Sweet Last Drop

By Melody Johnson

Trust No One

Cassidy DiRocco knows the dark side intimately--as a crime reporter in New York City, she sees it every day. But since she discovered that she's a night blood, her power and potential has led the dark right to her doorway. With her brother missing and no one remembering he exists, she makes a deal with Dominic Lysander, the fascinating master vampire of New York, to find him.

Dominic needs the help of Bex, another master vampire, to keep peace in the city, so he sends Cassidy to a remote, woodsy town upstate to convince her--assuming she survives long enough. A series of vicious "animal attacks" after dark tells Cassidy there's more to Bex and her coven than anyone's saying. That goes double for fellow night blood Ian Walker, the tall, blond animal tracker who's supposed to be her ally. Walker may be hot-blooded and hard-bodied, but he's hiding something too. If Cassidy wants the truth, she'll have to squeeze it out herself… every last drop.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyrical Press
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781601834232

Melody Johnson

Melody A. Johnson has performed from Brantford to Singapore. Her solo show Miss Caledonia continues to tour extensively, delighting audiences across the country. Melody is an alumnus of The Toronto Second City where she has directed main-stage revues We’ve Totally Probably Got This, 0% Down, and Second City for Mayor. Comedic turns include An Awkward Evening with Martin & Johnson with fellow alum Bob (The Drowsy Chaperone) Martin. Melody has received numerous Dora nominations over the years and a win for the title role of Mercy in Little Mercy’s First Murder at Tarragon/Shaw Festival. She was the co-creator of Mimi with Allen Cole & Rick Roberts for the Tarragon Theatre. Melody resides in Toronto with her partner Allen Cole and their son Dashiell.

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TRUST NO ONE

Cassidy DiRocco knows the dark side intimately—as a crime reporter in New York City, she sees it every day. But since she discovered that she’s a night blood, her power and potential has led the dark right to her doorway. With her brother missing and no one remembering he exists, she makes a deal with Dominic Lysander, the fascinating Master Vampire of New York, to find him.

Dominic needs the help of Bex, another master vampire, to keep peace in the city, so he sends Cassidy to a remote, woodsy town upstate to convince her—assuming she survives long enough. A series of vicious animal attacks after dark tells Cassidy there’s more to Bex and her coven than anyone’s saying. That goes double for fellow night blood Ian Walker, the tall, blond animal tracker who’s supposed to be her ally. Walker may be hot-blooded and hard-bodied, but he’s hiding something too. If Cassidy wants the truth, she’ll have to squeeze it out herself… every last drop.

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Books by Melody Johnson

The City Beneath

Sweet Last Drop

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Sweet Last Drop

Night Blood Series

Melody Johnson

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LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

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Lyrical Press books are published by

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Copyright © 2016 by Melody Johnson

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First Electronic Edition: April 2016

eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-423-2

eISBN-10: 1-60183-423-3

First Print Edition: April 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-424-9

ISBN-10: 1-60183-424-1

Printed in the United States of America

Acknowledgements

To my parents, Nancy and Leonard Johnson, for supporting my excitement to move down south, even though you probably thought quitting my day job for year-round summer and unlimited beach access was poor decision-making. As usual—in my writing, career, and life in general—you always have my back, whether I’m five minutes or five states away. I was brave enough to fly because you gave me the wings.

To Derek Bradley, for making a new home with me in sunshine and sand. Thank you for scouting the apartment, demanding different movers, hulking the furniture three flights, hanging the picture gallery, and taking care of business on the daily. You are an unwavering anchor, and this journey is immeasurably more exciting because I’m taking it with you.

To Carl Drake, for being my go-to IT guy. Without you, I’d still be stuck in the stone ages. Thank you for always pointing me in the right direction, recommending the best software, fixing my code every time I hit a wall, and trying to solve the domain redirect mystery. I finally have a website that looks great and actually works, and I don’t know which is more awesome.

