Bat and the jack, p.4
Bat and the Jack, page 4
It’s comforting.
It’s also a little bit attractive.
There is some cosmic thing, some impossible-to-decipher pull, binding us together.
“Explain to me how a grown man can morph into a gourd.”
“No. I can’t, and I won’t. It can’t be common knowledge, so forget that you even saw that.”
I take in the pumpkin guts still scattered across the lab. “Unlikely to happen. I need to know how to deal with this in case we come under attack.”
“Agent Vera, my predicament is none of your concern.” He continues, spewing all kinds of scientific terms that go way above my head. Maybe if Mila was here, she’d understand.
I lift a hand. “Okay, Jack. Enough with the blabbering. If you don’t tell me what the hell happened here, I’ll grind you up for my next latte.” You’ll be delicious; I just know it.
I think my comment is hilarious. He does not.
Jack pushes his glasses up his long, slender nose, the brightness of his gaze burning through the thick lens. “I’d prefer if you called me by my name.”
“Which is?” I already forgot it. I dub him Jack, and he will forever be known as nothing else in my mind.
Jack, the Nude King in the Pumpkin Patch.
“Norbert,” he reminds me uselessly.
“Right, well, don’t get your plaid in a twist. Explain the pumpkin thing.”
“It’s late. We should get to bed.”
“I’m nocturnal,” I snicker. “It’s basically early morning for me. I’ve got all night to chat.” I smile at him sweetly.
His scowl isn’t sexy at all. Not even when that stubborn forehead tendril quivers from his annoyance.
“Come on, Jack,” I tease, hopping onto the counter. “Tell me how you became the Pumpkin King.”
7
Norbert
Agent Vera Slaski hops onto the stainless-steel counter, crosses one leg over the other, and props up her head by cupping her cheek. Her perfect Cupid’s bow, painted pink and glossy, turns up into a smile.
Do not be pulled in.
Her eyes are a shade of hazel that flirts with amber and emerald. Every time she blinks her long inky lashes, I get a new color show that makes me want to lean in and study her.
She’s an agent. A shifter.
I. Do. Not. Trust. People.
Her brown hair is short, barely brushing against her shoulders, but it’s thick and a shade so rich it reminds me of melted chocolate. I want to bury my face in it and take a whiff. I bet it smells better than any damn thing in this world.
Stand the fuck down, Norbert, you absolute perv.
After everything that’s happened with Lisbeth Bannon and Vitality Holdings, I am definitely not ready to trust another human.
Or another shifter, as this case may be.
I’m not about to spill all of my secrets to an agent that will have to report everything I say to her superiors.
There’s every chance that I’ll be charged and jailed if FUC and the Cryptozoian Council ever figure out just how involved I was with all of the testing and research.
As noble as I was raised to be, I don’t have a burning need to be locked behind bars because of an experiment gone wrong.
It’s not like I hurt anyone. Only myself—and a few pumpkins.
“You really won’t tell me how you came to be a pumpkin?”
“No.”
“But what if it’s information I need to protect you?”
“It won’t be,” I assure her.
“Well, at the very least, tell me what I need to do if you do turn into a great big veg again.”
“Pumpkins are fruit, actually,” I mutter. “It’s a seed-bearing fruit. Not a vegetable. To the point, it’s a gourd, which in tu—” I stop blathering when I spot the grin on Vera’s face.
By rakes and hoes, she’s lovely.
That’s a dangerous thought.
I can’t stand there, melting and going all gooey for the FUC agent here to defend me should Vitality Holdings send a hit man or six. Not when I have to keep so many things secret.
But she already knows one of them. What’s another?
Nope. Not happening.
Vera Slaski, with the pretty lips, lush hair, and shining eyes, is definitely the last person I will—can—trust.
“I have quite the imagination, you know,” she says. “I’ll just make up something.” She taps her chin, scrunching up her button nose in a cute way that has my male equipment perking up. “When a mommy pumpkin and a daddy pumpkin grow in the same patch—”
“I beg of you, stop.” I rip my glasses off to pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Once upon a time, there was a botanist. He grew all kinds of gourds. One day, he noticed that—”
“It was an accident,” I grumble, and Vera finally lapses into a beat of silence.
“You accidentally turned yourself into a gourd?”
“Well, yes and no. I was doing some minor experiments, and things got out of hand.”
“So you don’t have a full family growing in that garden then? You’re a real boy, Pinocchio?”
“I’m a real man,” I amend because let’s be real. Vera saw me in the nude. If she thinks my hardware isn’t all man, maybe she didn’t get a good enough look.
Maybe I need to remedy that.
Fascinated, I watch as an adorable blush creeps up Vera’s cheeks. She tucks her brown hair behind her ears, her hand landing at the base of her throat.
“I can’t give you any more details than that.” My voice is gravel and sand. I can’t stop staring at the pink hue of her lovely face.
“And so you explode every time you shift back into a human?”
I tense. “Not quite.”
“I get the sense that you don’t trust me. I understand, I do. You don’t know me, and obviously, if you need protective custody, it means that you might have some paranoia.”
“I’m not paranoid.”
