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

It was a ridiculously perfect day outside, and he couldn't blame Derik for wanting to head out as quickly
as possible. Still, there was something troubling his old friend, and Michael was determined to get to the
bottom of it.

"Hold up," Michael said, reaching for Derik's shoulder. "I want toтАФ"
 "I don't care what you want," Derik replied without turning. He grabbed Michael's hand and flung it
away, so sharply Michael lost his balance for a second. "I'm going out."

Michael tried to laugh it off, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck tried to stand up.
"Touch-ee! Hey, I just want toтАФ"

"I'm goingout!" Derik moved, cat-quick, and then Michael was flying through the air with the greatest of
ease, only to slam into the door to the coat closet hard enough to splinter it down the middle.

Michael lay on his back a moment like a stunned beetle. Then he flipped to his feet, ignoring the slashing
pain down his back. "My friend," he said, "you are so right. Except you're going out on the tip of my
boot, pardon me while I kick your ass." This in a tone of mild banter, but Michael was crossing the room
in swift strides, barely noticing that his friend Moira, who had just come in from the kitchen, squeaked
and jumped out of the way.

Best friend or no, nobodyтАФnobodyтАФknocked the alpha male around in his own ... damned .. . house.
The other Pack members lived there by his grace and favor, thanks very much, and while the forty-room
house had more than enough room for them all, certain things were simply ... not... done.

"Don't start with me," Derik warned. The morning sunlight was slanting through the skylight, shining so
brightly it looked like Derik's hair was about to burst into flames. His friend's mouthтАФusually relaxed in a
wiseass grinтАФwas a tight slash. His grass-green eyes were narrow. He lookedтАФMichael had trouble
believing itтАФugly and dangerous. Rogue. "Just stay off."

"You started it, at the risk of sounding junior high, and you're going to show throat and apologize, or
you'll be counting your broken ribs all the way to the emergency room."

"Come near me again, and we'll see who's counting ribs."

"Derik. Last chance."

"Cut it out!" It was Moira, shrieking from a safe distance. "Don't do this in his own house, you idiot! He
won't stand down, and you two moronsтАФschmucksтАФlosers will hurt each other!"

"Shut up," Derik said to the woman he (usually) lovingly regarded as a sister. "And get lost. . . this isn't
for you."

"I'm getting the hose," she warned, "and thenyou can pay to have the floors resealed."

"Moira, out," Michael said without looking around. She was a fiercely intelligent female werewolf who
could knock over an elm if she needed to, but she was no match for two males squaring off. The day was
headed down the shit hole already; he wouldn't see Moira hurt on top of it. "And Derik, she's right, let's
take this outside-тАФooooof!"