Wulf ignored him as he continued thinking out loud. "I swear, you are the only man I've ever known who missed the whole teenage hormonal surge. Something's not right with you, boy."
"I am not taking another friggin' physical," Chris snapped. "There's nothing wrong with me or my abilities other than the fact that I'm not a horn-dog. I would rather get to know a woman first before I take my clothes off in front of her."
Wulf shook his head. "There is something seriously wrong with you."
Chris cursed him in Old Norse.
Wulf ignored his profanity. "Maybe we should look into hiring a surrogate. Maybe buy a sperm bank."
Chris growled low in his throat, then changed the subject. "What happened tonight? You look even more pissed now than when you left. Did one of the panthers say something nasty to you at their club?"
Wulf grunted as he thought about the Katagaria panther pack who owned the club he'd gone to tonight. They had called him first thing this evening to let him know one of their scouts had spotted a group of unknown Daimons in the city, out on the prowl. It was the same group who had caused some problems for the panthers a few months back.
The Inferno was one of many sanctuaries set up throughout the world where Dark-Hunters, Were-Hunters, and Apollites could gather without fear of an enemy coming at them while they were inside the building. Hell, the were-beasts even tolerated Daimons so long as they didn't feed on the premises or bring unwanted attention to them.
Even though the Were-Hunters were more than capable of killing the Daimons themselves, as a rule they usually abstained from doing so. After all, they were cousins to the Apollites and Daimons, and as such took a very hands-off approach to dealing with them. Likewise, the Weres weren't overly tolerant of the Dark-Hunters who killed their cousins. They worked with them when they had to or when it benefitted them, but otherwise kept their distance.
As soon as Dante had been notified the Daimons were heading for his club, he had paged Wulf with an alert. But as Chris had insinuated, the panthers had a way of being less than friendly to any Dark-Hunter who stayed too long at their place.
Flipping his weapons out of his clothes, Wulf returned them to the armoire against the far wall. "No," he said, answering Chris's question. "The panthers were fine. I just thought the Daimons would put up more of a fight."
"Sorry," Chris said sympathetically.
"Yeah, me too."
Chris paused, and by his expression, Wulf could tell the boy had laid aside his ribbing and was trying to cheer him up. "You feel up to training?"
Wulf locked up his weapons. "Why bother? I haven't had a decent fight in almost a hundred years." Disgusted with the thought, he rubbed a hand over his eyes, which were sensitive to the bright lights Chris had on. "I think I'll go insult Talon for a while."
"Oh, hey!"
Wulf paused to look back at Chris.
"Before you go, say 'barbecue.'"
Wulf groaned at Chris's usual last resort to attempt to cheer him up. That was a standing joke that Chris had used to irritate him with since Chris was a small child. It stemmed from the fact that Wulf still held on to his ancient Norse accent which made him lilt when he spoke, especially when he said certain words, such as "barbecue."
"You're not funny, rugrat. And I am not a Swede."
"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, make the Swedish Chef noises."
Wulf growled. "I should never have allowed you to watch The Muppets." More to the point, he shouldn't have pretended to be the Swedish Chef when Chris was a child. All it did was give the boy one more thing to aggravate him with.
But still, they were family, and at least Chris was attempting to make him feel better. Not that it was working. Chris let out a rude noise. "Fine, you decrepit old Viking grump. By the way, my mother wants to meet you. Again."
Wulf groaned. "Can you put her off another couple of days?"
"I can try, but you know how she is."
Yes, he did. He'd known Chris's mother for more than thirty years. Unfortunately, she didn't know him at all. Just like everyone else not born of his blood, she forgot him five minutes after he left her presence.
"All right," Wulf relented. "Bring her over tomorrow evening."
Wulf headed to the stairs that led to his rooms underneath the house. Like most Dark-Hunters, he preferred to sleep where there was no possibility of accidental sun exposure. It was one of the very few things that could destroy their immortal bodies.
He opened the door, but didn't bother with the overhead light since Chris had lit the small candle by his desk. The eyes of a Dark-Hunter were designed to need almost no light. He could see better in the darkness than humans could see in broad daylight.
Taking his sweater off, he gently prodded the four bullet wounds in his side. The bullets had passed cleanly through his flesh and the skin had already started to heal. The injury stung, but it wouldn't kill him, and in a couple of days, there would be nothing left except four tiny scars.