Bane Of His Existence Read online

  Pity, information, seduction. Three great reasons to look her up. After work, Charlie had plans to do just that.

  Two

  Verity finished the meeting with her boss, then sat in her office, plucking her eyebrows. Talk about bushy! In the last two hours, they'd sprouted at an alarming rate. They'd be all right by tomorrow, but at the moment, it was one of her hair problem areas.

  She was glad to be home. Business trips were hell near moon days, and she avoided them at all costs. This time, she hadn't had a choice. Thank God she'd made it back before the moon hit full! The thought of being caught out, in a strange town, made her cringe. It was all she could do to control her shudder.

  Her mind kept drifting back to the guy in the elevator and how stupid she was to curtail her chances of a normal relationship. What if I infect him? What if, unknowingly, she passed on the Were virus to him? There were a lot of things love could overlook, but having your significant other turn into a hairy beast really wasn't one of them.

  Coffee. Lunch. Dinner. None of these commit you to a relationship. Get your shit together, woman. She'd been making excuses for four years now, ever since her first lunar disaster. Now, for the first time, she found herself making excuses to overcome her fears, to toss them away and take a chance. The Were thing's not my fault. I only get hairy at intervals.

  Ask him out.

  Clearly, the best match for her would be another Were, but the last thing she wanted was to encourage her dark side. Even though she classed herself as a good person, with ethics, she could readily admit she didn't expect to meet any other "good" werewolves. It was all she could do when the moon rose to avoid attacking anything that moved. Bloodlust was no fun.

  Be honest. You've been saving yourself. The memory of an elusive, musty scent nagged at her. As much as Verity would have liked to be above the fundamentals, to make sex into an elaborate and romantic sport, the attraction she would feel, whenever His aroma entered her nostrils, was both stimulating and basic.

  And doggy. Wolfie. Disgusting.

  Distasteful.

  It was better if she were to forget Him until the full moon arrived once more. And the best way to do that was to take on a fully human consort, with nothing to hide. It was time for a little passion, a little romantic play. Without such things, she would no longer be…human.

  This thought in mind, she finished her plucking, checked for any more errant hairs, and straightened her skirt. She grasped the first sheathe of papers that came to hand, and on the flimsiest of excuses, took the elevator to nine.

  ~ * ~

  He saw her the moment she came onto the floor. Homing in on her like that wasn't normal. Usually, he tried to tune out extraneous noise and activity and concentrate on his phone caller. Not today.

  She was holding some papers, and scanning the cubicles. Charlie couldn't help himself—he was holding his breath. Please be looking for me. Please be looking for me. There was a chance, slim maybe, that she'd recognized him, too.

  Her hazel eyes alighted on him, fixed, held. She smiled, but it was tremulous, nervous. Charlie had been acting on instinct up till now—only the instincts weren't the ones he'd been born with. They'd been acquired under a full moon, some years back. It was time to dig up the appropriate human responses to deal with this situation. At the moment, though, his mind felt abnormally blank. What now?

  ~ * ~

  Oh my God. Verity stood there, feeling foolish in the extreme, well aware that any moment one of the team leaders would be coming over to help her out. If they asked who she was looking for, or what she needed…

  I got nothin'. I don't even know his name.

  And it was too late to pretend she hadn't seen him. There was only one thing to do…

  Straighten up. Confidence first. Play the part.

  Oh, hell. She couldn't believe she was doing this.

  She headed his way, her gaze focused lightly on her surroundings, doing her best now to avoid his eyes. Her brain was working frantically on a reason to approach him. It was work time. If she hit him up for a coffee date, would that be harassment?

  Oh, shit. It was. It is. Because it's not like he can turn me down. She was management, and as much as she liked to belittle any differences between their jobs, those differences would seem a lot more glaring to him than they did to her. She knew, because it hadn't been so very long ago that she'd been in his position.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Crap. Crap. Crap. And damn.

