Badger to the Bone (Honey Badger Chronicles #3) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,61
another species. Nothing would shake him because he could change his entire physical being into something completely different.
Then, however . . . he’d seen a listing for grilled monkey in a wine reduction sauce with garlic asparagus and broccoli. When he saw that one could substitute wild rice, he’d snapped.
How could anyone eat monkeys? Looking into the eyes of a monkey was like looking into your own eyes. It was like eating your neighbor. Wasn’t it?
“You’re still here.” Max sat down on the step beneath the one his feet were on, her back against the stairwell wall so she could look up at him. “I thought we’d lost you.”
“Grilled monkey? Really?”
She chuckled. “Jaguars eat monkeys, but that doesn’t mean you need to eat monkeys. You can eat whatever you want.”
“I was just going to get a T-bone steak, but you told me to look at the menu.”
“You need to get used to it. If you hang around shifters, you’re going to see them eat weird shit.”
“What do you eat?”
“Depends where I am. When I was in Italy, I found an amazing badger-owned restaurant near Vatican City that made this”—she closed her eyes, took in a breath, as if she were tasting that meal again—“viper Bolognese sauce that blew my socks off. It was utterly divine. But in Germany, I found this black mamba bratwurst that was just . . . wow.”
Zé held his hand up. “Wait . . . black mamba as in . . . ? ” He shook his head. “When you said ‘viper,’ you meant—”
“Vipers. Cottonmouth, rattlesnake . . . copperheads. Like that.”
“Because honey badgers eat—”
“Whatever we want. Down to the last rattle. And you need to know that and be okay with it.” She patted his leg. “You’ve traveled. I’m sure you’ve tried the delicacies of other countries.”
“Yeah, sure . . . but giraffes? On tonight’s specials they had baby elephants!”
“Okay. First off, those are not from out in the wild. Trust me when I say we are not decimating the wild population of any animal. We have farms and ranches all over the world.”
“How is that better?”
She snorted. “That steak you’re planning to get . . . where do you think it comes from?”
Zé started to argue but quickly realized she was right.
“Everything on that menu is to fulfill the needs of certain breeds. There’s no shame in it, and we give back. Most of the tough bastards that are protecting the world’s wildlife preserves are shifters. And occasionally, those stories about big game hunters being mauled by lions and such . . . that’s usually us. Why? Because we can . . . and because we’re dicks. And let’s face it . . . those guys are asking for it.”
Now it was Zé’s turn to snort. He even smiled. Something he didn’t really like doing unless he had to. “I never got trophy hunting.”
“Who does? Except extreme assholes.”
“So what do I have to eat?” he finally asked. “The rat?”
“The capybara is not a rat; it’s a rodent.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “And the only thing you have to eat is whatever you want. I have to admit, the prime rib here is really good.”
“Where is she?” Zé heard from down the hall.
He looked over his shoulder and saw a stunning black woman running toward them.
“Max! Have you seen a child of mixed parentage running around?”
Frowning, Zé and Max exchanged glances. Mixed parentage? Really?
“Nope.”
“If you see one, let me know.”
“How do you lose an entire child?” a male voice snarled and Zé watched in horror as a massive human being stomped toward them. His hair was white with brown layers under it but he wasn’t an old guy. Just massive. Maybe four hundred pounds packed onto nearly seven feet of thick bones. But he moved like a much smaller man. Fluid and easy as if all the world had been built for humans of his size.
“Zé, this is Bane and Bo.”
“Blayne!” the woman snapped, starting off down the stairs. “My name is Blayne!”
“Whatever.”
The male literally stepped over Zé and Max with those insanely large legs so he could also go down the stairs.
“Bo, this is Zé,” Max said to the man, which only got Zé a grunt in response.
“If more of them make a break for it,” he said, pointing his finger to the very last room at the end of the hall, “grab ’em.”
Max nodded. “Sure.”
Bo started to turn away but stopped and looked Zé over. “Do you play hockey?”