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I really didn’t have the energy.
“When you ask a sensible question, then I might see my way clear to answering it.”
He chewed on nothing, a vein pulsing in the corner of his eye. B less him, little Kenneth Baker
had been brought up to be master of his destiny, a man…the be-all and end-all of his little world. A
world his parents hadn’t anticipated on containing a) werewolves or anything that went bump in the
night, or b) anyone more  intelligent than their son running rings around him.
Absently, I wondered what would happen if someone took a pin and pricked that little vein.
Would he deflate like a—
“Which abomination are you screwing at your father’s office?” he demanded, crowding me in
the doorway. “It’s that bloodsucker, isn’t it? Or is it the fucking dog?”
Forget the pin, he was lucky I didn’t have a meat cleaver. I matched him glare for glare and
refused to back down. I’d learnt that much, working with the guys we recruited for protection work.
Forget your average heavy…we used the elite. Ex-commandos used to living behind enemy lines on
nothing more than fresh air and dung beetles, and who could zero in on a target using mouse farts three
miles away. But those were for the normal  jobs. For the real heavy stuff we used paras…and I’m not
talking paratroopers. Paranormals. People not of the human persuasion.
“You mean Rupert… Who’s gay. And Kevin, who’s mated. Twice.”
Kenneth sneered. “Doesn’t mean he can’t fuck about. I hear that’s  all they do.”
“Says the man whose sole knowledge of anything paranormal can fit on a postage stamp, as
long as it’s a small one.” I smiled sweetly and shoved at the center of his chest. It was like shoving
granite. Spongy granite, admittedly, but he didn’t budge. “A bit like something else we can mention, eh,
Kenneth? Now kindly get lost. I’m busy.”

“You fucking bitch!”
Now in my line of work, you get used to being called names, and given the emotional state
Kenneth had worked himself up into, I expected it from him. What I didn’t expect, though, was the fist
suddenly winging its way toward my face. There is a moment before someone hits you that everything
slows down and time dilates. I think it’s that bitch Fate’s way of making sure you fully appreciate wh at is
about to happen, and the fact that when that fist connects, your face is about to become the epicenter
in a world of pain.
The fist didn’t connect. Instead, the door slammed open and a solid, male body shoved into the
gap between me and it. Kenneth’s punch was caught in a hard hand, one he wasn’t expecting by the
look of shock on his face. I stumbled backward, caught myself on the door as my unexpected rescuer
shoved his face into Kenneth’s.
“I think the lady asked you to leave, meat sack.”
His voice was quiet, but had that indefinable rumble, as if most of it were below the human
hearing threshold, which defined a paranormal. In this case, a gargoyle. I recognized him instantly. Cal
was one of the paras we used for jobs. What he was doing in my apa rtment, I hadn’t a clue. Right about
now, though, I wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“M-meat sack?” The blood drained from Kenneth’s face as he glared up at nearly seven feet of
pissed off gargoyle. At least, I’m assuming Cal was pissed off, since I’d never seen him take on his
gargoyle form in public before. I mean, he was tall as a human, but normally his skin was
less…countertop and a little pinker. The talons were new additions as well.
“Uh-huh,” I supplied helpfully, trying and failing to step around Cal’s bulk in the doorway. God,
the guy was built like a bloody mountain.
“Move your arm down a little, Cal…thanks, chick. Yeah,” I carried on, addressing Kenneth
through the gap between a rocky arm and the doorframe. “Gargoyles tend to view us as rather squishy.
Just meat tied up in a little skin bag. Just last week, Grav managed to crush a