To Margaret Johnston, for being my first ever Beta reader! Your feedback and insights were invaluable. I can’t truly express how grateful I am for the time and effort you dedicated to reading and revising this manuscript, not once but twice! Thank you so much for your help and friendship.

And last, but never least, to my friends, family, and followers who bought Book One, The City Beneath. Thank you for your support. Your words of enthusiasm, encouragement, and praise keep my creative flame burning bright. I’m so glad you enjoyed the first installment enough to continue reading the series. Taking you on this adventure means more than you’ll ever know.

Vampires Bite in the Big Apple- notes from draft 4

Cassidy DiRocco, Reporter

Nightmares are supposed to stay in dreams, but for the past three weeks, absolutely nothing, not even my dreams, are as they’re supposed to be. Reality is the nightmare. When murderers, rapists, thieves, and gangs were my choice topics to report, I was sickened and unendurably angry by what people were capable of doing to other people. Now, I’m just sickened by what I’m capable of, and I can’t sleep at all.

After sunset I see vampires lurking in every shadow, pressing against every doorway, committing every murder. Reality is further from anything I could have imagined, and I feel helpless against the enormity of Dominic’s reach. What’s the point of breaking my lease when Dominic will just demand entrance into my new apartment? Who can I confide in about my life after dark without risking their memory, or worse, their life?

The one question that haunts me most is ironically one that I struggled to answer long before stumbling upon Dominic’s existence. It haunted me after my parents died and I fought Percocet addiction—how long will I search for the answers before buckling under the unbearable truth that my efforts were futile from the start?

My brother disappeared three weeks ago. In another three months, will the agony of Nathan’s absence still drive my efforts or drive me insane? When do I draw the line between hope and insanity—in another three years? Unfortunately for me and everyone’s peace of mind, I don’t think there are lines for love. Love is already insane, so the only answer is to drive toward the truth….

Chapter 1

The bus ride from The Big Apple to Erin, New York gradually descended from the metropolitan area to suburbs, from suburbs to woodsy small towns, and then to nothing but fields and sheds and, of course, cows. I’d never seen so many cows in my life. Considering I’d never actually seen a cow in person, I suppose that wasn’t much of a statement, but it certainly seemed like Erin had an over-abundance of them. Their mooing reminded me of Dominic’s night blood-and-hamburger metaphor when he’d described how my blood tasted. You are a rare dish, he’d said, and I’d been terrified by his attraction.

I was still terrified of Dominic, attraction or not, but terror could only hold so much immediacy for so long, especially when the object of my terror was being relatively civil. Despite his consuming responsibilities as Master Vampire of New York City, Dominic had found time to visit me on numerous occasions at the hospital while I recovered from our battle against the rebel vampires. He visited me at home once I’d been released from the hospital. He visited me in the office when I returned to work and outside the office at every starlit opportunity. When he came calling, he was always fully fed, completely gorgeous, and the ultimate gentleman.

I knew better than to believe the illusion.

In his infinite patience, I think Dominic was biding his time, and I suspected it had everything to do with this very road trip to Erin, New York, Ian Walker’s hometown and the resting place of Erin’s abundantly powerful coven Master, Bex. Dominic’s Leveling was approaching in two short weeks, and he’d need all the power and allies at his back as possible to survive the one night he’d be as weak and vulnerable to death as any human.

Dominic, however, wasn’t the only man in my life with ulterior motives, although Ian Walker had been decidedly less patient for this visit.

I can’t wait to see you, darlin’, Walker had said at least once per conversation during the daily phone calls we’d enjoyed for the past three weeks. I miss you.

Walker’s voice had deepened salaciously, reminding me of that one night in my office. He’d lifted me onto my desk, and his strong hands had touched me in places I’d never thought I could feel again. I would have found his persistence coming from someone else nauseating, but between all the darlin’s and ma’ams, we shared an indelible bond that went beyond incorrigible flirtation.

Walker and I were two of the rare humans who had night blood, a hereditary gene necessary to complete the transformation into a vampire, but just because I had the potential to become a vampire didn’t mean I wanted to become one. That was a main point of contention between Dominic and me, albeit one of our more vehement disagreements. Walker, on the other hand, understood and shared my opinion on the matter. He was the only person who could relate to the danger of living with the knowledge that vampires existed.

