"Guys, we're out of here," I said as I stood to leave. "Donna Jean has her shoes off. That means she's about to go out back and have a smoke which she'll make Chauncey hold so she can pretend that she quit. Getting fed is out of the question."
"Seeing as Dwayne doesn't eat food and I had five breakfast burritos this morning, I'm good with that," Granny said.
I gaped at her and wondered where she put it. She was tiny—looked like a young slim Sophia Loren. She was eighty but didn't look a day over forty. Werewolves aged very slowly.
"Doesn't anyone want to hear about my time as a man of God?" Dwayne asked, a bit miffed.
"You weren't a real priest, were you?" I asked as I slurped down the rest of my soda.
"Oh heavens, no."
I paused and placed my glass back on the table. "Oh my God, all their lives that woman and her three-toothed husband thought they were legally married."
"Sweet Baby Jesus in a thong," Dwayne gasped as he paled even more than his usual shade. "I never thought about that. There could be thousands of toothless bastards running around the world thinking they're legitimate. Sweet mother of Lady Gaga," Dwayne wailed, attracting the attention of everyone in the small diner. "What have I done?"
In his distress he began to levitate. I quickly yanked him back into the booth before anyone saw him. I did not want to explain Vampyres to unsuspecting humans. It was enough to digest that the Council wanted the Werewolves out of the closet. Vampyres would cause mass hysteria.
"What's done is done," Granny stated with a chuckle. "Who knows if they even procreated? Were they Weres?"
"They were Were Cows," Dwayne whispered in a strangled voice.
A burst of laughter escaped my lips and I had to sit back down so I didn't fall. "Oh. My. Hell," I said as I wiped the tears from my eyes. "There are no such things as Were Cows."
I looked to Granny for conformation, but she had paled a whiter shade than Dwayne. In fact, I was certain she was about to puke. What in the mother humper was going on here?
"There is no such thing as a Were Cow, right?" I repeated in a whisper so the humans in the diner wouldn't hear. They lived blissfully unaware of the paranormal world around them and I wanted to keep it that way.
"Yes, there is," Granny muttered tightly and shook her head.
"So wait," I said to Dwayne. "When you said she was an absolute cow, you meant Were Cow—not that she was fat?"
"For Cher's sake," Dwayne said as if I was two years old. "All Were Cows are fat and yes, when I said Cow I meant Cow—fat, magical and deadlier than a Dragon."
Again in his agitation he started to float to the ceiling.
Again I yanked him back down.
My smile was now gone. How in the hell was there a species I didn't know about? Cows? There were freakin' Were Cows—and they were dangerous? This was too much.
"Where's the camera?" I asked.
"What camera? My hair is a mess," Granny said alarmed as she ducked under the table in terror.
"Never mind." It was too much to hope I was being punked. "Out. Now," I snapped at my dysfunctional little posse. "We're going over to the sheriff's office to talk to Junior."
"That's good," Granny said as she cased the diner for cameras. "We'll have privacy there."
"Can Junior hack?" Dwayne asked as he slung his man purse over his shoulder.
"Why?" I asked as I dragged them out of yet another establishment.
"Because I have a potential bovine bloodbath on my hands," he replied hysterically.
"I'm not sure how much worse this day could get." I heaved a huge sigh and grabbed Dwayne's phone from Granny. The least I could do was save the harmless electronic’s life.
"Trust me, if Junior can't hack his way into a few probably obsolete sites, this day could go to hell in a handbasket pretty damn fast," Dwayne said as he rushed ahead.
That's when I noticed he was still wearing the blush pink stilettos from the bridal shop. There was one good thing at least—I could turn Dwayne in for shoplifting. If he had to spend a couple of hours in the pokey maybe I'd have a little peace.
***
"He stole them," I announced to Junior as we entered the sheriff's office with the first real smile on my face since Hank had pulled me over for speeding a couple of hours ago.
"It was an accident," Dwayne whined as he gave me the stink eye.
Granny chuckled with delight.
"Well, boy, you stretched the livin' hell out of those shoes," Junior said with a huge grin on his handsome face as he examined the stilettos Dwayne had grudgingly handed over.
Junior was Hank's older brother by two years. By all rights he should have been the Alpha of the Georgia Wolf Pack, but when their father had retired Junior was too busy chasing skirts and partying so Hank had stepped up.
Hank, besides being hotter than asphalt in August and my fiancé, was an outstanding alpha—deadly and fair. Surprisingly there wasn't an ounce of hostility or competition between the brothers. In a twist of fate, their mother had given birth to two Alpha boys.
"You know I'm richer than Midas. I would never steal shoes," Dwayne pled his case as we all grinned.
"That may be so, but the evidence speaks differently," Junior said in his official deputy sheriff voice. "You're gonna have to return the shoes, pay for them and offer up your services for twenty-four hours to the gals at the shop."