“Right. Well, I was a lawyer before I became an agent. How about we operate under the pretense that we have attorney-client privileges? Whatever you share stays between the two of us.”
“Unless I murder someone,” I shoot back, throwing her earlier words back at her.
“Exactly. Though, if there is a threat, please let me deal with that. I’ve got a license to kill.” She winks, and I swear, all the oxygen whooshes out of me.
No. Nope, Norbert. Avert your eyes. This siren is not for you.
“What kind of shifter are you?” I ask in hopes of turning the attention away from myself.
“Vampire bat,” she answers with a shrug. “Mini but mighty, I assure you.”
“A vampire bat?” I repeat.
“Yep.”
“So you’re about this big when you shift?” I cup my hands where a baby bird could easily nestle.
Vera nods. “Like I said, mini but mighty.”
“And what if my enemies send a rhino or a bear? You’ll duke it out with a huge, hulking predator?”
She leaps off the counter and stalks toward me. Vera isn’t short, but I’m tall. Her head reaches just above my chin, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to be intimidating. She jabs a finger into the center of my chest before pointing it at me.
“Listen here, Jack. I’m a predator. I have to drink blood every day to survive. I’ve got the sharpest incisors in the mammal world. My saliva has some anticoagulant particles. If I wanted to, I could bleed a one-ton bear dry in a matter of minutes.”
For the first time in my life, anger and attraction get confused. Vera pokes my chest again. This time she keeps her finger pressed into me. The touch, reprimanding as it is, has no right being so damn sexy.
It is.
My dick notices all kinds of things about the batty lady.
There are gold and amber flecks in her eyes, and her brown hair shimmers like strands of cooper. Her lips are full and pink with the sweet scent of cotton candy. If I crushed Vera into my arms, all our good parts would line up and touch in a perfect greeting.
“Anything else you wanna say, pumpkin?”
“I’m going to bed,” I announce.
Vera’s gaze flashes, and her breath hitches. Or maybe that’s my imagination. There’s a tiny possibility that I’m attracted to the FUC agent.
That means I need to be a dick, set up some solid boundaries, and make sure Vera keeps her distance.
Should be easy enough for me to manage, given that I very rarely interact with other humans. They don’t call me the Reclusive Botanist for nothing.
“We can have this whole night and day thing down. You do your guard duty thing while I sleep, and then I’ll take the daytime hours. There’s no need for us to interact at all.”
I don’t miss the hurt and disappointment that plays across Vera’s features.
Okay, so maybe I’m not that comfortable being an ass with Vera Slaski, but that is exactly why I have to do it.
The last time I was pulled in by attraction, things didn’t end so well for me. Or for the environment. Or for the entire human race.
“I’m gonna clean this up and hit the hay.”
Vera makes her way out of the lab without looking back. If the basement wasn’t soundproof, I would most likely hear her pacing the floor above me as I wipe down the floor, counter, and cupboards of pumpkin. Hell, some even found its way up to the ceiling. I probably spend too much time cleaning up my shifter mess, but better that than another charged exchange with my keeper.
It’s nearly midnight by the time I climb up the stairs. Vera is nowhere to be seen, and I assume she’s gone to take a lap around the property.
Good.
It’s better that way.
I complete my nighttime ablutions playing a new game: thought ping pong.
Every two seconds, an image of Vera pops into my brain, forcing me to lop at it. But it bounces back, gathering speed and clarity while I brush my teeth and change into a pair of pajama bottoms. I close the bedroom door behind me before Vera can return from whatever agent business she’s taking care of.
Even if she is an agent, I don’t feel right making her sleep on the couch. It’s not exactly the most comfortable surface. Maybe we can share the bed.
At the thought, my dick stirs and starts to thicken, but I knock the thought far away.
Ping.
It whips round right back at me, whipping my brain as if I were playing against a pro.
Not share-share, I explain to myself like a true squash-brained dude. We won’t be in bed at the same time.
Since I’ve already established that Vera can keep her nocturnal hours, we can both use the bed. At different times. Not together.
Not even if she finds a way into my dreams. I’ll ping pong that to the depths of hell before I dream of Vera Slaski.
8
Vera
As it turns out, babysitting a grown man is boring.
Even if said grown man is a complete dish.
Even if the complete dish turns into an enormous pumpkin.
Of all the damn things to shift into, a large orange gourd is the last thing anyone should want to morph into. Jack indicated that it happened by accident, but I’m not clear how that can even happen.
Granted, I’m no science buff, but it seems to me that I’ve walked into Frankenstein’s lab. Only instead of creating a dude out of decomposing bodies, Jack has turned himself into a Halloween cartoon character.
I want to ask more questions, but he has managed to dodge me like an expert in the last twenty-four hours. As soon as I woke up, he went to bed.
He wouldn’t use my nocturnal hours to avoid me.
I made sure to get to bed early when the sun was still up, so I would have a few hours with my charge.
No such luck.
I shifted on the super uncomfortable couch, and Jack rushed to the bathroom. The shower kicked on, and before I even got a chance to imagine what it would look like to see Jack under the spray of hot water, he hurried by in nothing but plaid pajamas, slunk down on his hips.
