respect him either, but it was hard not to when he treated women like people and not sex objects created for his personal gratification.
Unlike our visit to Garou, no one spared us so much as a glance as we walked the main aisle. They were too busy getting high, rocking out, and having sex against trees, up trees, beneath trees, and anywhere else but on their cots in their tents. A moaning, writhing mass caught my attention in the center of the circle made by the tents.
The star of the show was a very buff, very handsome, very well-endowed young man busy plowing into a woman from behind while she mewled like a bagful of kittens. Other women surrounded him, offering him their breasts on their palms and other things to feast on until his spine snapped straight, and he roared.
I expected—no, I hoped—that would be the end of it, but he only motioned for that woman to roll aside to make room for the next.
Unwilling to stand too close, I called out, “Can I have a moment of your time?”
“It’ll take me longer than a moment.” He shoved the eager woman away and patted the flattened grass he’d cleared in an invitation for me to join him. “I’m willing to put in the effort, though, for as long as it takes.”
“I’m Hadley Whitaker, with the Office of the Potentate.” I let that sink in. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure.” He wet his lips as his gaze slid down my body. “We’ll talk in my tent.”
A dangerous rumble poured over my shoulder, but I couldn’t blame Bonnie. This was all Ford.
I leveled a hard stare on him, and he quit, but he didn’t look happy about it.
Territorial males. They’re so cute. Except not.
“I appreciate the offer, but I forgot to pack Lysol.”
Rising to his full height, Mendelsohn scratched his left butt cheek. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Nothing at all, stud.
Disinfectant spray probably wasn’t strong enough. Bleach might work. A hazmat suit would be ideal before entering his lair. Even then, I bet everything crunched underfoot.
“It’s a beautiful day.” I indicated the nice paved road away from his tent. “Why don’t we take a walk?”
“All right.” He glanced back at the woman he’d slighted and winked. “Gotta hurry back, though.”
“Yeah.” I ignored the daggers she threw at me with her glare. “I can tell you’re a busy man.”
The next spokesman for Energizer, folks. He might not be a bunny, but he was breeding like one.
Once we hit the road, I got to the point. “Do you know a woman by the name of Shonda Randall?”
“She pack?”
“Not your pack, no.”
Thinking, he started scratching other things. “Did I meet her at a party in the city?”
“I’m not your secretary. I don’t know your social calendar.”
“Do you know your hips are ripe for childbearing?”
“I’m not the maternal type,” I said, barely suppressing a shudder at the thought of my own mother.
“God put you here to bear fruit,” he said to me, but then he spoke to Ford. “Is she not fertile?”
Pretty sure Ford would have dug a hole and climbed in then raked the dirt over the top of him had a shovel been handy. He looked ready to shift and use his claws. He didn’t know me all that well, but he had seen my handiwork, and he had to know I was itching to leave Mendelsohn with a sample.
Hot and tired, and way too close to an aroused nudist with no concept of personal hygiene, I stuck out a hand, and Ambrose obliged, allowing me to draw one of my kopis blades. I doubted I needed the other. I held the tip to Deric’s throat, and he attempted to swat the sword aside then acted shocked when it cut him.
“What is your problem?” He cleaned his hand on his thigh because that was totally sanitary. “Your man needs to teach you some manners.”
“I tried polite, and it didn’t work.” I held the weapon firm. “Do you know a woman by the name of Shonda Randall?”
“No? Maybe? Who can tell?” He flung out his arm, encompassing his harem. “A woman is a woman.”
“From what I can tell, your little head got all the brains, so let me break this down for you. Shonda was a member of the Atlanta gwyllgi pack, and she was murdered. Right now, a warg is our prime suspect.”
Eyes widening in comprehension, he examined the wound on his hand. “I’m a warg.”
“I’m done