The Werewolf Coefficient (The Outlier Prophecies Book 3)

by Tina Gower

  “Yes, Greenfield. Across from the park.”

  “Okay. Yes. Thank you. Bless your bones.”

  “It’s bless your heart,” I correct.

  “Ha ha, just kidding. I meant heart.” She hangs up quickly. “She said there isn’t a reason why the bus didn’t stop last Saturday. And I should be fine if I’m out there again.” She tosses her phone into the console. “Ha! Take that. I’m a better investigative actuary than you.”

  “You can take my job when they fire me after all the shenanigans you pulled.”

  She reverses out of the parking space. “No. I would turn it down. There’s no oven in the break room, so I’d have to heat everything up in the cancer box and your office is too small.”

  She drives us to our apartment and I carefully dictate my “working from home because I’m coming down with something” letter to Gretchen on my phone.

  Chapter 11

  There’s no amount of quotas that will make a sick day justified, but I vow to go over my assigned limit working from home. I don’t know if I’ll have to fake illness or injury another day if Becker doesn’t wake up tonight.

  After I run out of menial tasks, I call Jared Walker’s family members, which becomes a complete dead end—yeah, bad choice of words. His sweet old grandmother who only speaks Spanish invites me to the funeral tomorrow and out of guilt I accept.

  Will I be bringing my husband? She asks innocently. At least I think that’s what she asked. I agree to anything and everything she recommends. I might have even bought a dozen tamales. Mining the victim’s family for clues isn’t exactly clean, honest investigative technique. Not when I’m doing it off the books and lying to them.

  I cold call each of the Morrisons. Two of the sisters live with the parents and so it will cross off that entire list in one shot.

  I make my voice as neutral as possible. Just business. “We hope to find a way to prevent this kind of accident from occurring in the future. Any help you can give us would be appreciated.”

  Alana’s sister cries into the phone. “We’re so grateful. So very, very grateful. The actuary’s mistake must have been what saved her, right? She didn’t take into account she was Fae. It’s terrible about what happened to the man, but he’s fateless.”

  “Actually, he’s not fate—”

  “Fateless can’t be predicted on, so maybe the oracle saw Alana in the vision and the death and didn’t realize it was two different people. That’s what the sensitive who visited explained.”

  “The sensitive?”

  “Yeah, he’s come by a few times. Brings flowers to my mother and updates her on the case. We’re all so worried that Alana may still be in danger. You know, residual predictions and all.”

  I put a watch on Alana because ripples would be expected, especially if the forecast were changed. Her name hasn’t been mentioned since. Not a peep. Not since that traffic accident that she also managed to avoid.

  “What about your mother or father? Have they noticed anything out of the ordinary? Anyone come to visit to ask about the chance occurrence other than the sensitive?”

  “No. I don’t think…Hey, Dad! Has anyone else asked about the chance occurrence?”

  She lets out an amused breath into the phone. “He says everyone.”

  Right. If his daughter cheated death, I’m sure they’d be the talk of the block. Except…

  “How did people find out about Alana’s luck? No reports have gone out.”

  “Oh, my mother. Beatrix. You know my mom’s Action Ten’s news anchor. She mentioned it during a short segment late last night. She shouldn’t have, but the viewership is so low at her time slot, just other friends and family caught it.”

  My chest aches along with my stomach churning. Last thing I need is media attention on this. I do a quick search. Shit. It’s got a couple hundred thousand views already.

  “Can I speak with your mother, briefly?”

  “She’s at the station. Call in the early morning. It’s the best time to catch her because of her crazy hours.”

  “Actually, if you could ask her to call or come in to the Department of Accidental Death Predictions tomorrow that would work best.”

  Becker stirs. I hear a choking noise that sounds suspiciously like a gag. Shit.

  “I gotta go, Ms. Morrison. Thank you for your time.” I say it so fast my words blend together and I hear her asking for clarification as I cut off the call and toss my phone onto the counter.

