“How did your secret mission go?”
Blaise jerked a thumb over her shoulder, a smug smile on her face. “You’ll have to be the judge of that.”
A handsome, heavily muscled stranger appeared from the far side of the vehicle. He had strong, striking features, sharply framed by a full, neat beard. His tailored black suit perfectly showed off his broad chest and made his shoulders look about a mile wide. The collar of his white dress shirt was undone, displaying a thick, powerful neck.
Must be one of the shifter agents. The guy exactly fit her mental image of a sophisticated, secret undercover operative. He was just a pair of shades away from a Men in Black poster. Or possibly the cover of GQ.
With some difficulty, Darcy tore her eyes away from the man’s astonishing physique. She offered him a handshake, along with a warm smile. “Hi. I’m Darcy Soloman, private investigator.”
His fingers closed around her hand, carefully, sending an electric tingle up her arm. His copper-flecked eyes met hers.
“Yes,” the man rumbled in a shockingly familiar voice. “Know.”
“Holy shit!” Darcy yelped. “Fenrir?!”
“Now that,” Blaise said with deep satisfaction, “is the reaction I was hoping to get. I told you so, Fenrir.”
“Hmph. Still not sure.” Fenrir lifted his free hand, rubbing self-consciously at his newly exposed cheeks. “Had little enough pelt to start with. Seems wrong to chop half of it off. You think it looks silly, Darcy?”
“Guh,” Darcy managed, eloquently. She swallowed and tried again. “Uh. No. Definitely…not silly. Not silly at all. You look…”
Like a billionaire Viking. Oh shit. Now I know how Elizabeth Bennet felt when she first saw Pemberley.
“Great,” she finished. “Really great. Uh.”
She was still holding his hand. This was probably something that she should stop at some point, but her fingers didn’t seem to remember how to open.
Fenrir, for his part, didn’t seem at all bothered by her creepily long handshake. He just stood there, gazing down at her as though she’d been the one who’d undergone a radical makeover.
“Am glad you like this,” he said softly, for her ears only. “Wanted to please you. Even if only once.”
“What do you think, Seren?” Joe draped an arm around Fenrir’s shoulders, breaking the moment. “Cleans up well, doesn’t he?”
“Extremely,” Seren agreed, smiling. She looked Fenrir up and down, from his polished dress shoes to his crisp white shirt, and her eyebrows quirked. “Though it is, perhaps, not precisely the outfit I would have chosen for our current environment.”
“Aw, but it was fun to dress him up.” Joe smoothed Fenrir’s lapels with proprietary pride, like a fashion designer about to send a model down the runway. “Anyway, we got him a ton of everyday stuff too. Here, Fenrir, I’ll grab your bags.”
“Too many clothes,” Fenrir grumbled, as Joe started pulling shopping bags from the back seat. He ran a finger under the collar of his shirt, tugging it away from his neck. “Already wearing too many clothes. Don’t see why needed even more.”
Blaise threw him a mock-glare. “Because, you will discover, humans have this thing called body odor. And I for one am not cutting line for weeks at a time next to a man who only owns one pair of underpants.”
Fenrir lowered his head, looking away. “Not going to be human that long.”
Blaise punched his shoulder, gently. “Yes. You are.”
Chapter 17
At least she wasn’t the only one to be utterly floored by Fenrir’s makeover. When he ducked into the main hall, there was a moment of such profound silence that Darcy was pretty sure the entire crew had stopped breathing.
Then, as one, they all swarmed him, voices raising in a delighted, astonished babble. Hands patted at him, as though everyone was having to convince themselves he was real.
For his part, Fenrir bore the excited hugs and backslaps with tolerant dignity, looking rather like a movie star being mauled by overexcited toddlers. He even ducked his head to allow Edith to run her fingers through his hair. He didn’t smile—facial expressions clearly didn’t come naturally to him yet—but his body language loosened, relaxing.
“All right, all right, don’t crush the poor man.” Wystan flapped his hands, shooing the others back. “No matter how well he may look, he still has Lupa’s drug coursing through his system. He should be treated as an invalid, not a climbing frame.”
“How do you feel, Fenrir?” Edith asked anxiously.
Fenrir tugged at the collar of his shirt again, wrinkling his nose. “Hot.”
“Take this off.” Candice pulled at the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Let’s get