Page 20 of Last But Not Leashed

I flattened my ears, hunkered down, and pulled my toy closer to protect it.

“What on Earth has gotten into you?”

“I think he’s high on black dust, Ethel,” a male stated, and he lifted up a large canister, gave it a shake, and sprayed me in the face, chest, and paws with pink foam. “At least the aggression’s worn off.”

The foam made me tingle, and I discarded my toy for the male with the pink foam. Another blast to my muzzle staggered me, and I snapped my teeth at the stream.

It went down my throat, stuck, and choked me. I hacked to get it out, and whining, I pawed my muzzle.

I liked the tingle, but I didn’t like the choking at all.

“Idiot,” the man muttered, shaking his head and pulling out a water bottle. “Drink this.”

Like the foam, the water was pink and shimmered, and I leveled an accusatory glare in his direction. The cranky female took her canister and sprayed the tiger down, who rolled in it and kicked his paws in the air. Once he was thoroughly doused, the female picked up my toy. “This is the first time in my life I’m going to have to write ‘too stupid to live’ as a cause of death. What sort of idiot dusts lycanthropes and stays within reach?”

“Dale, drink,” the male ordered, thrusting the bottle at me.

I snatched it with my teeth, bit down, and shook my head, spraying water everywhere. Some made it down my throat, although most of it spilled. The plastic crunched pleasantly, and I pinned my new toy between my paws and chewed it to pieces.

“Dale,” the male complained.

“He probably has no clue who you are right now, Jerome. He probably won’t remember any of this later, either. His evaluations on this shit are subpar on a good day. And you’re definitely right, it’s black dust. Damned fucking blighters!”

“Violence potential?”

“He violently plays. In human form, he wants nothing more than to wrestle or otherwise annoy us. Anything physical. When we last tested him, I recruited half the damned floor to play dodgeball with him to keep him out of trouble. He metabolizes it like standard pixie dust with a tendency to get grumpy if he isn’t physically engaged. That idiot winged menace must have provoked him. He got killed being stupid.” The female screamed her frustration and stomped her foot. “Give him another bottle to chew on while I deal with this.”

She took both halves of my broken toy away, but as the male offered another bottle for me to shred, I accepted his gift and worked to reduce it to plastic confetti, too. The male crouched beside me with a sigh. “Judging from the bloody mats on your ass, the tiger caught you. How is it you’re the only man I know who can get mauled at the mall twice in one week?”

The female halted, turning to face us. “If you’re expecting sense out of him, don’t hold your breath. The instant it wears off, he’s going to be miserable.”

“How sick?”

“Someone would be holding his hair if he had enough hair to hold sick, and since you and your mate couldn’t keep him contained at the mall, you get to deal with it. Maybe shifting will help, but get him out of here first—and deal with that damned tiger.”

The male’s shoulders slumped, and he glared at the tiger, who still rolled in the pink foam. “Why me?”

“I’ve been asking myself that all day. Good luck with them, Jerome.”

“You suck.”

She laughed.

In normal people, well, as normal as the weird and weirder got, pixie dust and its variants had a high without a low or a hangover. I got a double dose, and I blamed my stomach’s churning for the majority of the low. Despite having pled for a swift death, even saying please, Jerome refused. Instead of killing me, he pinned me to his bathroom floor and forced bottles of Pepto down my throat.

I made disgustingly easy prey for my alpha.

“Jesus, Dale. Ethel wasn’t kidding when she said you’re worse than me after New Year’s. Pixie dust isn’t your friend. Riddle me this? Why didn’t you get sick on the high-grade stuff she injected you with?”

Ethel laughed through the door. “I’m so sorry, Dale. It’s black dust, which isn’t the same compound as high grade standard dust. There’s something in low grades of pixie dust and its variants that make him sick. Grade A or lower makes him sick enough to send home, too. He got the high-grade stuff to avoid him puking his guts out. Can I come in? Allison bought half the pharmacy and recruited me to bring it to you. How many bottles of Pepto do you plan on giving him?”

“As many as it takes to get him to stop puking. If he’d stop throwing it up, I’d stop giving it to him. Come on in. He’s between waves, and I just got the last bottle I had shoved down his throat.”

Ethel cracked open the door and peeked inside. She sighed, slipped inside, and shook her head. “I’m not sure this is how you’re supposed to use Pepto.”

“A little extra won’t hurt him. It’s one of the perks of being a lycanthrope. Once his stomach settles, I’ll help him take a shower, get him warmed up, and get him to bed. You can shift to your fur coat and help keep him toasty. The guest bedroom has a bathroom if he gets sick again, too. How long do you think this’ll last?”

“No idea. The tiger’s sick, too—he’s at the hospital for observation.”