"Richard Barnes. I have a mission for you."
"I sure as hell bet you do, but I'm kind of running on fumes and hate right now. So it had better be to finish what I started - or else I don't think I can agree to jump back into your authoritarian operation."
Looking away from the snowbank which the Sandhowl Alpha moved behind a half a minute ago, I turn my snout toward the combative man and huffed. As if he has any leverage in this scenario.
Is it the 'testosterone' in both of them? Is that the problem?
He certainly doesn't have enough direct gratefulness for saving his life. I know these certain humans think they are such great killers of the supernatural, but if they really were *so great* then the species would have died out long ago.