Despite everything we had in common, I remained skeptical of both Walker and my feelings for him. We’d only physically known each other for one week. How well could I legitimately come to know a person in such a short time? But when I looked back at the week we’d shared and survived, I swallowed my doubts and forced myself to say the words because they were true.

I miss you too.

And now, after three weeks of nothing but phone time with Walker, I had finally arrived in Erin, New York for what should have been a vacation from all those demons back in the city. Less than twenty-four hours into our reunion, however, and Walker and I weren’t any closer to putting the moves on each other. He’d barely had time to give me a proper tour of the town before we were once again staring at a body.

Her name was Lydia Bowser, and she was last seen by her grandmother, leaving the farm for a walk before dinner. According to her grandmother and Walker’s detailed notes, she took a walk before dinner every night. She’d loved the last moments of daylight when the sun had already dipped below the horizon but its rays still lit the sky with a dim, burning glow.

I’d raised my eyebrows at the description, both from its nostalgia and its telling timeframe. Foul play after dark meant only one thing.

Although I’d left the city on vampire business in addition to my business with Walker, I’d especially looked forward to leaving behind a recent stretch of murders. Detective Greta Wahl and Officer Harroway—my personal friends and two of NYPD’s finest—were recovering evidence and leads at a snail’s pace; considering their slow, nearly backwards progress on that particular investigation, I’d still be able to report their findings when I returned to the city next week. I was due for a reprieve from the usual doom and gloom, as my boss often referred to my articles, but gazing down at Lydia Bowser, I realized that doom and gloom had, once again, found me.

The police already called it quits for today. You should have told them the media was coming. It’s not as if I can interview the victim. I crossed my arms and glared at Walker. Grief and fear didn’t look good on me, but I’d wear sarcasm any day of the week.

Walker looked up from a marker he was inspecting. He might not possess Dominic’s mind control abilities, but when his eyes met mine, I had to physically restrain myself from stepping toward him. A smirk tugged at his lips. Knowing that the media was coming would have spooked them for sure. You can interview the coroner. He’ll arrive in a few minutes to officially pronounce time of death and take her body to the morgue.

I don’t want to interview the coroner, I said stubbornly. I want to interview a witness.

I doubt an animal attack is what your boss had in mind when he approved your story on city versus rural New York crime fluctuations. You don’t need interviews from this case.

I snorted. Carter will love whatever I give him, although after my last article, an animal attack might be pushing the envelope.

Walker raised his eyebrows. Animal attacks in New York City certainly warrant headlines, but up here in Erin, NY, darlin’, they’re the rule, not the exception.

You’re telling me this is truly an animal attack from an actual animal? Not a vampire attack made to look like an animal attack?

Walker nodded.

How can you know for sure? How do you differentiate between what’s real from the reality that Bex fabricates?

Bex would never leave a kill out for discovery. Walker’s voice was clipped and uncharacteristically formal. She’s very careful about selecting and disposing of her prey.

Neither would Dominic, but with the Leveling approaching—

Bex’s Leveling isn’t approaching, Walker interrupted. Unlike Dominic, she’s unfortunately in full, indisputable command of her coven. They don’t make mistakes, not like this. Walker gestured to the surrounding woods and the pieces of Lydia Bowser that had been left out for discovery.

I bit my tongue to stop myself from defending Dominic. He was indisputably in command of his coven too, but a faction of rebels was frustrated with his conservative rule. He knew they no longer wanted to hide their existence from humans, but he’d never suspected that Jillian Allister, his second in command, would lead the uprising. In some ways, the blow of Jillian’s betrayal had been more devastating to him than his physical injuries. We’d barely survived, but despite her betrayal, Dominic had regained control of his coven.

Considering Walker’s unilateral distain for vampires, defending Dominic would only derail our conversation, so instead I said, I’ve no doubt that Bex has control of her coven, but mistakes happen. We shouldn’t rule anything out.