He did that on purpose.
Or that’s what I’m going with.
He has to know that the material stretches over his bubble butt.
He’s got to know that the V disappearing into the waistband is made to scramble lady bits and brains.
Jack won’t be able to hide from me for much longer. My severe sun allergy makes it difficult for me to change up my hours, but dusk isn’t too painful. The man can’t go to bed at seven and expect me to believe that he’s in there catching Z’s already.
Since our tense conversation in the basement lab, he hasn’t said much to me.
“If you keep your nocturnal hours, you can have the bedroom while I’m up and about.”
That was it
It was also clear as day the man wanted to avoid me.
It couldn’t be easy, sharing his small cabin with a stranger, but we didn’t have to keep on walking on eggshells around each other. Who knew how long it would take for FUC to complete their investigation into whatever Jack was mixed up in? Who knew how long it would be for his testimony to be needed?
I could be here for weeks. Months.
The man had to get over himself and get used to it.
To me.
The sun is still pretty high in the sky when I force myself awake. My head is woozy from lack of blood. I haven't had a sip of the stuff in days. I can only stomach it in my bat shape, and even then, it’s hard to hunt. Harder to stomach the thick, life-giving liquid. Harder still to take back my human form without needing an hour-long shower, a gallon of antacids, and a liter of mouthwash.
There’s nothing for it, though. I’ll have to hunt some poor creature down tonight to get at least a teaspoon of blood.
The last thing I need is to be off my game because of my aversion to blood. That would hardly endear me to Director Cooper. Especially if we come under attack.
Psyching myself out for the gross meal, I get dressed, slipping on a pair of fuchsia leggings and a pale pink tee. Tucking my elongated bob into a half-pony is a challenge, but I don’t waste precious time coiffing myself.
I am no longer a lawyer who needs to dress for success.
I am an agent. The rules are very different but so liberating.
I almost understand Raya’s unaffected attitude. Almost.
“Good evening,” I keep my tone chipper and friendly when Jack enters the cabin a few minutes later.
His graying black jeans are dusted with dirt, as are his white tee and green plaid shirt. His glasses, perched on the tip of his nose, are just as filthy. A streak of mud along his cheek matches a few others down his sinewy arms. I force air into my lungs, demanding that my brain settle.
Don’t get your wings in a twist, V. He’s only a dude. An everyday kind of dude with super sexy black curls and an ass that I could use as a chew toy.
Whoa.
The last thought is startling, making me squeak.
Weird. So weird. I definitely need to ingest some blood before I become a danger to Dr. Norbert Jack Palomer.
“You’re up,” he grumbles, walking straight for the kitchen. He turns the tap on and scrubs his hands and forearms in the huge white sink. The soapy water glides over his muscular arms as he turns back to give me a once-over.
I lean against the wall and watch him wash his skin raw. “I’m up. I think it’s ridiculous that we’re avoiding each other like the plague. This is a very small cabin, and who knows how long I’ll be here?”
Why did I frame that like a question?
I take a deep breath and try again. “We should try to be civil.”
“Civil.” He repeats the world like it’s a completely foreign concept to him.
“Yup. You know, talk, maybe share a few meals. Maybe even get to know each other.”
“No, thank you.”
My jaw drops. “What’s with you? I get that you have this whole quiet, broody farmer thing down, but I’m gonna go insane if I don’t have some kind of human connection in the next few weeks.”
Jack grabs a towel and dries his hands before balling it up and throwing it onto the small kitchen table. “I’m not used to having someone underfoot.”
“No. Ya don’t say.”
He purses his lips. “I’m also not accustomed to long-winded conversations.”
“Or conversations at all,” I volley back.
His eyebrow hooks this time, and there’s the suggestion of a smile on his lips.
“I get that you’re a secretive dude. You’re gonna testify against a big evil corporation. I understand that. Only, I don’t, because my superiors didn’t exactly give me a lot of details and you haven’t been forthcoming.”
“You already know enough to seriously screw me over.”
I frown, confused. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a pumpkin, Cinderella.” I draw a cross over my heart before pretending to zip my lips. “I’m guessing you’re sketchy about it because if FUC or the Cryptozoian Council found out, you’d face some serious repercussions.”
He nods, his entire body tensing.
“If we both want to get out of this with our reputations intact, we need to work together. I call for a truce.” I hold out my hand, but Jack looks at it like it’s a pesticide bottle. I move my fingers expectantly, but he continues to stare.
“You’ll stop calling me Cinderella?”
I scrunch up my nose. “If I must.”
“And you’ll drop the Jack thing?”
“I can try,” I lie.
Am I going to tell this man I can’t call him Norbert because I have a hard time imagining myself moaning out Norbert?
No.
Absolutely not.
I’m here on assignment. Not just any kind of assignment, but one that is meant to save my career before it can even start.
“If I tell you something super embarrassing about myself, will you explain to me how you turned yourself into a walkin’-talkin’ Jack-o’-lantern?”
Jack inhales deeply and crosses his arms. “It’ll have to be one hell of a good story.”
