Page 18 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

“Why do we have dead bodies?” Oma snapped, turning her glare to me. “Again?”

“Two werewolves attacked Lucas and me last night.” I sipped my coffee again. “One of ‘em bit Lucas. Both of ‘em got dead in the process.”

“Lucas got bit?” Oma’s eyes grew wide.

Jason was smirking again.

“Yes.” I nodded, though I wasn’t looking at either one of them directly. “And assface over here said he’d hide the bodies. So, he hid the bodies. Now he expects me to be grateful.”

“I could have just called the cops.”

“Or I could have roasted your ass, too.” I snapped at him. “Then the cops would’ve had three deaths to investigate. What’s your point?”

Jason actually snarled.

“Keep it in your pants, puppy,” Oma warned him. “Why the fuck are your people attacking Lucas and Robbie? Answer me that. I thought we already settled this shit about your quarrel with them?”

“They weren’t my pack.” Jason snapped.

“I didn’t recognize the guys,” I added for good measure.

Oma looked back and forth between Jason and me several times before she responded to what we were saying.

“Who the fuck was they?” She bellowed. “You’re telling me we got another pack of shifters in this damn town now?”

“Seems to be.” Jason shrugged, though the anger was still etched all over his face. “They weren’t my guys, so…”

I sipped my coffee.

“You’re taking this well.” Oma snarled at me from across the table.

“I don’t think we should discuss theories with assface present.” I jabbed a thumb at him.

“Stop calling me assface!”

“Oh, shush.” Oma waved him off. “What do you mean, Robbie? What theories? You talkin’ about maybe we had the wrong werewolves in mind when we was…talkin’ ‘bout what we was talkin’ ‘bout the other day?”

I nodded.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Shut up,” Oma ordered, then her attention was back on me. “Well, fuckin’ hell, Robbie. Why didn’t you come home immediately and tell me?”

“Lucas and I were busy tending to his bites.”

“Amongst other things.” Oma snorted. “I think playing Pass the Pickle ain’t nearly as important as letting me know we got another damn shifter problem on our hands, damnit.”

I shrugged.

“It is what it is, Oma.” I sipped my coffee. “Unless you have a way to turn back time, then—”

“What are you two talking about, goddamnit?!” Jason growled.

“Shut. Up. Assface.” Oma snapped.

Before I could blink, Jason had slid both hands under the table and pushed upward. As if in slow motion, the table began to flip end over end in the air between the three of us. Oma pushed back in her chair, the legs squealing against the linoleum as I dropped my mug, slid from my chair to my knees, and held my hand out towards Jason’s solar plexus. With a force of will, I sent a column of green light crashing into his gut. A loud “ooph” sound emanated from Jason as he took the full force of the blow and he and his chair slid backward until he hit the kitchen counter.

Oma raised her hand to the table in the air, and it suddenly stopped spinning end over end. She glanced at Jason, flicked her hand to right the table, and it landed back on all four legs on the linoleum. The legs of the table squealed loudly on the floor as she sent it towards Jason, effectively pinning him against the cabinet. Jason was grunting in pain again as the edge of the table bit into his sternum, trapping him against the kitchen cabinet. With anger, but also fear in his eyes, he looked up at Oma and me on the other side of the kitchen.