Fangs and Fennel (The Venom Trilogy #2)(27)

With a chorus of snarls and howls, the Supernatural Division of Mounted Police, werewolves to a man, rushed out the doors. Smithy did not go with them. He dropped to a crouch. “Thought you were some sort of badass Greek creature? That’s the rumor.”

A wobbly smile curled my lips. “You and me both. They had something that cut through me—badly.”

He nodded, his eyes on my leg and then flicking to my hands. “Shit. You aren’t kidding.” He let out a tired sigh. No doubt he was regretting coming into work today. “Come on, I’ll get you cleaned up and you can tell me exactly why Santos is after you.”

He didn’t hold his hand out to me, didn’t offer for me to lean on him. Smithy wasn’t that kind of man, and I was glad for it. The last thing I needed was attention from another man that I didn’t know what to do with because my siren abilities kicked into overdrive. Like Jensen.

And maybe even like Remo. A sigh slipped out of me as I limped after the larger-than-life police officer. The silence was heavy in the station without the ebb and flow of his men.

“So what happened?” he prompted.

“I . . . well, I protected Remo at the courthouse earlier today.”

Smithy glanced at me. “Remo needed protecting? Since when?”

I frowned, bristling at the underhanded insult. “Since today, when he was attacked by Santos’s entire crew with a rocket launcher in the middle of the human courthouse because our system is down with Oberfluffel missing in action.” The words snapped out of me, but Smithy didn’t appear bothered.

“And you happened to be there?”

A groan slid from my lips as I touched my fingers together, pain snapping through me. “Divorce proceedings.”

“Well, that’s like trying to paddle up shit creek with your bare hands.” He snorted and shook his head. Like I was an idiot for trying to change things, just like everyone else thought—that an actual divorce was a ridiculous dream of mine.

I wanted to smack him, and would have if my hands weren’t still throbbing and dripping blood with every step I took.

“Where exactly is Oberfluffel anyway?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “Oberfall has gone on . . . a sabbatical.”

I snorted softly. A sabbatical for a werewolf? “Please, even I know better than that in my short time as a Super Duper. Does that mean you’re in charge, then?”

Smithy gave me a trademark icy glare. “Not that it matters to you, but yes, I am, at least until he returns. And sabbaticals do happen, especially for werewolves when they are struggling—” He stopped in front of a door that said “Medic.” He pushed it open and I followed him in, sitting myself down on the only stool.

Smithy did not finish his sentence, and I didn’t push him. What did it matter to me that Oberfluffel was struggling? Not one penny’s worth of sour candies.

He fumbled through a cupboard and pulled out a tiny first-aid kit. Like the size of a child’s lunch box. I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Smithy shrugged. “We don’t generally need help healing. Werewolves are tough like that.”

I tried to open the kit and failed, wincing with every touch of the blistered and burned-through tips against the cold metal. My fingers were useless.

“Do you mind?” I held it out to him, keeping it between my palms. He rolled his eyes, but he did take the tiny medical kit and open it up. Moving swiftly, he pulled my burned leg up to his face, which pulled me to the edge of my seat.

I balanced precariously on the edge. If he let me go, I’d crash to the ground. “Hey!”

“The wound is deep; I can see bone in places.”

I swallowed hard and tried not to think about it. “Can you just put some ointment on it and wrap it?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really, you think that’s going to help you out here? A bit of ointment and a bandage?”

I flushed. “I don’t know, remember I’m new at this? I was thinking the ointment was magic.”

“Nope, just Polysporin.” He held the gold-and-green tube up for me. Well, that was disappointing. Like getting a dried-out brittle cookie you thought was fresh and warm from the oven.

“I agree, I think you need more help than a wolf can give you.”

Smithy and I jerked at the same time, spinning toward the vampire in the doorway. Smithy tightened his hold on my calf. “Remo. You need to keep your territory clean of the cockroaches, or I’m going to assume you are one of them.”

Remo’s face was all hard lines and tightly controlled anger. “My people are on it. You can call your dogs off.”

Smithy did not let go of my leg, but instead pulled me even higher so I was balanced on the edge of the seat. Barely.

“Excuse me, I’m not a weapon to be thrown at him.” I couldn’t even grip the edge of the chair with my chewed-up fingers.

They ignored me, and the tension in the room kicked up several notches.

Remo stepped closer and pried Smithy’s hands off my leg. “Call your dogs off, Captain. I will deal with Santos.”

Smithy didn’t shift a single inch. For that alone I had to give him credit. “You haven’t been dealing with him at all, or he wouldn’t dare encroach this far into our territory.” They were eye to eye, toe to toe. And while I wanted to believe Remo would win, I didn’t want to be in another fight, particularly in my current state.