The Alpha's Warlock
He’d shifted into his bobcat form, and he’d curled up in the bottom of the dry bathtub, with his nose tucked in and his tail wrapped over his face, with only his tufty ears poking out.
He looked miserable.
I loved his tufty ears. Fuck. That plus his obvious unhappiness nearly did me in.
But no. I was the fucking pack leader. I had zombies attacking my people — my responsibilities, every last one of them, from tough-as-nails Jennifer down to the new baby who’d been born three weeks before.
“Arik,” I said, trying to sound as stern as a pack leader ought to under the circumstances. “You can’t hide in the fucking bathtub while we clean up your mess.”