Read Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) for Free Online

Xavier’s head. “We’re not letting that shrimp into our pack.” Grabbing a fresh slice, he munched on it, glaring at his friend. “And what kind of a name is Howard? Who names their pup fucking Howard ?”
    Xavier poured coffee into one of the three cups they owned, and handed it over. “Doesn’t mean we won’t be nice to him. Keep him on our good side.”
    Curragh shrugged and drank a large gulp. “You’re too nice.”
    “Most people would disagree.”
    “Do I look like a person to you?” He drank the coffee down, picked up more bacon and headed away. “Let’s get going.”
    Xavier cocked a dark eyebrow. “You going to wear that?”
    Curragh laughed, cock swinging as he went to one of the three armoires that stood against the East wall. Matching, they were in the style created before the middle ages. Crude lines, unfinished wood, as though constructed before modern tools were invented, even though these were handmade just five years ago by a local woodworker. The wolves had snatched them up on sight.
    Ripped up jeans, Harley Davidson boots and a black t-shirt later, Curragh went in to brush his teeth while Xavier jingled the keys. “Despite acting like such a primate, you sure do love your pearly whites.”
    Curragh came out wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The ladies like minty fresh.” Off the keys, he said, “I guess fuckhead didn’t take the car.”
    Xavier’s black beard spread wide on a grin. “Who are you talking to here? After the lake? You think I’m a moron?”

Chapter Eleven
    “ I know it’s self-inflicted,” Kara told the coroner, or medical examiner, as Dr. Strathers preferred to be called. “I was there. I just told you that. What about the bruises. The cut on his nose. Did you find any other DNA besides his own? From his attackers?”
    The skinny, scruffy-haired, be-speckled twenty-five year old coroner stared at her blankly. As usual, he stood behind Dr. Strathers. Kara glanced to the kid and frowned as he shook his head.
    “Dr. Peters did the tests himself and the evidence came back clean. They must have had on gloves. In my day people weren’t as wise to how we work here. I blame the media and shows like C.S.I.” He gave her a look like the world had gone to hell in a hand basket. The man was very near retirement and from the times Kara had come into contact with him, clearly longed for that day to come soon. She didn’t blame him, rough job, but it sure was annoying for her to have to deal with.
    She sucked on her tongue, thinking. She turned to Dr. Howard Peters. He was always here, but never talked directly to her. Addressing him now, she forced his hand. “You found nothing.”
    He shook his head, lips tight.
    “Open your mouth!”
    “Uh…no. He was clean.”
    They stared at each other. She had the distinct impression it was a standoff. “Take me to the body.”
    He hesitated. “Uh…sure.” He walked past her out into the hallway with an awkwardness unparalleled.
    Poor kid . She turned to the coroner. “You wanna come?”
    He blinked and shoved his hands into his lab coat pockets. “Dr. Peters can handle it. May as well…” He trailed off.
    With warmth in her eyes, Kara offered, “Why don’t you go do what you wanna do?”
    Dr. Strathers’ white eyebrows shot up. “What’s that?”
    “Go to a nice beach somewhere and enjoy the sun.”
    A wishful glow lit behind his old eyes. He walked over to a folder and aimlessly picked it up, his mind on the Riviera.
    Alone in the hallway, Kara’s thoughts drifted to fantasy, too. To hands sliding down her sides. Hot kisses waking her up in a way she hadn’t been in years. Maybe ever. She was so taken with the memory, it took her a second to register that the man from her daydream was walking straight toward her, his back lit up by the sun from the rear exit. And he wasn’t alone.
    Stunned, she grazed a quick glance down his body, at first not registering he was real. Man did he wear those jeans