  Becker tears off a plastic wrapping with his teeth, pale and shaking.

  I rip open another and shove it under his nose. He takes a huge bite, chewing slowly, looking green. I edge the puke bowl closer.

  He shakes his head, closing his eyes, and muffles a few words in protest.

  “Ian, if you throw up on my bed you’re cleaning it up.”

  He takes the bowl, eating over it. Two more bites and that snack is gone. I open another and keep ‘em coming until he looks more human. Or werewolf. Whatever.

  I unscrew the vitamin water and he takes a swig.

  “Small sips, Ian. Lipski said not to rush it.”

  “Lipski said.” He scoffs and uses the wall as back support. “Where is that asshole?”

  “That asshole rescued you from a Turmoil pack meet and greet. You nearly signed yourself over to them in a drunken stupor.”

  “Dalia. Shit.” He bangs the back of his head against the wall, then winces.

  I want to go further and ask him about his attraction to the woman, but I bite my lip and stop there. If the Turmoil pack had researched Becker, even a little, then they got his profile right. They found the perfect potential mate to tempt him. Tough, yet vulnerable. A project girl that needs to be saved. Beautiful and willing and patient. Determined.

  “I gotta call her. She’ll be in town for the next two days.”

  I muster up a non-jealous reaction, but only manage to move his phone from the nightstand to his lap and scamper out of the room. “I’ll make some bacon? Sausage? Eggs?” I don’t listen for an answer; instead I begin a meal fit for a coronary. Breakfast for dinner. Should be interesting. Unusual. The sizzle and cackle and pop of grease become the white noise, drowning out any conversation Becker might have in the next room and any negative self-talk in my head.

  When I hear my shower turn on and the familiar screech of the pipes, I let out a relieved breath. He’s not calling for Dalia to pick him up and take him to his new pack. He’s here, taking a shower. People don’t take showers in the houses of friends they’re about to walk away from.

  The pack in Turmoil had once been a viable option, before we knew they only wanted Becker for his DNA. Paired with the right mate, his children might be able to shift. Becker wanted no part of that. But I know deep down—I don’t know how or why I know—that Becker is forcing himself to fit in as a candidate there because he thinks I’m done with this arrangement.

  There’s a bang and a curse. Becker guides himself into the kitchen with an arm over his face to block out the bright florescent lights and uses the other hand to feel along the wall for support. He’s wearing clothes he left here months ago, before I’d started the no-sleepover rule. A pair of navy sweats and grey shirt with a hole in one armpit. Droplets of water hang from his wet hair and dampen the neck of his shirt. I reach over the counter, flip off the light and dim the others. He slowly removes his arm, but remains squinting.

  He bumps my laptop and my notes light up the screen. He blinks after the jolt of unexpected light and then scrolls through my progress. He leans in. “How did you get into the bus station? Lipski get you permission to access the employee lounge?”

  I transfer a few eggs over easy onto a plate along with several strips of bacon and links. “Er…not exactly.”

  I see the progression of realization when he pats his pocket; his gaze lands on his badge laid neatly on the table. He glares, looking at it.

  “I had no idea what she’d done. I didn’t know until—”

  He picks i
t up. Sniffs it. “Ali.”

  “She’s enthusiastic.”

  “She’s committed a felony.”

  “A small infraction. Misdemeanor at best. She never said she was a police officer. She just flashed the badge and they assumed—”

  “Fuck.” Becker massages his temples. “What was she even doing over here?”

  “She’s my cousin and you invited her.”

  He gives me an oh-come-on-you-can’t-lie-to-me look—then he frowns because he realizes I’m telling the truth. “I’m never going to drink again.”

  “People always say that the next morning.”

  He pockets his badge and takes the plate I hand him. He sets it on the table, rolling the links around with his fork.

  I fidget with the pans, making myself a small plate for dinner. One sausage, one bacon, a scrambled egg. Toast? Maybe I should make some toast. I set it all up, but the thing’s fried. Won’t toast. Crap, I’d forgotten Ali swapped hers for mine. I pull the pieces out and butter them anyway.

