You Ain't Know

[Greggory Lennox]

"Werewolves are fucking assholes," James said, sounding pissed beyond words. Greggory's gaze flicked around the coffeehouse, half expecting somebody to hear him through the phone. Nobody had. Or if they had, they made themselves look as if they hadn't.

"Can we talk about this later?" Gregg asked. Lately, he couldn't speak so ill of the werewolves, despite everything they had done to him. They'd stolen his mentor for him. They'd turned him. That meant he was one of them. On top of that, he might just have fallen for one. It wasn't something he could share with James. James being one of his hunter partners.

"Am I on speaker?" James asked, sounding hesitant for once.

"No."

But James could still take a hint. It wasn't a good time to talk about the supernatural.

"All right, whatever," James said. "I'll see you later tonight. Don't forget the extra bullets. I'm all out from that last hunt."

"I won't," Gregg said stiffly. After they said their goodbyes, Gregg gladly sat his phone down on the table. His drink had been barely touched at this point. James called just after he bought it and now he had no appetite, not even for a cup of java. He was just getting up to toss it in the bin when somebody bursting into the coffeehouse sporting a large wound on their shoulder. It looked like a dog bite. Or something else.