Page 52 of Murder Mittens

It took more than hot coffee to kill the lycanthropy virus outside of the body, and if I got proof he was contaminating something like a drink, I could flatten him in the coffee shop, call the cops, and be done with it—and get paid.

The wolf looked me over, and his gaze settled on my chest.

My virus’s ire stirred, and she wanted me to put the idiot wolf in his place.

I needed to catch him being even more of a jackass, so when I took him down, nobody would question why he’d gotten his ass handed to him. Between my status as newly mated and on the job, if I got a little blood on my hands, as long as the blood didn’t get near anybody else, nobody would care.

“I’d like to offer you a lot more than a coffee.”

Hell no. Rather than scowl and give up my ruse, I made a show of considering him. “Let’s start with the coffee and your name, then.”

“Donald. You?”

“Christine,” I replied, grateful I’d used the name so much while working customer service I didn’t even have to think about it. Everyone in the coffee shop would laugh if they heard my real name, anyway. I adjusted my grip on my phone and played at putting in a contact. “What’s your phone number?

He gave it to me, and I pretended to plug it in while recording his behavior.

“How is a gorgeous little thing like you still single?”

Normally, I’d inform him my bad attitude and scarred face tended to do the trick, but I wasn’t single anymore, and I needed some more time to get used to that. If he wanted to call my makeup skills gorgeous, I’d preen that my artistry with foundation, the right tools, and some time did a good job of tricking idiot wolves. “The unfair nature of the universe, I suppose.”

“I could change that for you.”

Had I been a regular human woman, infecting me with lycanthropy would definitely change my situation. “Let’s start with coffee,” I repeated, and since he expected me to be interested in him, I smiled. In reality, I wanted to throw up, clean my mouth out, and demand Sebastian adjust my attitude—and scold me for even talking to the asshole wolf—in a mutually beneficial fashion.

“Black. You like it large?”

Gag me. Killing and putting me out of my misery would suffice, too. “Please.”

Fortunately for me and my flagging sanity, the barista called the asshole wolf up, and I stepped out of the line, trusting he’d order me a coffee. And, as I wanted evidence if he decided to tamper with the drink, I’d be able to. I expected he’d cut his finger and drop some blood into my cup, which might be enough to infect me should I drink the coffee. In reality, if I caught him in the act, I’d pop him in the nose, beat him until he stopped fighting me, tie him up with his own shirt, call the cops, and have them drag his useless ass to the CDC.

Video evidence might even land me a bonus.

While he waited, he paid attention to the barista rather than to me, and I caught a clear image of him toying with his thumb with his nail until a drop of blood welled up. A matured lycanthrope would heal such an injury in moments, and he kept fiddling until there was plenty of blood to make a mess of my drink.

How disgusting.

While I made it appear I played on my phone, he fetched my drink, and sure enough, he handled it in such a way his bleeding thumb hovered over my drink, which lacked a lid and wouldn’t until he put one on it. He did, generally masking my view of his thumb from sight.

My phone, however, captured his blood splashing into my drink before he put the lid on it.

Fucking. Asshole.

I stopped the video, put my phone in my pocket, and flexed my hand, waiting for the best moment to strike. He brought me the doctored coffee with a smile. “Here you go, one black coffee just for you.”

I took the coffee, smiled back at him, and set the coffee on the counter.

Then, because I was a bitch and wanted the entire coffee shop to know it, I drove my knee right into his groin, waited for him to double over, and slammed my elbow into the back of his neck. As that wouldn’t keep a lycanthrope stunned for long, I aimed my second elbow strike for his temple. That got him onto his hands and knees, and I grabbed the back of his shirt, pulled it up over his head, and began the serious work of transforming him into a living pretzel. “Hey, lady,” I called out to the barista, who stared at me with wide-eyed shock. “Call the cops. This asshole is wanted on grounds of spreading the lycanthropy infection, and tell the police dispatch I have infected evidence they’ll need to test. I work for the CDC.”

The idiot, asshole wolf groaned, and I stepped to the side before giving him a solid kick to the stomach to keep him down.

“You work for the CDC?” the barista asked. “I should tell them that?” I appreciated she didn’t question my claim much, and she picked up the shop’s phone to call as requested.

When on an authorized bounty, I did, and I even had a card in my wallet to prove it. “Sure do.” I pointed at my coffee. “Don’t touch that unless you want to be infected with lycanthropy. And if someone could see if that young girl is around and she’s okay, that’d be great. And no, she’s not related to me, I have no idea who she is, but I wasn’t going to let some asshole try to infect her with the virus.”

“But what about you?” the barista asked. “Won’t you be at risk?”

“I’m already infected, so don’t you worry about a thing, ma’am.” I smiled, and I kicked the asshole wolf because I could. “Request neutralizer, however. He cut his thumb to bleed in my cup, and there might be some on the floor. Just watch your steps, folks. Sorry for the disturbance to your morning.”