  Becker chews in silence, staring out my front windows at the apartment across from us. Howard’s apartment. He chews his bacon like it’s the ligament of his enemy.

  I scoop my eggs onto my toast and roll it into a sandwich. “Hey, so want to be my date to a funeral tomorrow?”

  “Yeah…wait.” He twirls around with a hunk of bacon between his fingers and pulls it from his mouth. “Date?”

  I shrug, pretending that word isn’t as loaded as I made it sound. “Jared Walker. I did phone interviews today and his grandmother invited me to go.” I prep a bite of egg, balancing it on my fork. “I think we should go.” I shove the forkful into my mouth before I say more.

  “Oh. Right. I’ll see if I can spare the time off.”

  We both eat, weirdly not looking at each other. Well, I’m watching Becker look everywhere but at me.

  He eyes his bacon and sausage. “I should really stop eating meat again. It’s bad for the environment.” Then he shoves a whole link in his mouth like it will prevent him from starting any more conversations.

  I slide my plate away, not really hungry. “Can we talk? It feels like you’re pulling away. Is it because of Dalia? Do you really want to join the Turmoil pack or is it because you’re doing it for some assumption that I don’t want to be pack. Because I do. Want to be your pack.”

  He takes his time chewing, frowning. He swallows carefully. “Substitute pack. That’s what you said. What you always say. A sub.”

  “We talked about that last night.”

  “I was drunk last night.”

  I sigh. “Then I’ll give you the highlights.” I take in a large gulp of air. Fuck it. I can’t go any deeper than I’m already at. Might as well fully submerge. “I can be your permanent pack. It was hard at first. I understand the risks to both of us, but also there’s a huge benefit too.”

  He raises his eyebrows, encouraging me to continue with an expression.

  “Well, for one, I think a lot more clearly. Two. I don’t need my glasses any more. That’s pretty weird, but a neat side-benefit. I can sleep a heck of a lot less after being with you. My concentration is amazing, too. And when you’re at the top of your game and I’m at the top of mine we solve cases like nobody’s business.”

  It doesn’t come out as confident as it played in my head, so I end it with a firm nod of my chin.

  Becker holds his plate with both hands, staring into the mess of protein as if it’s a magic eight ball with the answer to my proposition. The plate lowers and he meets my strong gaze with his own determined glare.

  “No.”

  I pound my fists onto my hips. “No? What does that mean? No what?”

  “I said no.” He carefully walks to the kitchen and places his plate into the sink and goes to my bedroom.

  I follow. “You can’t just say no and not give me a reason. What’s changed? I want to know why this isn’t the best option you have.”

  He turns on his heel and I nearly bump into him. I thrust my hands out to steady myself on his chest and then pull away just as quickly.

  “No is an answer and it’s the only one I can give right now.”

  “Then fine. Don’t talk about it. Don’t explain it to me. Obviously after months of sneaking into my window and copping a feel you don’t owe me anything.”

  “Copping a…Fuck you. I’m trying to do the right thing—”

  “Right thing? Right thing? I have no idea how selling your sperm to the highest bidder is going to be the right thing for you.”

  “Who said anything about selling sperm? I’m not joining the Turmoil pack. And I’m not letting you sign up for a lifetime with me. That is not what you had in mind when this started and I have no intention of chaining you to it.”

  “It may not be how we started, but it’s evolved. You need a pack. You’ve bonded with me. I’m willing—”

  He shakes his head, vehemently at first, then presses his hand to stop himself from further headache. “You’re not willing.”

  “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

  He shows his teeth, fists clenched. He leans into me. “How can I not tell you? You obviously don’t have a clue what your body is telling me right now.”

  I look down, uncross my arms. Gently lower my shoulders from my ears.

  He paces, scratching his neck vigorously. “And what am I supposed to do the next time this arrangement is inconvenient for you? You’ve already pulled away once and I let myself go too far. This is my job on the line too. Yours if you get caught, mine if I don’t regulate myself and keep it that way.”

