"Fill It Out, F*** Off."
-Alfie Solomons
"That's a long way from the South, and a lot of house for one guy." He chuckled as he got out. "Seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, an armory, a vault, a wine cellar, a library, and yes, it's a lot of house for me. But my granddad loved the plantation architecture, so when he moved here, he purchased nine hundred acres and had it built smack in the middle." She was staring at him in open-mouthed shock. "I'm not a millionaire or anything. I literally spent all my inheritance on restoring it and manage between being an Agency auxiliary and a game warden to pay the bills."
Gwen was confused. "What agency, like the FBI?"
He shrugged at her. "There's plenty of time for questions after I get these bodies taken care of. Head inside, go upstairs, head down the hall through the double doors, and grab a shower in the master bath if you want—'cuz it's got the best shower. When I'm done, I'll show you to your room." He winked at her and headed to the back of the truck.
Even in this poor light, the house was breathtaking, and as she ascended the steps Gwen smiled at the porch swing. She walked through the large oak door with elegant bear carvings and into a large but sparsely furnished entryway, taking a moment to marvel at it before heading up the beautiful grand staircase. Gwen was surprised that she didn't get lost, but after making it to the master bedroom, she was again blown away by the fact that her whole college apartment could fit in this one room.
Shrugging, Gwen found her way to the oversized bathroom and took the most amazingly refreshing shower of her life; the design of it gave the impression of standing under a waterfall. She got out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself, and found a shirtless Darby busy writing something on the nightstand. "That shower is out of this freaking world." He didn't respond immediately, and she stepped closer to him, touching him on the arm. She asked, "What are you writing?"
He handed her the paper, which she now saw was an official form.
—Entity Termination Notice—
Entity: Druid / Skinless
Entity: Druid / Grizzly Bear
Primary: Darby Dean MacAlpine
Assisting Party: Agent Drew Adkins, Gwendolyn Bernadette Daisy Dodge
"Well, when you take out the nasty things and you're Agency affiliated, you get paid a bounty, and if someone assists, then they get a bounty as well." He was smirking down at her.
"Wait, how much do I get?" she said with wide eyes.
"Ten percent of the total bounty—so, two thousand five hundred, or maybe a little more."
Gwen, who was behind on her car payment and had a student loan, couldn't contain her excitement and kissed Darby, who kissed her back.
Gwen awoke alone, feeling tiny on the California king, and lay there for a while mulling over the emotional rollercoaster she had been through in a single night—from the usual boredom to the terror of the attack, the shock of seeing what Darby really was, then finding out she had a small financial leg up, and then several hours of Darby helping her work through the stress of it all. She blushed to herself at that last thought and wondered what it meant for them, or even if there was a "them." Gwen had almost died and yet she was giddy. She covered her face with a pillow and screamed in joyful frustration, then inhaled the smell of the pillow—Darby's smell.
"Screw it, he doesn't get a choice." She climbed out of bed and, after dressing, headed downstairs, hearing voices as she descended the stairs. Following them to the kitchen, she found Drew and an unknown blonde woman, who appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, wearing a suit and sitting at the breakfast bar having an animated conversation with Darby, who was doling out biscuits, bacon, hashbrowns, and eggs.
"Good morning, beautiful," Darby called out to her, smiling warmly.
"Morning, handsome," Gwen responded.
"Excuse me while I vomit," Drew said, rolling his eyes.
Gwen ignored him and sat down on one of the stools.
"This is Agent Ambrose. She and Drew are here to discuss last night and some other stuff," Darby said as he passed her a plate.
"Relate to me, in your own words, what happened, and please leave out no details regardless of how insignificant they may be," Agent Ambrose said in a very authoritative voice.
As they ate, Gwen told the story while Agent Ambrose took notes, and by the time they were done eating, she had finished the story.
"One question I have is how a Class A entity had so much difficulty with a couple of Class F's," Ambrose said, jabbing her pen at Darby to punctuate her point.
"I was a little distracted," he responded, giving Gwen a wink.
Ambrose looked like she was going to respond, but Gwen interrupted. "What dictates an entity's class?"
"Class E can kill a squad of marines fully kitted out with standard gear. A Class D can take out five Class E's, and so on. Although there are exceptions to every rule, and just like people, there's wimpy and badass individuals," Drew explained.
"This, along with that Skunk Ape incident, makes me seriously doubt your ability to fill Deacon's shoes," Agent Ambrose told Darby in an incredibly condescending tone. Gwen decided she didn't like this lady as Ambrose continued. "And an overweight, college dropout cashier is hardly fit to fill the shoes of Bulldog Dodge. I don't know what you're trying to pull with all of this, Adkins, but—"
"I have no interest in filling my old man's shoes, and I will not have you insult me or mine in my home," Darby said in a low growling voice. His normally lovely green eyes had darkened to a nearly black shade of brown. Ambrose half stood, not breaking eye contact with him, as Gwen noticed her hand traveling to her holstered 1911. But as she was about to say something, Drew interjected.
"Stand down, Agent Ambrose. You are completely out of line, and I'll remind you that in the territory of a Fjalladrottinn, he outranks you. As for my plan for my best friend's daughter, I plan to give her the option of joining the Agency—as is her right, being a legacy and all." He smirked. "You're just here to do some paperwork, so please do us all a favor: sit down, keep your mouth shut, and do the goddamn paperwork."
Ambrose looked sheepish as she sat back down. Gwen put her hand on Darby's, giving it a squeeze, and he seemed to calm a bit.
"Now, I'm sure you have some questions, Gwen, and so I'll start from the beginning
"Well, I met your dad on day one, Parris Island," Drew began as Gwen stared in absolute shock. "Yep, I got to live in Olo 'Bulldog' Dodge's shadow for the six years we served together in the Corps, and then the almost two decades we spent with the Agency. After you came along, though, he took the position of handler for Darby's dad, Deacon MacAlpine, which allowed him to settle here and spend plenty of time with his pride and joy. I honestly believe that compared to every other job Olo had, he loved being a dad the most."
He paused for a moment to let her digest the overwhelming revelations before he continued. "Bulldog took losing Deacon during the Thorn Incursion back in ninety-one damn hard, retiring immediately after and focusing solely on you. But then, in the winter of ninety-five—" He sighed, giving her a sad look. "After he passed, I retired on the condition that I become Darby's handler when he came of age and lived here, keeping a close eye on you."
He grinned wickedly. "I even dealt with that stalker of yours."
She furrowed her brow at him in confusion.
"No use sugarcoating it. I took a hammer to that punk's fingers, played dentist, and then put a bullet in his head. No one messes with my godchild."
He shrugged like the whole thing was no big deal.
"Before or after I came home?"
He chuckled. "Before. But you being home meant I didn't have to drive to Rexburg and hide in bushes to keep an eye on you anymore, so win-win."
She slugged him in the arm. "Ass!"
Darby started to laugh but stifled it when she shot him a death glare.
"Anyway, I want to get back to being retired, so the Agency is offering you a job."
Gwen was absolutely done at this point, stood up, and started pacing in sheer frustration.
"Ok, let me get this all straight: so monsters are real, Darby is a fluffernutter, you were in the Marines with my dad, then in a secret organization, you killed my stalker, and now you're offering me a job." She ticked off the points on her fingers. "Did I miss anything?"
"You're a wizard, Harriet," Darby said in a terrible Scottish accent.
Drew chuckled. "It's a lot to digest, believe me. I know that, kiddo—but you're going to be ok."