  ~ * ~

  This is it. The moment. In his dreams, during his howling soliloquies under the full moon, he'd had it sussed. He'd known exactly what to say and how to woo her. All that longing, translated into a passionate night, of…what? Doggie style interaction? And that mating for life thing? Were they still subject to that? Being on the cusp of the moon the way they were?

  Shit! Charlie blushed, bright and red. He hadn't had a response like this in years, and leave it to the Wolf Girl to bring it on. Resentment rose as he realized that some of his co-workers not only noticed her attention, but that she was now headed his way. Add that to his baboon-butt red face, and there'll be enough yack to sustain the team for weeks.

  Good move at a time when I—when both of us—should be keeping a low profile.

  He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. She's got to be the vector—the one who infected me. He could easily picture himself getting close to her—close enough for her to bite him. Why had she come down here, anyway? To find other victims? In his heart, he knew it was stupid, but the irritation and traces of bad temper he'd been fighting all morning resurfaced. When she reached his cubicle, Charlie let her have it. In a rumbly voice that would have better suited a growl, Charlie held out a small dish of snacks he kept in his drawer. "Treat?"

  He noticed her hand shook a little as he poured them into her palm. She put them in her mouth and her eyes widened. She was really enjoying them.

  Charlie, in contrast, was beginning to feel decidedly evil, especially when she exclaimed, "Delicious! What are they?"

  He sighed, then gave her a humorless toothy grin. There's no backing out now. He tugged open the drawer all the way, and showed her the box of Tender Treats. "On days like this? I just can't get enough of 'em."

  ~ * ~

  Verity didn't remember fleeing, but she must have. What she did remember was the ice-cold flooding of her limbs. And the way she'd snapped at the food.

  Her eyes scrunched closed, pained, at that particular memory. She'd snapped at the treats, figuratively speaking. What she'd actually done was grip the drawer open with one hand, and scoop everything out of the dish with the other. As for her exit, she wasn't sure if that was shock, or selective memory. Shame could do a lot to make recollections picky.

  There was no doubt she'd see him again, but she wasn't looking forward to it. Crud, the man practically unmasked her right there, in front of fifty co-workers!

  It's not his fault. It's yours. He just guessed…somehow.

  That, of course, started another panic. Verity checked her knuckles and arms, then drew out the mirror and checked her eyebrows, her face, for signs of superfluous hair. Something must have given her away.

  He knows. She wanted to whimper, realized it was an inappropriate human response, and cowered at her desk, instead, chewing idly on a pencil.

  Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he hates management. Could be he was just trying to show me up.

  Yeah, right, dogfarts.

  No one would be that stupid or immature—not at the office. Or if he were, he wouldn't brag about it until after she'd left his presence, until she'd unknowingly gobbled the doggie stuff, then left for upstairs. In her absence her name would then be bandied around level nine as the world's stupidest manager.

  A feeling of doom settled heavily on her heart. It made her feel positively sick, and tired of fighting, of hiding. In that moment, she dearly wished to toss it all. To let down her hair—all of it—and bare her soul to the world. To preclude any damage he could d
o by beating him to the punch line. Revelation time.

  I can't. She'd gone through it too many times in her head. She could picture it all: her friends, newly fearful of being alone with her, and terrified of leaving their children in her care. No more "Auntie Verity", no more lunches, no more shopping expeditions. Instead, the word would undoubtedly leak out, spreading to blogs and newspapers. People needed to vent, and they wouldn't have the same loyalty to a friend who'd lied to them, even endangered them and theirs. Skeptics would abound, and those who didn't think her or her friends mad would be gun-happy hunters, awaiting wolf day and the flimsiest of excuses.

  Job security? Not a chance. The stigma would be horrible. Everyone would be recalling a violent death in their lives, in the media, and lodging blame. You could counter a lot of prejudice, but the company wouldn't want to be labeled a harborer of cold-blooded, vicious killers, and her personal status wouldn't come into it. Despite the popularity of Weres in fiction, there'd be no popularity here at home. The minute she revealed all, she would become the enemy.

