Amanda Carlson - Full Blooded

“Um, it’s good to be back.” I tentatively made my way into the strange scene of my apartment, followed closely by Tyler.

Danny ran his gaze over me from head to toe and smiled, not bothering to get up from his spot on the floor. “Too bad about the outfit, then. But I’m certain flip-flops are going to make quite a comeback this season.”

Juanita sprang to her feet. “Oh, Chica, es so good to see you!” She ran over and embraced me, and I let her because everything was a bit surreal.

“It’s good to see you too, Juanita, but what are you doing here?” I had to ask.

“After all the loud noises,” she said, “I rush over here to check on what es going on, jus like you told me to do, and I find him here alone”—she pointed at Danny—”and he es so nice and tell me he es protecting jour home for you. I believe him after all the bad break-ins and troubles, so I bring him food because he has none. We are keeping watch together, you see, so now jour apartment weel be safe.” I followed her logic fine, even though it wasn’t even close to what I had told her to do. She could’ve gotten herself killed coming over here alone; she’d been very lucky. I was glad she was safe, but the cloying stench of rotten peaches was so intense now that we were inside I had a hard time concentrating on anything she said.

“That’s great, Juanita, and thank you for bringing food and helping keep watch.” I met Danny’s eye over her shoulder. I arched a single brow. Ignoring the horrid smell was not an option and I wanted to know what was going on.

Tyler cleared his voice behind me. “So everything’s okay in here? Right? No problems that you know of?”

Before Danny could answer, Juanita walked over and started stacking empty dinner plates together. “Oh, sí, everytheen es fine. Nobody or nothing bothered us here.”

Danny grinned as he finally stood, his brown hair falling in his eye. “You two must be tired after such a last-minute trip,” he said, placing a plate onto Juanita’s stack. “I was explaining to your neighbor about your sick grandmother, but she’s as good as new, right? Recovered from that frightful injury?”

“Um, yes,” I said, picking up the thread. “She’s a sturdy old goat, so she’s already back on her feet. Turns out she didn’t need our help after all, so we came home.”

“That’s such a relief, Chica.” Juanita solemnly nodded. “Grandparents are so fragile.”

Danny put a few more dishes onto Juanita’s stack, then bent down and folded the plaid blanket, turning to us. “You two look like you could use a bit of a freshen-up. You know, to get rid of jet lag? Perhaps a shower? Or maybe your teeth need a good solid brushing? And while you’re tending to that, I’ll just help the lovely Juanita back to her apartment.”

I glanced at my brother. His face was stony. Neither of us was going to like what we found, I guaranteed it. “Um, okay, I’ll go first,” I said. “I’m dying to … brush my teeth.” I started toward my tiny bathroom. “And, Juanita, thanks for taking care of Danny. But you have to promise me one thing: the next time you hear any noises, please call first. Or better yet, lock your door and don’t come out. I would never forgive myself if you got hurt on my account.”

“Okay, Chica. I call first next time.” She winked and headed for the front door.

The bathroom door was shut and I eased it open, listening before I slipped inside. The smell was so thick I coughed, covering my mouth with the palm of my hand as my eyes landed on the only place they could possibly go in the small space—the bathtub. There, lying naked and dead, was my super, Jeff Arnold. He looked awful, his pasty skin and thinning hair only accentuating his crumpled pale visage. “Oh my gods.” I pushed my hand tighter to my face. I knelt down by him, and the stinky peach mixed with death made me produce bile. I had no idea what kind of supe he was, but it was obvious he’d been one.

The front door of my apartment clicked shut, then Tyler was crowded behind me, followed by Danny in the now open doorway.

“What the fuck is all this?” Tyler turned toward Danny. “When you didn’t answer your phone I thought that asshole detective Ray Hart put a bullet in your brain.”

“No bullet, mate,” Danny said. “The reason I couldn’t call you is this guy here”—Danny gestured toward Jeff—”broke my bloody phone during our brief interlude. I couldn’t very well leave and go out and make a phone call, now could I? Then I had to deal with your neighbor well enough after she heard all the commotion. Though she makes an excellent pie. It was truly delicious.”

“Danny, what happened here?” I pushed by them and made my way out of the bathroom. I had to get away from the stench. They followed me into the living room. I placed my hands on my hips and turned in a full circle, trying to get my brain back on board with what I just witnessed. “I’m having trouble understanding why my super is lying dead in my bathtub.”

“Well, it’s a very simple story actually,” Danny started. “I was minding my own business, convalescing as ordered by your father. My wounds were quite severe, as I’m sure you were informed—not to worry, though, all shipshape now—when I heard someone sneaking into your apartment as bold as day. He wasn’t technically breaking in, you see, since he had his own key, but nevertheless he woke me out of a perfectly lovely sleep. I’d been dreaming about the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, who are, for the record, a naughty lot of—”

“Danny,” I said sharply. “Please stay on topic.”

“Of course. So naturally I did my duty and came out to investigate the disturbance. Our man was toting a rather large bag of very suspicious goods, and when he saw me he had the nerve to pull out a gun.” Danny infused some outrage. “Which I kindly knocked from his hands as quick as you like, and I was about to break his sorry little neck when out of nowhere he dropped to the floor and began shifting into a bloody weasel.”

“A what?” Tyler and I both balked.

“A bloody weasel shifter the size of a large dog.” Danny spread his hands to indicate a hefty size. “Then he jumped on my back like a possessed little fuck and went after my flesh like a piranha … scenting blood.”

Jeff was a shifter? Never in a million years would I have guessed that. The peach smell, obviously his signature scent, wouldn’t have meant much to me as a human, and he’d definitely stayed clear of me since. He must have had a lackey deliver my new set of door keys, because I would’ve picked up the peach scent if he had brought them himself. But the million-dollar question was, what did he want? And who was he working for? There was no way a guy like Jeff Arnold was a one-man operation. He didn’t have enough motivation in one of his pinky fingers, let alone enough brainpower to hatch a plan to catch a wolf. He was likely recruited for the job or someone had forced him into it. Either way, it shouldn’t be too hard to track down the trail.

“I’ve never heard of a wereweasel before,” my brother said. “And I’m positive I’ve never smelled one.” He wrinkled his nose. “I would’ve remembered that stink anywhere.”

“Well, I can assure you they bloody well exist,” Danny bristled. “But what the little shite wasn’t expecting was a werewolf counterattack, and I’d like to kindly point out that a weasel and a wolf make a highly unbalanced fight. After I shifted, it took me under three seconds to take him out.”

“You shifted? Right here?” I asked. “In my apartment?”

“Of course I shifted,” Danny said indignantly. “I had to shake off the bloody wereweasel who was ripping chunks out of my back with his devilish little claws and sharp, pointy teeth. I couldn’t get the bastard off without shifting. But, of course, that’s when the detective came sniffing around, so I—”