Dakota Cassidy - The Accidental Werewolf 2 - Something About Harry

“Who are Marty and Wanda? And I don’t think a razor’s going to make a dent in this. I don’t think a case of razors can make a dent in this.”

“Marty the shoe whore and Wanda the peacemaker are the other two chicks in this out-of-control BFF venture to save this shit storm of a world. So what’re you thinking is going on here, Harry?”

“How the hell should I know? You’re the one who’s supposed to have the answers,” he groused, then frowned. Jesus, he was cranky. His normally even temper was fluctuating wildly.

If he’d angered Nina further, she was sparing him with her next words. “You musta thought it was something paranormal because you called a hotline that specializes in paranormal crisis. But, dude, we do clearly state you fucking need to read the checklist, click off your symptoms, and get a determination before you bother us with your trite bullshit, didn’t we? It’s all in bold letters right there on our website’s super annoying front page with all the eyeball bleeding fonts and the big letter X across the picture of the vampires that sparkle.”

Oh, if he was nothing, Harry Emmerson was thorough. “I did just as the site asked.”

“Did you really read the checklist and click all the little buttons that nut Marty put on the website to determine what kind of paranormal crisis you’re in?”

Harry winced in shame as though someone could see him. “I did.”

“And what did that crazy technology say you were, Harry?”

“A . . .”

“Oh, c’mon, Harry,” Nina cajoled on a cackle—one that had a hint of devilry to it. “Be a man here. Please. Because all the other dudes in crisis have been really upstanding and manly. You don’t want to land in the Sissy’s Hall of Fame, do you? You’ll be labeled and that’s never happy-clappy. So spit it out so Nina can make all your supernatural boo-boos better.”

“Other men have had a crisis of this nature?” On some small, insane level, that was almost comforting to know. Of course, that information could all be an incredible hoax on behalf of this OOPS and their muscle Nina. Again, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d missed blatantly obvious cues.

“Men, women—whatever. You name it, we’ve fucking counseled it. Now on with it, Harry Ralph Emmerson. What did the website checklist tell you?”

He paused for a moment, noting a strange hum of vibration in his ears and an even stranger pull of his muscles. It was as if they were trying to force their way out of his skin.

Shaking off the unfamiliar sensations, Harry gritted his teeth and spewed the information the website had given him. “Its determination was that I’m a werewolf. Ridiculous, of course, and I’m sure you’ve all spent hours upon hours laughing about some of the results for these inane assessments. So what I really need to know is, what’s happening to me?” Did he really want to know?

Yes, Harry. A real man would want to know.

He nodded to himself. Right. Grrrr, manly.

“So I got a question for ya and don’t lie to me either. I can smell a bullshitter like I can smell a bag of O neg—even over the phone. It’s all part of the fucking vampire charm.”

“No lying. Swear it, Crypt Keeper. Ask away,” he ground out his assurance, clamping a free hand down on his thigh to attempt to still the shaking that had begun in his calves and wormed its way upward.

“You feelin’ a little like Chewie, Harry?”

Now a Star Wars reference he totally got. He forced himself to say the word from his clenched teeth as sweat soaked his furry brow. “Yes.” May the force be with him.

“You got some big, shiny teeth poking out of your head?”

Gripping the phone tighter in his hands, Harry replied—reluctantly, but reply he did. “Yes.”

“You thinkin’ about swallowin’ a herd of sheep whole?”

Well, not sheep per se—maybe some cattle . . . He rolled his head on his neck then moved it from side to side, noting a sharp crack. “I’m definitely hungry.” Sooo hungry.

“Does your face feel like it’s gonna split the fuck apart and explode into tiny pieces?”

That made him pause. His free hand instantly went to his fur-covered jaw and then he scowled with displeasure. “More cracking wise at my expense?”

Nina snorted. “It’s the only part of this fucked-up job that brings me a deep sense of satisfaction, Harry.”

“So all of these signs mean I’m a werewolf?” he asked, trying to keep the awkward high-pitched keen to his voice steady just as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his pin-striped shirt split open with a harsh rip of material while buttons flew haphazardly, pinging against the steel table he hid under.

“I’m leanin’ toward a big, fat yes, Harry. Wow. Marty’s gonna blow a blond gasket over this shit. Me, Harry? I’m not so excited. We’ve done an accidental werewolf already. I’m bored with shifters who look like dogs, full moon festivals and buckets o’ Nair. I need something more, Harry. A new adventure, ya know?”

“Is boredom going to factor badly for me in your choosing to take this case?” Because he didn’t know how to spice this up enough in order to entice OOPS to help him.

That worrisome thought reeled through his brain as his body began to quake, shivering in ripples of violent, jerking motions. He fought to control it, pushing back with the heels of his feet to position himself against the wall and waited for the voice on the other end of the line to answer.

Nina’s next words brought a small measure of comfort. Really small. “If fucking only, Harry. Look, we need to get this freak show on the road, and if I don’t help you, Wanda’s gonna nag, nag, nag the living snot out of me and call me a heartless biotch. Not that I care, but I have sensitive ears. All her whining makes them hurt. Anyway, the show. So, because I’m a suspicious bitch, and you could totally be full of shite—which, BTW, will show you a side of me you’ll fucking regret you’ve seen when you’re floatin’ around in the afterlife, I need more details.”

He growled his discontent—low—feral. Oh, Jesus. “Like?” he spat, his back arching with a tight snap while his limbs reared upward.

“Like how the fuck did this happen?”

“I don’t know, Crypt Keeper. All signs point to the vitaminwater I drank. It was the last thing I did before thissss happened,” he gritted out, marveling that one’s head really could perform spinning Exorcist -like acts. He knew. Because right now, his eyeballs were looking directly at the wall his back was pressed to.

Oh, hell.

“Harry, vitaminwater?” Nina repeated with a dull tone. “What the fuck kind of lame shit is that? If you’re one of those conspiracy nuts that thinks the FDA’s spikin’ shit with their special juice so they can create a super race of killing machines, just remember, I can sniff you out. I’ll beat yer ass just ’cus I can. Got that?”

As his head did a total three-sixty on his neck, and he was once again looking at the far wall as opposed to the wall he was flush with, he fought a sissy scream of terror.

“No tinfoil hats here. Ssswear ,” Harry choked out, clenching his free hand on the corner of the wall to steady his wildly thrashing legs. The moment passed, and for a brief second, his body was calm.

Stretching his arms outward to ease the tight tension of muscle and skin, he said, “But I do know, this is . . . er . . . what’s happening to me, is very real. If my head flopping and turning around on my neck like one of those bobbleheads is any indication.”

“Shut the fucking front door!” Nina yelped just as the thrum of vibration reentered his body with an intense force of heat.