  If he knows, who else does? How the hell did he find out? Were they talking just him, or was he part of a hunting party? Or was it a joke, the dog treats merely a taunt?

  For her sake, she hoped he was merely some crackpot who liked to dabble in the darkside. Though, Lord knows, whatever his story, there was no doubt he was a threat. To my very existence!

  Tone it down a bit… The last smacked of bad drama and women tied to railroad tracks.

  Alternatives. She pored through them, no matter how improbable. The man was attractive, but wooing him wasn't an option. If she were to dump him at any point, he'd become twice as nasty.

  But then you could always blame it on sour grapes…

  Verity shook her head, unknowingly resembling a dog shaking off after a rain shower. The truth was, she could go human, and get all convoluted about this, or play wolf and go for the basics. A growl rumbled low in her chest, lodging deep in the back of her throat.

  Maybe it was time to deal with him, wolf style. She'd never deliberately infected anyone—in fact, had done her best to avoid it at all costs—but it might just be time to prowl on the dark side.

  Whether he liked it or not, she was determined to "chew out" her tormentor.

  ~ * ~

  I am a devil. Charlie felt absolutely dreadful for the rest of the day. Despite her little show of bravado with the treats, he'd stripped her bare.

  He paused for a moment to picture what she would look like bare…

  Stop it, you animal! He'd ripped her cover wide open and left her with no avenue for escape.

  There's always denial.

  Yeah, sure, Charlie. How can she tell you she's not a Were without admitting she understood the implications to begin with?

  I'm a dick. He'd given in to impulse, and on the cusp like this, when he was still operating half in dogbrain mode, impulse bought him nothing but trouble. His mind drifted to the memory of him lifting his leg on the front of the DVD store where the guy had cheated him on his change.

  Grimacing, he made it drift away again. If he were going to remember things, he'd much rather they offer him insight, instead of disgust. His sigh rumbled deep in his chest. If this female was his soulmate, he'd just destroyed his chances.

  Bloody hell!

  "Tough call?"

  Charlie looked up into the face of one Gary Shreever.

  Charlie had worked with him for five years now, yet the guy never seemed to grow up. Even now, he was barely holding back a grin.

  Did I goof somehow? Did he see what I did to her?

  Her? I don't even know her name! Fuck me! He held onto his temper with monumental effort.

  "Yeah." Charlie nodded, then remembered Shreever was monitoring the phones. He could, and did, listen to calls for quality control. He'd know both the duration of the last call, and whether it was "tough" or not.

  Charlie gave The Shreever his best smirk—the one that usually bought him friends. "Naw, nothing I couldn't handle."

  "What'd she want?"

  Charlie looked up quickly, spying the flash of anger in The Shreever's eyes. Ah-hah, so the guy had the hots for the management chick.

  Hey, she's my management chick. Charlie realized he was frowning, and lightened it up. "She thought I was someone else."

  Shreever nodded, but it was clear he was in a bit of a snit. "Saw you give her something."

  Shit! Since when was it wrong to offer someone a snack? "Just some candy."

  Shreever sniggered. "Way to kiss ass, Ascott," he said, emphasizing the "As".

  Fool and a tool. But, Charlie merely offered him a toothy grin. The Shreever must be really hot for her if he was making ass jokes around the office. The guy was usually so keen to move up, he would have licked the boss' boots clean.

  But it wouldn't do to have the man turn on him. He could make Charlie's life hell. "Since it's about the only ass kissing she's gonna get from this direction, let's hope she appreciated it."

  It must have hit just the right note with Shreever, because he howled with laughter.

  Charlie made himself a vow, right there and then, that if anyone was going to be kissing the lady's delicate derriere…it's going to be me.