Walker crossed his arms. I’ll need to measure the bite radius and inspect the tracks to confirm the species and the number of potential predators, but I’ve no doubt that an animal attacked and killed Lydia, not a vampire.

I held Walker’s gaze for a suspended moment, but despite my alligator exterior, even I melted under his velvety brown eyes. I sighed and let some of the anger seep away. So no interviews.

Walker nodded. If you insist on discounting the coroner, no interviews.

Then why bring me here? It’s nothing I haven’t seen from your lovely tour of the town this afternoon.

Although it’s not homicide, it’s still a case I’ll be working on while you’re in town. I thought you’d want in.

I smiled. I always want in.

Walker’s smirk widened. So stop wasting our time arguing and get your fill before Berry arrives to transport Lydia to the morgue.

Berry?

Bernard Bershaw, our coroner.

Walker’s voice had started off teasing, but by the time he referred to Lydia, his tone had wavered. Here in his hometown, with a population shy of two thousand, Walker probably knew just about everyone. Living in a city of millions, the chances of knowing the victims are slim, but I could empathize. In all my years covering murders and interviewing loved ones, the only victim I’d ever known personally was Jolene McCall, and the memory of her death would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I kept my gaze carefully focused on Walker to distract myself from what little was left of Lydia. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m assuming you knew her?

Walker nodded, staring directly at her body. Her father was the police chief here for years. He just recently retired. We worked on several cases together, and he always carried wallets of his girls. Lydia was his youngest.

Walker wasn’t giving me background for the case. His words were more about grief than investigation, but something about his story struck a chord inside me, and God help me, I was hard-wired to pluck at it, grief or not.

From experience, I knew that people didn’t respond well to personal questions at a crime scene. They took offense, no matter the intention, because it made them feel suspect. So I made my voice as soft and innocent as I could before asking my question, which, considering my five foot two, one hundred ten-pound frame, could usually sound quite sweet despite my actual disposition. Did Lydia have a boyfriend?

Walker’s gaze snapped up to meet mine. My tone hadn’t fooled him. What are you getting at?

I shrugged and kept my gaze honed on his. It’s just a question.

And I want to know why you’re asking it.

Ex-police chief’s youngest daughter takes a stroll at dusk, why? Because she loves the last burning rays of sunlight? I kept my face neutral and let Walker make the connection himself.

Walker’s face flushed. This was an animal attack.

It certainly looks like it. I conceded. But what things are and what they look like aren’t always the same.

Walker shook his head, but his mouth clamped shut.

It’s just a question, Walker.

A question that didn’t need asking, Walker insisted. In this town, we don’t look under rocks that best lay put to rest. Maybe Lydia had a boyfriend and maybe she didn’t. It’s best to let the family grieve in peace without questions and rumors unearthing pain over an animal attack.

You don’t know whether or not she had a boyfriend, I pushed.

He sighed. I don’t know. Her father never mentioned her having one.

Does she have a best friend? Or is she particularly close to one of her sisters?

You’re not letting this go, are you? You’re gonna poke at wounds and make them fester over what is clearly an animal attack.

You brought me here knowing my propensity for questions. I’m just doing my job.

Walker crossed his arms. And what’s that?

To face the facts and find the truth.

This was an animal attack, Walker repeated, but he sounded exhausted.

Yes, and I’m sure she sincerely loved taking walks at dusk, I said, trying to pump sincerity into my voice. But I’m also sure that’s not the whole truth. She told someone the real reason for taking nightly sunset strolls, and that’s the person I need to interview.

The crunch of gravel groaned from around the bend in the road. Walker shifted his gaze and waved to the approaching van behind me.

You can’t just knock on strangers’ doors and start asking questions like you do in the city. They don’t know you here. They’ll clam up.

I stared at him for a long moment. But they know you. Since it’s a case you’ll be working on, maybe you can help me interview witnesses while I’m in town.

Walker shook his head slowly, but when he met my gaze, a wide smile crept over his features. You’re relentless, DiRocco.