  “We’ll work out a contract—”

  He doesn’t listen. He continues to pace, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his palms to the side of his head, like he’s blocking out something unpleasant.

  I rub my arms. It’s not the direction I’m willing to go, but maybe it’s time to mention the awkward duck wobbling in the room. We’ve avoided it for too long. “Okay. You mentioned body language. I know you can scent pheromones too. I’m not stupid. I know you can smell my attraction to you.”

  He stops, facing me head-on. His eyes glow. He stands there shaking like he’s holding himself still when he physically needs to keep moving.

  I take a small step toward him. “For one, I don’t know how you feel about us. But mostly I pulled back because I was fateless. Because statistically werewolves do better with other werewolves. It’s a proven fact. We have no guarantees that you being with me in any capacity is going to eventually harm you or me.”

  There’s a long pause a silent stillness where I immediately regret my words. He crosses his arms, letting out a long breath that does little to calm him. He doesn’t say anything and that adds to my lack of comfort.

  “Are you telling me how to feel?” he says it in that soft dangerous way. Somewhere between eminent peril and seduction.

  But I won’t let him intimidate me. I stand straighter. “No. I’m telling you why I pulled back.”

  We have a stare down. I don’t look away. He hates it when I don’t make eye contact. He’s the opposite of every other wolf, ever, according to Ali. But it also makes him unpredictable.

  I inch forward. “I’m willing to take the risk to be with you. More than pack.” One more step. Then another. I’m well within touching distance; there’s a few centimeters gap between my body and his. “Well?”

  His eyelids lower, but the hooded effect does nothing to mask the golden glow. He leans slightly, bowing his neck, the motion subtle. It’s as though he either is unaware he’s doing it or he’s afraid of scaring me off. Our lips align. It would take a slight movement either from him or me to touch.

  My heart pounds. My skin breaks into a chilled sweat. It’s not a kiss that concerns me, but that I might not stop. And as much as I want it, I know neither of us is emotionally ready to go that far. I’d rushed into it before. With Kyle. I thought too much about what I physically wanted and where I was emotionally and not enough to care if he was at the same
place. He wasn’t. But Becker…

  I slide my arms to the back of his neck pulling him to me the rest of the way. One brief peck at the side of his mouth, not quite touching his lips. I ease back, but his arms wrap around me and I don’t have anywhere to go. I slide my arms from behind his neck to his face, holding his head between my hands. We both move forward this time. Foreheads touching.

  My fingers massage and play in his hair. His palms flatten on my back and push our chests flat against each other. He smells like my body wash and cinnamon. His breath is shallow and he’s relaxing into me.

  I tilt my face. A soft brushing of lips against lips.

  He jerks back, startled. It wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. I stumble back, my hand flying to my mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  Don’t cry, Kate. Definitely do not cry.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. He shakes his arms like he’s getting the feeling of me off his skin. He paces.

  “I make poor choices.” My voice cracks. I swallow, regaining control before starting again. “I thought you wanted what I wanted. I clearly misread this.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t get it.” He continues pacing.

  “No. I don’t.” Now I’m shaking. “I’m obviously not very savvy when it comes to werewolves.” My laugh hitches in my throat. It’s more like a sob.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you.” He takes a long shaky breath. “It’s because I do.”

  His words don’t help. Not a bit. If he meant them he wouldn’t be across the room.

  He covers his face. “It was easier when I thought you didn’t want this.”

  “It’s the pheromones or hormones, or whatever.” I nod as though I understand what he’s saying. He wants me physically, but not to have a relationship with me. His instincts want him to burn off excess energy with sex and I’m the most convenient candidate. “From being a lone wolf.”

  “It’s not that. I’m part of a pack as far as my body is concerned. That’s been true for weeks now. Months actually. The urges would have stopped. This, whatever this is, we can’t blame it on that.”