  ~ * ~

  There was a certain darkness to this kind of double duty that suited her. Oh, it was wrong, and she knew it, but she'd never deliberately infected anyone before. It's self-defense. Time to stick the good-looking idiot in the same boat she was in, and see how he handled it.

  All her years of Catholic school upbringing revolted at the thought, but she had to take some kind of action. She couldn't exactly can his ass, but she could give him a warning, a smirch against his name. She deliberated, but that would mean itemizing what he'd done wrong, or rather, lying about it. Either would be bound to stir up hard feelings.

  He already has those. What did I do to cause it? Ever since she'd stepped into a management role, she'd been treading a wavery line between managing and interacting with her old team. They were all on seven, and a few, like her, had moved up, but things just weren't the same when she went down to visit. They all seemed a bit too jolly, and a lot less open. There was no unity any more, because she was their boss. It was difficult to gloss that over.

  For the last few years she'd been too self-absorbed, caught up in her personal Were troubles, to pay much attention to what was happening in the ranks. It had been all about survival, and getting from one full moon to the next, with no one the wiser.

  But it could be this joker on nine had heard something negative from one of her old team-mates. She thought they'd had a great rapport…but I've been wrong before. She could be hopelessly naive when it came to interpreting people's feelings. She always wanted to credit them with positive thoughts, but not all actions were well-intentioned.

  Like mine at the moment.

  Even considering changing another person into a Were was vindictive, nasty, evil, and would probably condemn her forever. If she did this, she was going to burn, no matter how good a person she was the rest of the time. For all she knew, she might well be creating a vicious killer who would terrorize others. Verity buried her face in shaking fingers.

  At least we can talk. She decided not to rule out the changeling idea, but to relegate it to the backdrop. Knowing it was a possibility would give her the strength to face the handsome and wicked man, with some tricks up her sleeve.

  His looks were half the problem, and she blamed her attraction solely on him. The man was too good-looking for words, and no doubt accustomed to women fawning all over him. He probably thinks he can get away with insulting his boss…

  Or else he knows what I am and was issuing me a warning: there's a new wolf in town. Those doggy treats might have more reason for being there than she'd suspected. His "on days like this" had been very pointed. Post-moon days. When the moon's influence was still there, but waning.

  She shivered. If that was the case, and she were to confront him…

&nbs
p; …there might be an entirely different outcome regarding who was biting whom.

  Three

  He strolled out of the office, idly sniffing the air.

  No good. He'd lost the sniffer gift. It was the only thing about being a Were that didn't have its drawbacks, the one thing he could totally appreciate. If she was still here, or if she'd left and strolled out the door, he'd have no way of knowing now.

  Except…

  He had the sensation of eyes boring into his back, and turned, swiftly, hoping to catch the observer. No luck. Put it down to imagination, bucko. Once a dick, always a dick. Charlie was still feeling pretty down on himself. It wasn't his way to coerce women. He'd never been a bully, but today? One thing he'd discovered—werewolfery added nothing to a man's charm.

  He'd planned to run into her…accidentally…and take her to dinner. It would be worth coercing her one last time into sharing a meal with him if it meant he could clear the air, make things right. He'd been dwelling on it all day. It was only as he was about to leave that he recognized the impracticalities of his plan. He had no way of knowing what time she left. Most of the managers were salaried, and if a situation took a little longer to resolve, so be it. They put in the time where it was needed.

  Discouraged, Charlie plodded his usual route, taking the alley cutting between Curzon and Mayward Streets. It was the fastest way to the train station, with the least congestion. The train was another matter, but lack of congestion, even if slower going, was what he favored when he was in a temper.

  He sighed. Ya'd think I'm always in a mood. Actually, he could already feel his sweeter side returning. It wouldn't be long before he'd be plain ol' easy-going Charlie once again.

  He was halfway through the alley when he knew he wasn't alone. He couldn't say exactly what warned him. Considering the level of traffic noise beyond, a footfall, an exhaled breath, the rustle of clothing should have been lost.