“Well, you’re both a couple of macho dickheads!”
He stood. “Is it still okay if I sleep on the sofa?”
“I ought to make you sleep on the porch!”
He ignored me, just like I expected, and went to the sofa, wrenched off his boots, lay down, and pulled the blanket over his head.
So much for that.
I went to the desk and fired up the laptop. I started a new page and wrote a title at the top: “Ten Ways to Defeat Macho Dickheadism.” Then I realized that most of the world’s problems stemmed from macho dickheadism, and if I could defeat that I could save the world. It made for a pretty good rant, since Cormac and Ben were both refusing to get yelled at in person.
Ben came out of the bathroom an hour later, slightly damp and wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt that he must have borrowed from Cormac. It gave him this James Dean look. Or that might have been the only partially suppressed snarl he wore. I expected him to say something about me actually sitting at my desk and working. The old Ben would have said something snide and encouraging at the same time.
This new Ben just looked at me, then sank heavily into the kitchen chair.
I watched him. “Did you have breakfast while you and Cormac planned your suicide, or should I fix something?”
His voice was low. “I expected you of all people to have some sympathy.”
“No way. I’m a sentimentalist, remember? You’re the bitter, cynical one. I just can’t believe you’d go down without a fight.”
“I’ve already lost.”
I moved to the kitchen table and sat across from him, where Cormac had been. I stared him down. He fidgeted, nervous, and looked away. Ah-ha, wolfish instincts were kicking in. He didn’t try to challenge me back. Good.
“This is what I see: I have three days, plus a full moon night, to convince you that life as a werewolf is better than no life at all.”
“Kitty, this isn’t about you. It isn’t any of your business.”
“Tell that to Cormac. He’s the one who dumped you in my lap.”
“I told him off about that already.”
“You really think he made a mistake, bringing you here?”
He pursed his lips. “I do. He should have taken care of this back at Shiprock.”
Ben had always been there for me. Now, when it was time for him to accept help, he was throwing it back in my face. Well, screw that.
“You know what, Ben? You’re wrong. This is my business. You know why?” He gave the ceiling a long-suffering stare. That was okay, the question was rhetorical anyway. “Because I’m adopting you. You’re part of my pack, now. That means you’re under my protection and I refuse to let you go off and kill yourself.”
He blinked at me. “What are you talking about?”
“Wolves run in packs. You’re in my pack. And I’m the alpha female. That means you do what I say.”
“Or what?”
“Or… or I’ll get really pissed off at you.”
He seemed to consider for a moment. In a mental panic, I wondered whether I could take him in a fight, if I had to back up my oh-so-brave words. He wasn’t yet used to the strength he gained as a werewolf. He was still sick, still finding his feet. I had experience with this sort of thing. The thing was, I didn’t want to have to assert my position by fighting him. I wanted to be able to just talk him into it.
Finally, he said, “Why do I have this urge to take you seriously?”
“Because the wolf inside you knows what’s best. Trust me, Ben. Please.”
“I thought you didn’t have a pack.”
I smiled. “I do now.”