surgeon into letting me the hospital the morning following major reconstruction of my shoulder. It’s Dad’s fault. He provided the transfusion. Would you believe they made me sign a paper acknowledging I might end up infected with the lycanthropy virus?”

“You’re not going to let go of the lycanthropy infection issue, are you?”

My face warmed. “I never should have…”

Marian sighed. “I can’t contract the virus, so you have nothing to worry about. And anyway, that’s my problem, not yours.”

“Like hell it’s not my problem!” The heat across my cheeks intensified. “And it’s definitely my problem if… if…” I spluttered at the thought of having a child with anyone, which was enough to rob me of my ability to speak.

“You’ve never been influenced by a succubus before, have you?” Marian bit her lip, cleared her throat, and giggled. “You look like you’ve swallowed a frog.”

I groaned and slumped over the table. “No, I haven’t.”

“You really are Mr. Honest, aren’t you? Most guys would be bragging.”

“If I plead for mercy, would you just shoot me now? I’m sure you can borrow a gun from a cop.”

“No. You’re entertaining. You have nothing to worry about. It’s a simple case of economics. It’s not profitable for the women working the club to become pregnant. It’s a part of the club’s deal with their succubus and incubus—common practice. They’re allowed to siphon energy, but in exchange, they keep the girls working the club from having unexpected kids. There’s a catch to that. If a woman comes to the club and she’s not one of the workers, she’s probably leaving pregnant. Little is better for an incubus and succubus than the creation of a new life.”

Great. First I’d learned more about my parents’ sex life than I ever wanted to know, now I was learning about a whole new species, although I’d already known some of the details from my work in Chicago. The relief of not having to worry about becoming a father beat my discomfort over another sex talk, however. “And they knew you were one of the workers?”

Marian glared at me. “Of course. I also had birth control pills shoved down my throat before they decided I’d earn my keep tonight.”

“In my defense, I had no idea I’d be running into an incubus and a succubus today.” Had I known, I would have been contributing to the prevention of unexpected children, too.

“You’re so shy. I never would’ve guessed. I’ve met your parents, you know. They aren’t shy.”

“On days like today, I want to disown them.”

She laughed. “Well, you have nothing to be ashamed about. That said, the possibility you’re a chronically nice guy has occurred to me. This could be a problem.”

I scowled. “How is being a nice guy a problem?”

“Competition.”

What the hell did she mean by that? “Competition?”

Both her eyebrows took a hike towards her hairline, and she slid down on the bench, crossing her arms over her chest. I averted my gaze to my boots. Removing my feet from the table and turning my back to Marian, I leaned over, undid the laces, and fished out my spare phones, setting them on the table along with the battery pack. Bracing for the worst, I checked for missed calls and messages.

I had a lot of each.

“Now that’s clever. I never would’ve thought to put phones in my boots as backups. I’m stealing that idea. This also confirms my belief there must be competition. You’re considerate to the point of being disturbing, you’re smart enough to keep spare phones in your boots when you’re going into a questionable situation, and you’re kinda cute in a rugged sort of way. Also, that blue eye suits you.”

Did she really think I had a bunch of women waiting in the wings for a chance at me? If so, she had a lot to learn about me. I couldn’t even confess she’d been my first; if it hadn’t been for the incubus and succubus showing up, I would’ve enjoyed a few kisses, maybe let my hand stray a little if she allowed, and otherwise parted ways without getting to know her intimately.

Could I get away with crawling under a table and dying? Maybe I could convince one of the cops to arrest me. I groaned and slumped in my seat, sending a text message to my godfather to confirm I was among the living.

I still struggled to accept my evening had gone from checking out a nightclub to being influenced by an incubus and succubus determined to liven up the party with the added bonus of the starts of a hangover.

“There’s really no competition?”

The astonishment in her tone embarrassed me almost as much as her implication I was worth competing over. “Can I get away with lying just this once?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m curious now. You look like you’re about to die of embarrassment.” She sucked in a breath, and I felt her hands press against my back. “Wait a second. You’re the son of a lycanthrope. You weren’t infected at birth, were you?”