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They’d lost so many in the past eighteen months. Not all of them died. In fact, most of them opted out after facing ghouls and psycho fairies, monsters of every ilk and mundanes who thought up every stupid excuse not to see what was right in front of their noses. So many of their fighting forces had simply thrown up their hands and called it quits. They wanted to settle down, have families, and not risk their lives on the latest demon doll that caught the public consciousness. Thanks to the internet, new scary monsters were popping up everywhere, and whack-a-demigod got old really fast.
Yordan had considered stopping as well, but unlike the others, he had no one to go home to, no family outside of Wulf, Inc. His mother and older brother were long dead, both from overdoses. He’d never known his father. Even the town he’d grown up in had been sucked into the Wisconsin dead zone. The best thing that had ever happened to him was getting bit by a preteen werewolf who’d thrown himself into horror flicks until he’d become one.
Both of them had been scooped up into Wulf, Inc., and suddenly, Yordan and Coffee (real name Dwayne) had an entire werewolf family. They’d both thrived here, and while Yordan had worked with Gummy, Coffee had joined Nero’s elite pack.
Coffee died a few weeks before the Wisconsin black hole of death appeared. Which meant Yordan had no close friends left except Gummy, who was now calling him an asshole.
Hell, was he a loser or what?
“I’m not going to be a dick anymore, okay?” He didn’t exactly know what he was going to do or how he was going to apologize to Gummy, but he wasn’t going to continue like this. Twitchy, acting out, and never thinking beyond the boom in the next gator mound. He was too old to be acting like a moody teenager.
But what was he going to do? He felt so alone sometimes that causing an adrenaline rush—even a stupid one—was the only way to fill the emptiness.
He finished off the last of the beer. Maybe figuring out what fairy bullshit was going on at the motor pool would distract him for a bit. And while he was doing that, he was going to decide whether it was time to quit Wulf and find a gay bar somewhere. Maybe one in Scotland with a whole bunch of redheads with pert behinds.
He looked back at Gelpack. “Any other questions?”
“Thank you for your time. I will let you know if I require more definitions.”
Oh joy.
CHAPTER 5
And the Winner of the Wet T Is…
Yordan moved quickly upstairs, feeling like he’d been beaten to hell and back. He was too young to feel an all-nighter like this. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone, so he avoided the kitchen and living spaces, heading to the bedroom wing without seeing anyone. He’d lived here for almost two years ages back, and so he went for his usual room, second to last on the left. But in order to get there, he had to pass down a long hallway of emotional land mines.
Nero’s combat pack lived here, and they’d taken the nearest rooms for their own. But before Nero commanded the geek squad, he’d had the slickest, best pack in Wulf history. Or so they’d claimed. And then they’d died in a hideous demon hunt gone wrong.
Yordan had known them, most when they’d come to HQ for initial training. Shit, every inch of the mansion held memories, but the bedroom wing was a barrage of things that were lost, people who were gone, and opportunities that would never come again.
He touched Mother’s door first. That was her handle because she loved to say, “I’m not your mother. Clean up your own shit.” She was badass through and through and could shoot the wings off a fly with her Beretta, but she had a secret love of all things dragon that he’d discovered on her second day in training. Dragon mythology, dragon tattoos, Dungeons & Dragons, and even dragonflies.
His lips curved in memory at how he’d teased her about her obsession, and out of reflex or nostalgia, he tried her doorknob. The door opened easily, and he braced himself to see someone else’s things inside. Any of the new geek recruits, maybe. Or just the bland sameness of a basic guest room.
He winced. This room was occupied by a Star Trek geek, by the look of things. Not to mention the large pile of MCU graphic novels in the corner. Yordan shut the door before he accidentally smashed a cardboard model Enterprise.
He should have just gone on then. Straight to his bedroom and oblivion, but instead, he found himself looking into each bedroom door, to every single member of Nero’s team that had died. He’d known these people, trained and gotten drunk with them. It was only the luck of the draw that he’d been with Gummy’s team instead of with them when a psycho demon had wiped them from the planet.
Pauly’s room was next. He’d been the prankster with a love of magic and mischief. His room was also occupied by a new recruit. At least this guy was a neat one. Freakishly so, by the looks of things.
Across from his room were the adjoining bedrooms for Cream and Coffee. The two had paired up in training and were like one single mind split into two bodies. Cream had been the playboy, and his handle was as gross a joke as any horndog could make. Coffee had been the gambler with so much energy to burn that everyone said they needed a cup of coffee after spending five minutes with the guy. He could be that exhausting. He also had a computer-like brain for statistics and weird facts. Yordan had learned early never to play trivia games unless Coffee was on his team because the guy never lost.
Yordan twisted the doorknob to no avail. When had the puppies been allowed to lock their doors? Then he remembered that Coffee had a magic twist to his door. Yordan didn’t know if it was a mechanical tweak the guy had added or just a freak of door engineering. In order to open it, Yordan had to lift at a diagonal angle and then wiggle the knob in the right way. It took him a moment to remember the exact pattern, but he got it.
And then, like magic, the door swung open like normal. Which was to say it opened halfway because it was blocked by a dropped bag of rocks, of all things.
Yup, the place was Coffee’s usual disaster. The guy could have the room spotless for inspection, but five minutes later, everything went every which way. Coffee carried things with him when he needed them and dropped them when he didn’t. Shorts, tablet, his glasses, or his coffee mug—they ended up wherever they landed, and he’d find them eventually when he next needed to unearth them from the piles.
Yordan stepped in, his heart in his throat. Why hadn’t the room been cleaned?
He looked around at a year and a half’s worth of dust and felt his breath choke off. But underneath the dust were wave after wave of emotion. Coffee had been his oldest friend. They’d woken up together in the Wulf cages down below. That was where they put all the new, out-of-control puppies. Together, they’d found a way to control their animal and had become good men. Not just good fighters for Wulf, but good men.
And now, here was everything they had of Coffee, layered in dust and abandoned like a deserted cabin the woods. It was horrifying, and yet, it felt so damned familiar. Without even thinking, he stepped into the room. There on the dresser was the only clear spot in the room. Coffee called it his payment box for every bet he’d ever made.
The guy once said he had to make a bet once a day or be turned to goo. As of the moment Coffee died, Yordan was $182 in the hole. They never paid up, but they carried the tally into the next challenge, the next bet, or the next drinking game. Except there would never be another because Coffee was gone. Burned to ash, and the pain of that cut like a razor down the spine. Coffee had been the one with endless energy. Coffee was going to outrun, outwork, and outlive them all. He’d even tried to get them to bet on it, but no one would agree. They all thought he’d outlast everyone.
Until a demon had burned all but Nero to ash, and now Yordan had to pay up. Without any idea of what else to do, Yordan rooted blindly in his backpack and pulled out his wallet. He jerked out the bills, pretending to count but too shaky to care. He placed bills one by one on the dresser, while memories of drinking games, midnight drills, and tussling together as wolves burned through his mind. He couldn’t see through his tears, and still, he pulled out bills.
