Page 20 of Plaidypus
“I don’t know which Chief Quinn Dad was talking about,” he admitted. “I don’t think it matters. He was born infected, his virus matured early, and his record on previous partners is sealed, but he has undergone basic training with a brothel. The training doesn’t include intercourse. I’m not sure why Dad wanted me to know that. I don’t know if you want to be training a virgin. I am not the king of sexual prowess, but Mom taught me well—and Dad swore I would pay consequences for the rest of my life if I ever hurt my partner being inconsiderate.”
I snorted and thought about splashing water his way but stopped myself, as I’d be the one cleaning the floor. “Cute, Matthieu.”
“It’s true! Dad made it clear I would suffer for all eternity if I ended up being a jerk. Apparently, Grandpa gave Dad a similar talk. He even asked Mom if Dad was treating her well.” My brother shuddered. “We won’t discuss what she told Grandpa.”
“Rode her hard and put her up wet?” I guessed, as our mother had a wicked sense of humor and a willingness to inflict it on anyone foolish enough to talk to her.
“That was only one of them. As Dad is still alive, I’m guessing she indicated she liked it.”
“I would think the existence of two children indicated she liked it enough for at least one repeat performance.”
“Birth control,” my brother replied in a solemn tone. “Or so Mom says. Without birth control, the world might be at risk of ending due to the existence of more than two Lavigne children.”
“We were such terrible children our parents stopped reproducing for the sake of the entire world. Maybe we should send them flowers.” I sighed. “I bet they were just disappointed they had me first.”
“Well, you may have crushed Dad’s dream of having a little princess when you started riding to my rescue if anyone looked at me wrong.”
“I am a fierce warrior princess. That is what it means to be a platypus. I am the image of fierceness.”
“I hate to break this to you, but without the spur, you’re really just adorable. You look about as fierce as a stuffed animal.”
Damn it. “You’re the worst. Platypuses are fierce! Get out of my bathroom and go make me hot chocolate. While you’re at it, ask the freeloader on the couch what he wants for dinner—and if he doesn’t want moose, he’s wrong. There is no way I’m leaving this house without using up every scrap of moose in our freezer. And don’t tell him where we got it. It’s more fun that way.”
“As if he’d believe a platypus hunted moose successfully.”
“Are you making fun of my rifle, Matthieu? You better not be making fun of my rifle. Platypus is a good rifle. She’s taken down ten moose in her storied career.”
“Why did you name your rifle Platypus anyway?”
“Well, I’m certainly not taking out a moose with my bare paws or hands. Let me dream.”
As stressand anxiety killed my desire to sleep, I went on a cooking rampage. I expected the moose stew and roast to last no more than two days with two lycanthropes around. My brother could still eat, but according to Leonard, he’d be full after a few bites.
Something about declaring Leonard to be a freeloader helped settle my nerves. I assumed it had something to do with my wolf’s desire to establish her territory, as she got growly whenever anyone went into spaces she thought of as ours.
The bathroom counted, as did anywhere with hot chocolate. My seat in the bay window took the top prize as her domain, and after some experimentation, I determined she enjoyed reading. The platypus also enjoyed reading, but she also enjoyed when I stared out the window at the world around us.
The thought of having an indoor wolf amused me.
“What has you so fidgety?” Matthieu complained, glaring at me from where he hid on the other side of the room. “I’m the one who is supposed to be biting, not you.”
In the living room, Leonard laughed. “It’s common with newer lycanthropes. Her routine has been changed, and lycanthropes get irritated when their routine changes. It’s also nearing mating season for wolves, so wolf lycanthropes tend to become extra moody. She’s unaccustomed to dealing with the virus yanking her every which way, so she’s expressing it through snapping her teeth and being generally irritable. Food will help, which she’s making. I’m not sure why she’s making it at one in the morning, but I’ve learned it’s just not wise to question the strange ways of grouchy lycanthrope women. Honestly, most lycanthrope women tend to pick their mates from the eligible lycanthrope men in a hurry, as nothing irritates them more than being fawned over by a bunch of men, most of whom she just doesn’t like. Mated lycanthropes are happier lycanthropes, and happier lycanthropes limit who they maul and how often.”
“And what about the lycanthrope men?” I asked.
Leonard joined my brother in the entry of the kitchen. “They typically turn their attention to human women and hope the one they like will accept them. There are so few unmated lycanthrope women that it’s the only real option for most of the men. That’s fine; it works out fairly well that way, as the men are more inclined to enjoy a long courtship and convincing a woman to accept him and the virus. If you find a man you’re interested in, and he’s infected with the virus, ask if he’s courting.”
“Were you sacrificed to come here because you’re tasty for vampires and you’re safe from any unwanted advances?” I eyed the knife on the cutting board, but I’d run out of things to chop up.
The idea the CDC would send an ineligible bachelor irritated me even more than the incessant need to eat to keep up with my brother’s blood drinking ways.
“You have the right idea, almost. I was sacrificed, as you say, but I was sacrificed because I’mnotcourting anyone. The CDC has a general policy. They fling unmated lycanthropes at each other to solve the problem of having unmated lycanthropes around. It generally works. The CDC knows I won’t accept advances from a woman who doesn’t mesh well with me. They also know I will play matchmaker as necessary. I enjoy annoying the CDC, as I’ve resisted their efforts to partner me with someone. There are two types of lycanthrope males. The first kind will accept the first semi-compatible woman to cross their path with an interest. The second kind enjoys the chase.”
“Are you saying you want to be wined and dined?” I asked, pausing in my cooking to stare at him with raised brows.
“I enjoy wine, and I enjoy dining, so yes. I do come with the general expectation to be wined and dined by interested women. I appreciate invested effort—and I expect to also invest effort. I’m not interested in easy. I’m interested in lasting. Wining and dining is an excellent way to test personality compatibility. With the lycanthropy virus, compatibility matters less, but a hasty couple still has to work to make their relationship work. The virus demands it.”
Damn. Leonard confirmed what the internet had already informed me.