Only with things that matter, I said.

A car door slammed, and Walker stepped forward to greet the person behind me. As Walker passed he leaned down, and the heady spice of his cologne made me want to lean in.

I’ll see what I can do, he whispered.

* * * *

Walker greeted Berry with a back-pounding, handshake-hug. When he stepped back to introduce me, I shook Berry’s hand, looked up to meet his gaze, and kept looking up. Berry was a ruddy, solid man whose family life and career choice had replaced what had probably been a promising future in professional basketball. Most people towered over me, but Berry was exceptionally tall, made only taller-looking by his string bean-like appendages. By his slight hunch, I’d wager he was just as aware of his height as I was of mine. He was kind and quiet as he handled Lydia’s remains, but despite Walker’s claim that animal attacks were a common occurrence upstate, Berry had obviously not grown accustomed to witnessing such carnage.

Lydia had been lovely, with wide doll eyes and wavy, light brown hair. Her face and upper chest were relatively intact; I could still see past the few lacerations across her cheeks and shoulders to the person she’d been before the attack. The rest of her, however, hadn’t fared as well.

From her upper chest down, Lydia’s remains were scattered in ragged parts, detached organs, and indecipherable pieces. Long shreds of tissue still connected her left arm to her shoulder, but Berry found the marker for her right arm further into the woods. Her abdomen had been raked by claws, spilling her intestines. They stretched in a long, tangled pile next to the unnatural angle of her left leg. The jagged break of her shin tore through the skin just under her knee. Nothing remained of her right leg except shreds of muscle and tendon. If a scrap of skin had survived, I couldn’t see it beneath all the blood.

The sight made Jillian stir inside my mind. I could feel her struggle on the opposite end of the mental twine connecting us; she hadn’t fed in weeks, not since I’d entranced her to save Dominic from her betrayal. She and her partner, Kaden, were supposed to have been executed for their crimes against the coven, for their crimes against me, but despite Dominic’s assurances that their sentences had been carried out, I could still feel her.

One last, frayed thread still connected our minds, and she wouldn’t let go.

The sweltering burns over Jillian’s body singed mine, as if we were imprisoned inside an oven, roasting in its confinement. I could feel her rage, as searing as the surrounding heat, as she envisioned and reveled in the thought of Dominic’s slow and gruesome death.

Examining Lydia’s remains was disturbing on many levels, with or without Jillian stirring my thoughts, but worse than the brutality of Lydia’s injuries was my reaction to them. Gazing at her blood made my throat convulse in a dry, scratchy swallow. My skin itched from the inside, like I’d resisted a hit and needed a fix, except instead of narcotics, I’d found a gruesome crime scene. God help me, there shouldn’t have been anything here to resist.

I glanced at Walker and Berry to see if they’d noticed my distraction. With Lydia center stage, no one was looking at me.

Berry placed two fingers on her neck, but it was a perfunctory measure. Lydia didn’t have a pulse. We could see through the right side of her neck and the shredded tissue of her esophagus to the glistening stacks of her spinal column. Her blood was not pumping. Berry glanced at his watch briefly and stood.

Time of death, 2000 hours.

Walker let a moment pass before he spoke. How would you like to start?

Berry cleared his throat. I have a container as well as the body bag. Let’s get as much of her as possible on the gurney and go from there.

Although some of Lydia was still whole and recognizable, not much of her parts were still attached by sturdy tissue. Walker and Berry lifted her upper body, left arm, torso, and left leg into the body bag in one smooth motion, but mid-move, half of her palm and three fingers fell to the ground. Walker picked up the fallen appendage and placed it gently in the container with her other severed body parts, but watching a piece of her physically detach from the whole was somehow worse. Berry couldn’t stomach it. He left for a five-minute break, which Walker and I both encouraged him to take, but honestly, I just wanted to finish as quickly as possible and get the hell out of the woods.

