“What? Why?” she shot out of her chair.
A man? She glanced down at her body. Although her breasts weren’t very generous, she had other redeeming qualities that certified her femininity. She was packaging wide hips, a slim waist, and everything was wrapped up together by her girly outfit.
“Look, getting clearance into a pack isn’t as easy as walking into a park. You need a valid reason to be there. I can pass you off as a non-shifting werewolf that simply wants to visit, but that will only give you clearance for three days.”
“Okay…” Alexandra drew out. “I still don’t see why there’s a need for me to have a dick.”
“I’m getting there,” he assured as he made his way back to his seat.
“The pack I have in mind is located upstate. They are in need of male nurses. You have some training in that department, so you’re perfect for this position. If you get accepted as a nurse, you can stay in the pack indefinitely.”
“Perfect” was an overstatement. She was familiar with human anatomy; having learned things here and there from her mother who was a nurse and the first-aid classes that she took. What was she supposed to do when a werewolf came to her for medical help? Give them a rabies shot?
“Why do they specifically need male nurses?”
The better question was, why was she egging him on by questions? Snooping around a society that has been kept a secret for centuries is hard. Having to do so while pretending to have balls dangling between her legs practically impossible.
“Because men and women can’t get treated by the opposite gender. It upsets mates.”
“Mates? What are mates?” her mouth blurted, ignoring her brain’s command to shut up. Her curiosity was overriding all of her functions like a damn virus.
Nico smiled softly, fond of her interest. “I’ll tell you in a minute. So, I will teach you the basics of pack life, you wear some baggy clothes, cut your hair, and get whatever evidence you need. Does that sound good?”
No, it didn’t sound good. It sounded fucking suicidal.
Alexandra raised her palm, signaling that she needed a second. She then placed both elbows on the sturdy table and dug her fingers into her hair, the hair that Nico was asking her to mow down. Well, at least cutting it would spare the NSA some trouble when they decide to crack her head open to reboot her brain.
Think, Alexandra, think. What’s the right course of action?
The answer was clear: Try to talk Nico into getting psychological help since he was clearly distressed. They somewhat drifted apart when they graduated high school, but she never stopped caring about him. He may now have deep eye bags and put the “nico” in “nicotine,” but he was still the teenage boy that used to share his lunch with her.
He lost his way in life, having steered away from the road that he was supposed to follow. While his place in life had shifted, she knew that his good nature remained within him. Nico wasn’t a bad man, but she had a feeling that he would be on his way of becoming one if she rejected his offer.
There was also the threat of him turning to another journalist for help— one that would have no problems screwing him over.
In any case, Alexandra would be lying if she said that she was interested in his offer simply because of the greater good. Sure, she wanted to keep Nico out of trouble, but she was also twitching with excitement at the thought of living with werewolves.
This was a win-win situation, right?
“Okay, look. I’ll live in the… pack and try to collect what I can.”
She choked over pack, feeling as if the word had no business coming out of her mouth.
“I’ll collect evidence under one condition. I want you to seek psychological help over the time I spend working. In addition to that, we’ll discuss the publication of the evidence at the end of the... uh, project. If after speaking with the psychologist you’re still hellbent on releasing the evidence, we’ll do it.”
She nodded with finalization.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted the credit for bringing werewolves out of the moonlight and into the spotlight of the world. The move could result in retaliation from the werewolf community, and she had a family to think about. Maybe she could just sell the evidence to another journalist. Whatever the decision was, she didn’t need to choose it now.
All she wanted was to put some oversized jeans on and satisfy her itch of curiosity. The rest could wait until later.
Nico scrutinized her severely, contemplating the weight of her clauses. He had been expecting something like this; Alexandra was always three steps ahead of the game. The fatherless, community college graduate, unrecognized journalist gave Sherlock Holmes a run for his money.
“Done.” With a single word, he sealed the deal.
Or maybe their coffins.