*Zac*
The cool Danish air whips around me as Astrid and I pull up to a nondescript house.
"Couldn't you at least have changed your shirt, Zac?" Astrid asks me, giving me that 'you're-a-werewolf-but-that's-no-excuse-for-poor-hygiene' look.
I shrug, "Unlike you, Astrid, I don't keep a closet full of clothes at the agency."
"Because you only have…" She starts, her lips curling into a smirk.
"Three different shirts, I know," I finish for her with a roll of my eyes.
Three men loitering outside the house eye us suspiciously. One step forward, "Can we help you?"
"No thanks, we're good," I reply, trying to keep things casual.
"Your smell says otherwise," the man retorts, his nose wrinkling.
"It's beer, a casualty of colliding with a beer pong table." I explain, remembering the unfort
