Page 22 of Last But Not Leashed
It also held the world record for fastest acting time.
“That was underhanded,” I admitted, setting the glass down before I dropped it onto the tiles. “Cheater.”
Ethel smiled and patted my cheek. “Good night, Dale. You’ll feel better in the morning, promise.”
I slumped against Jerome, struggling to keep my eyes open so I could glare at her for tricking me.
“Damn, Ethel. That was cold.”
“Unconscious is better than sick. You get him tucked into bed and watch over him until I get the rest of my work done.”
“You got it.”
“Cheater,” I said, determined to get the last word in before the neutralizer and sedative cocktail did its work and the lights went out.
Dan was right. I found Ethel beautiful as a woman, but her sleek, pristine white wolf stole my breath and revved my virus’s engine. It was a good thing I’d spent years resisting my interest in her. It made fighting my virus’s insistence I do some claiming of my own easier. Had she been human, my alphas would have many reasons to be annoyed with us in the morning. I’d be forced to burn their sheets to hide our evening activities, as there was no way to hide the scent.
Worse, first matings had a reputation of being noisy, lengthy affairs. My virus wanted me to find out how noisy we could be, and if I let it have its way, we’d do a lot more than make some noise.
My virus either needed to be leashed or encouraged, and I wasn’t sure which.
While Ethel slept, I slipped out of bed and investigated Jerome’s guest bedroom, discovering one of my gym bags stuffed full of my clothes near the door. Dressing helped contain my virus’s urges, as clothing meant things other than sleep and mating, particularly food. My stomach growled a reminder that I hadn’t filled it in a long time.
I ignored it, got dressed, and took a few minutes to sit on the edge of the bed beside Ethel, running my fingers through her fur. Unlike mundane wolves, lycanthropes could have fur—and hair—of all textures and lengths. Ethel’s silky coat ensured I’d be spending an inappropriate time stroking her.
My fur was thick and soft enough, but hers put mine to shame.
Ethel cracked open an eye and, without any other warning, shifted to her human form, wrapped her arms around my neck, and locked lips with me.
Okay.
I could work with that.
Who needed breakfast—or any other meal for that matter? If she wanted to defile Jerome and Allison’s guest bedroom in the best way possible, I’d accept the unexpected change of plans.
My virus agreed.
She broke our kiss, smiled at me, and flopped onto the bed. Within moments, train-like snores thundered from her. I had no idea what was going on or why, but I needed a cold shower or an excuse to wake her.
I poked her shoulder, and she didn’t even twitch.
I’d heard of sleep walking, but sleep kissing was a new one. I’d have to work on my kissing game, as the next time she engaged in an act of sleep kissing, I’d be ready to wake her in the best way possible. Biting my lip so I wouldn’t laugh at myself and my virus’s insistence I had the right idea, I covered her with the blanket and tiptoed to the door to raid my alpha’s kitchen.
Kitchen raids worked a lot better when most of the pack wasn’t crammed in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. I stopped counting heads at twenty and sighed. “What’s going on?”
Allison bounced to me, stood on her toes, and kissed my cheek. “You’re up earlier than we expected. How are you feeling?”
My stomach voiced its complaints, and I ignored it, replying, “I’m fine, thank you.”
Allison grinned. “Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“We’ll try you on chicken soup. Ethel will murder us if we get you sick again. She finally settled down?”
As I tried to be a gentleman, I’d make certain no one found out about the sleep kissing incident from me. “I assume so. She’s asleep.”
“I hope she stays that way. She got pretty snappy and territorial after Jerome dragged you to the guest bedroom.” Allison evicted several members of the pack from the kitchen and pointed at the island until I snagged a stool and sat down. “We have questions, sir.”
