Page 9 of Were-Geeks Save a Kitten

Hard not to respect that in a man. And given the man’s broad Scottish good looks, intelligent green eyes, and pert rear end... Well, now Yordan was the one sporting a hard-on.

He leaned down and took a swig of the beer. Damn, it was good. And the meat casserole? Fantastic.

He dropped down onto the bench where McHottie had been sitting and picked up the plate. The food was welcome, the beer warming by the second, but he didn’t care. Compared to the swill they’d had in the Everglades, this was ambrosia. He leaned back as he chewed, his mind quieting as his food settled. He was clean, warm, and now fed.

This was contentment, so long as he didn’t think too deeply about anything but being clean, warm, and fed.

“It is time for your appointment now,” a sibilant voice said.

Yordan’s eyes jerked open as a translucent alien walked in. The man (creature?) was naked and see-through, except for the remains of his last meal floating somewhere around his right calf. There wasn’t a lot that grossed Yordan out, but that was downright unsettling.

Gelpack worked as Wulf, Inc.’s shrink, though he had no official credentials. The alien had shown up one day like the Silver Surfer, and the higher-ups had given him an office on the second floor. Yordan did his best to avoid the alien, but his opportunity to duck away was lost.

Served him right for loitering naked in the locker room with lunch and a beer. Still, he did his best to escape.

“Crap, Gelpack. Get out of here. Let me get dressed, and we can meet in your office like civilized people.”

“Your appointment time is now,” Gelpack answered. His voice held no inflection. None of the usual cues to help a man read his opponent. Gelpack was a fluid outline of a body with fried chicken in his leg. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Fine,” Yordan grumbled. “What do you want?” He stuffed a huge bite of casserole into his mouth so he wouldn’t be able to answer whatever question came at him.

God, this casserole was delicious.

“What behaviors make an asshole?”

“Wha—?” The word was cut off as he swallowed his food. “What?”

“This word is used often by you and others. There are synonyms if you would prefer to define one of those. Dickhead. Asswipe. Prick. The linguistic obsession with anatomy proximal to the pelvis is well-documented.”

“I know the synonyms,” he grumbled. Then, as a way to delay, he fumbled through a closet in the corner. It was filled with Wulf, Inc. attire, and Yordan pulled on a pair of sweatpants. The clothes he’d worn here would have to be burned unless he wanted the Swamp Thing moniker to stick. Which he didn’t.

Once he was dressed, he paused a moment and pondered his options. He could find some excuse to delay, but Gelpack was well-known for following recalcitrant people everywhere. The bathroom, the bedroom, the middle of a fucking battle. He’d stand exactly one foot away day and night until the “subject” broke. One stupidly stubborn werewolf had started punching the creature. But beating on a thing made of gel was worse than useless. Gelpack absorbed all blows, sealed up all cuts as if they’d never been, and worse, his residue ate like acid on the skin. Fire didn’t even seem to harm him.

Which meant Yordan’s choices were to give in to the creature’s questions or live with a gel shadow forever. Unless distraction worked.

“Did McBastard send you in here?”

“Who is McBastard?”

“McNabb. He just left. Did he send you to me?”

“Alpha Gummy put you on my calendar.”

Oh yeah. Gummy had said he was going to do that. “And he called me an asshole?”

Silence.

“What did he say about me?”

Silence.

Fuck it. He knew this game. He’d used it many times on new puppies. You stood there while they twisted in the wind with delay after evasion. Eventually, they got tired and answered the question.

Which was what Yordan was going to have to do.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Please define the behaviors that make an asshole.”