Page 8 of Ruffled Feathers

Screwing up her nose, she stood in front of the door. “Can’t we video call or something?”

Finally at the end of my patience, I gave her a hard look. “Cut the crap, OJ. You look more guilty than a priest in a whorehouse. You know I’m getting inside, whether you come up with a million lame excuses or not, so better to just get it over with now.” She looked like she was going to protest. “Or you know, maybe I could just drop by and visit some other time. I still have a key. I can just let myself in.”

She looked both furious and frustrated. It was an attractive look on her pretty features. “Whatever happened to the right to privacy, Mr. Lawyer?”

I grinned. “Went out the window when you got caught at a cockfight. I’ve messaged Sonny too. He should be over after his shift.”

She sighed heavily, her shoulders sinking. “Fine. Don’t freak out.” As with every time we verbally sparred, I felt both elated at winning our little tussle, and achingly guilty at her look of defeat.

Pushing open the door, the first thing I noticed was a three-legged dog with its tongue sticking out the side of its mouth unnaturally. It had bulging eyes and fur that was dishwater brown and wiry. It looked like it had died at some point, been buried in a pet cemetery, then someone had dug up its corpse and reanimated it.

“Doodles!” OJ cooed, scooping up the ugly beast. “Let me get your medicine.”

Another dog bounded in, though bounding might have been an exaggeration. It hobbled in, too round to do more than waddle and wag its tail enthusiastically. Its wagging tail had tiny fat rolls around the base.

The more I looked, the more animals I saw. A small bird with no feathers that looked like something served up at a Michelin star restaurant. A cat with one ear, one eye, and a tail that jutted out at a weird angle.

And is that a fucking pig?

“What on earth…”

A man strolled into the room, holding a bandaged-up rooster, his eyes running over the full length of OJ’s body. “I was worried. I was going to call the ‘Whoopsie’ number.”

My senses tingled. A Beta.

I stepped in front of OJ defensively. “Who the fuck are you?”

The sound of OJ’s sigh as she stepped around me pissed me off. “No need, Lancelot. Someone ratted me out and called it on my behalf.”

I was mildly amused that I was the person she had this… man call, if she was in trouble. “I repeat, who the fuck are you?”

He might be a Beta, but he was as big as an Alpha. His clothes were stained and had holes, and he had facial hair that wasn’t even a little bit tamed. The beard made it hard to guess his age; he could’ve been anywhere from twenty to fifty, but I’d seen enough unhoused people on the streets to know that this guy had come from there, and recently.

OJ turned and scowled at me. “Watch your tone, Truett. This is Lancelot. My temporary housemate.”

I ground my back teeth together. “Lancelot looks like he lives under Wildcat Creek Bridge.”

The guy in question stared me down, no embarrassment or anything else in his expression. Stone cold. It took some serious balls—or something seriously broken inside a brain—to be able to hold an Alpha stare like that as a Beta.

The same couldn’t be said for Otillie-James. Her cheeks were flushed with outraged anger. “And what if he did, you self-righteous asshat? Lancelot needed a safe place to sleep, a good shower, and access to food. This house has ten bedrooms, Truett. I had space, and he needed a hand.”

I hissed a frustrated noise. “You know nothing about this guy. He could be a serial killer.” I looked over at him. “No offense.” His expression didn’t change, but he did raise an eyebrow. “He could have raped and murdered you in your sleep. People aren’t all good. In fact, I’d argue that most people are opportunistic animals, who are one unchecked, impulsive thought away from being the worst humanity has to offer. You can’t just invite people to come and live with you, OJ. The world isn’t a damn Disney movie.”

“Don’t patronize me.” She whirled away and strode over to Lancelot,grabbing the chicken from his arms. “How’s he doing?”

Lancelot looked down at OJ, his face softening from its cold mask. “I thought he was too far gone. I patched him up, kept him somewhere safe and warm, and this morning, he was alert and hungry. If you have any antibiotics lying about, it might be worth trying to sneak some medicine into his food. Some of those wounds were deep.”

The chicken didn’t look like a killer. It didn’t look like a justifiable reason to end up in prison, either.

OJ nodded. “We’ll keep him isolated for a few more days, and then we might try introducing him to Gert. She won’t take his shit, and I’m hoping with some food and safety, he’ll integrate easily. Sometimes creatures just need a chance.”

At that, the girl, the man, and the rooster turned to stare at me, like I was the one being unreasonable here. Sonny needed to hurry the fuck up so I wasn’t outnumbered.

Sighing like I was the most disappointing creature on earth, OJ turned and moved toward the kitchen. “Is everything okay? The kittens?”

“When it was clear you wouldn’t be back, I did their night feeds,” the Beta told her, and I followed along behind them, my eyes narrowed. I didn’t know who the fuck this guy was, but I was going to find out.

And what kittens?

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