I was leaning down, peering at it closely, when I heard the door whisper open, and felt a presence enter the room. A very big presence. “It’s from the Apollo 14 mission,” said a deep voice from behind me, so deep that I seemingly felt it in my own chest. Hell, if I listened close enough, I would have probably heard the glass case rattle. “It’s also highly illegal to own it.”
“I should turn you in, counselor,” I said, turning.
I hadn’t even made a complete turn when the big guy pounced, faster than he had any right to pounce, defying physics and, no doubt, straining his expensive suit to the limit. He was on me before I knew it, turning me all the way around, his mouth covering mine, his hair hanging down all over me. To say that he smothered me would be an understatement. To say that I didn’t love it would be a lie.
It took all my willpower to push him off me, which I did. He didn’t go willingly.
“Down boy,” I said, using nearly all my strength to pry the big lug nut off me.
He pushed back his mane of thick hair. He propped a hand on the wall above me and leaned down. I could have been in the shadow of a giant sequoia. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
I stepped under his arm, ducking, although I didn’t need to duck. I adjusted my shirt and hair, both of which had been thoroughly groped and mauled and pulled by his giant man-hands.
“I had the strong need to be felt up,” I said.
“Really?” He moved toward me again, clearly moved by my romantic words.
“No, ding-a-ling.” I held him back at arm’s length. The thing about dating a known playboy and an alpha male is, well, they have a high testosterone level, and they know how to get what they want. And they’re used to getting what they want. The trick is to make them earn it. Work for it. Beg for it.
But now, of course, wasn’t the time or place for any of that, as much as I liked to see Kingsley beg. I asked, “Do you know a man named Gunther Kessler?”
He blinked...and seemed to deflate a little, which wasn’t a bad thing, under the circumstances. Kingsley all hopped-up on testosterone and adrenaline tended not to be the best conversationalist.
He sighed and crossed his arms and sat on the corner of his oversized desk. I might have thought he was compensating with such a huge desk...but I knew better. The man wasn’t compensating. He was just huge, and growing steadily at the same time. Yes, the big oaf was only getting oafier as the years went on. How big he would eventually get remained to be seen.
“No, why?” he asked.
Unlike Allison and most mortals, I didn’t have a telepathic link with Kingsley and other immortals. That wasn’t quite true. I did have a telepathic link to the Librarian, who was immortal via alchemical means.
Anyway, Kingsley couldn’t read my mind, nor I his, which was probably a good thing.
“He’s a werewolf,” I said. “I think.”
Kingsley raised an eyebrow—an eyebrow that was one or two tweezings away from being a unibrow. “I don’t know all the werewolves in the area. Some, but not all.”
“How many are in the area?” I asked.
“A few dozen of us, but this is also Southern California.”
“Werewolf mecca of the universe?” I said.
“No, but a highly populated part of the country, although you will generally find more werewolves up north.”
“Where it’s cooler,” I said.
“We do tend to be on the plus size,” he said. “So, what about this guy?” Kingsley crossed his arms over a massive chest.
Did I detect a hint of jealousy?
“He’s a killer,” I said. “I think.”
“What do you mean?”
I told him what I knew about Gunther. About talking in his sleep. About the cabin in the mountains. About the killing room. About the feeding.
Kingsley stared at me while I spoke. In fact, I was fairly certain he didn’t blink either.
Just a couple of freaks.