"Mary Janice Davidson - Wyndham Werewolves 03 - Derik's Bane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

Quickest done, quickest back home.Not that he was so terribly anxious to go back homeтАФthe mansion
held its own unique set of problems. Derik figured you knew your life was screwed up when you were
almost glad you could use saving the world as a distraction.

Well. He and Mike would work shit out. They had to. OtherwiseтАФotherwise, he just would never go
home again, even though that probably wasn't the best way to handle things.
He didn't trust himself around Mike, that was all. If he lost his temper and things got way out of hand, the
deed would be done, and Mike would be dead, and he'd be Pack leader, and Jeannie would be a
widow, and Lara would be without a daddy, and then he'd probably go off in a corner and blow his
brains out. Better to be a(coward) loner than risk that. Way better.


Sara Gunn thrust her foot into the second pair of panty hose of the morning and, incredibly, had the
same thing happen. There was a zizzzzzzzz! sound, and then her big toenail ripped a runner through her
last pair of panty hose.

"Right," she grumbled. "Why is it that when I'm running late, everything goes wrong? More important,
why am I talking to myself?" She jerked the nylon torture chamber off her foot and flung it over her
shoulder to the floor. "Okay, then . . . it's gorgeous out. A perfect day to go bare-legged." She ran a
hand down her left leg. A little raspy, but hardly Yosemite Sam whiskers.Note to self: Shave legs more
often when low on panty hose.

She heard the doorbell, that annoying dum-DUM-dum-dum . . . dum-DUM-dum . . .
dum-DUM-dum-dum-DUM! Dah-dum-dah-dum-dum. She cursed her late mother's infatuation with
Alex Trebekand Jeopardy. Every time she had a visitor, she felt like phrasing everything in the form of a
question.

Iwill never see twenty-five again ... ortwenty-eight, for that matter, and I never quite managed to
move out of my mother's house. Nice one, Gunn. Not pathetic at all!

She slipped her feet into a pair of low-heeled pumps and squinted distractedly at the mirror. Hair:
presentable, if not exactly glamorous, caught up in one of those big black clips that looked like a
medieval torture device. Skin: too pale; no time for makeup. Eyes: big and blue and bloodshotтАФdamn
thatDeep Space Nine marathon, anyway. Suit: cream linen, which meant she'd be a wrinkled mess in
another hour. Legs: bare. Feet: narrow and stuffed into shoes so pointy, she could see the crack between
her first and second toe.

"Too bad, my girl!" she told herself. "Next time don't hit the snooze button so many times."

Dum-DUM-dum-dum . . . dum-DUM-dum ... dum-DUM-dum-dum-DUM! Dah-dum-dah-dum-dum.

"Be right there!" She hurried out of her bedroom,glanced through the kitchen, and breathed a sigh of
relief at the sight of the leaner car. Finally! David, her mechanic, had at last had a chance to send over a
leaner car for her use. A flashy loaner car, at that. Well, beggars can't be .. . et cetera. The other loaner
had conked out after an hourтАФ was it her fault she couldn't drive a stick?

She flung the door open. "Thank goodness you'reтАФwhoa."

She stared at the man standing on her front porch. He was, to be blunt, delicious. He was to Homo