If Berry had been a cop, his squeamishness would have been poked and prodded at by his fellow officers until they had either razzed it out of him or he found a new occupation—I’d witnessed Harroway’s interaction with some of his new partners and experienced it several times myself from covering cases with him and Greta. Luckily for Berry, he wasn’t a police officer, and Walker and I would give him all the time and support he needed. Unfortunately for Walker’s animal attack theory, people don’t lose their cookies over scenes they witness regularly. Animal attacks might be more common here than in the city, but something was obviously different about Lydia’s attack, something which—despite Walker’s misgivings—I intended to find out.

Forty-five minutes later, Lydia was safely transported into the back of Berry’s van. Berry turned to shut the back doors, and I could see the dread in his expression at the thought of having to reopen them at the morgue. Walker was scanning the ground for anything we may have missed, so before I lost the opportunity for a one-on-one with Berry, I sidled up to the van and slammed one of the doors shut for him.

Thank you, ma’am. I’m much obliged, Berry said in the same slow, warm drawl as Walker. He slammed the other door shut, so it latched into mine.

You’re welcome. Walker’s a good friend, and I’m happy to help.

Berry adjusted his John Deere baseball hat. I heard the two of you survived a dangerous case in the city. Something about a gang war?

It had actually been Jillian leading the vampire uprising, but until I figured out how to reveal the existence of vampires without subjecting everyone to their mercy, I just nodded. Something like that.

I heard he was glad to have you around then, so we are certainly glad to have you here now.

Thank you. I took a deep breath. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?

Berry smiled. The movement creased and cracked every plane of his weathered face. I can’t say that Walker didn’t warn me.

I raised my eyebrows. Did he?

Yes, ma’am, he did.

Whatever you say can be off the record, if you’d prefer.

Berry’s smile widened. I hadn’t thought that his face could further wrinkle, but it did. I couldn’t help but smile back. Ask your questions, Miss DiRocco, he encouraged.

Just ‘DiRocco’ is fine.

He nodded.

How long have you been a coroner?

Goin’ on twelve years now. My daddy was the coroner and his daddy was the coroner before him. I grew up in the business and wouldn’t have it any other way. People in this town often fill in their parents’ shoes, and I wasn’t much of an exception, I suppose. And proud of it.

I nodded. It sounds like you enjoy your work.

In general, yes. There’s a lot of great folks in town, and helpin’ their loved ones pass, helpin’ them grieve, has been more than a business. It’s my life’s work.

I shared his smile and then deliberately made my face somber, knowing that he wouldn’t appreciate my next line of questions. In all your twelve years of experience, how many animal attack victims do you suppose you’ve had to pronounce dead?

Berry’s smile wilted. Little more than a dozen, likely.

Just over one per year then?

I’d have to check our records to be certain, but I’d say that sounds about right.

Do animal attack victims usually sustain such severe injuries, or would you consider Lydia’s injuries exceptionally severe?

Berry crossed his arms. Now, Miss DiRocco—

DiRocco is just fine.

He shook his head. If Walker thinks Lydia was attacked by an animal, than she was attacked by an animal.

I opened my mouth, but Berry held up his hand.

To you that may sound presuming, but to me, it’s a testament to Walker’s abilities and fine work ethic. I know without a doubt that Walker will research the tracks, determine the animal, and find it. If he determines the tracks are not animal, he’ll tell us that, too.

I nodded. I understand. I feel the same assurance about Walker’s work ethic from my brief time working our case in the city, and you’ve been working together for years.

Berry nodded with me.

I’m not asking you to question Walker’s professional opinion. I’m asking you to give me yours. In your twelve years of experience as coroner of Erin, New York, do Lydia’s injuries resemble the dozen or so other animal attack victims you’ve pronounced dead and their injuries?

Berry sighed. No, they don’t.

What’s different about Lydia?

Her injuries are far more severe. Typically, an animal feels threatened, is protecting her young, or has rabies. In any of those circumstances, the victim may sustain a life-threatening injury, such as blow to the head. Once the victim is unconscious, the threat is neutralized, and the animal goes on its way. Signs of a struggle are sometimes visible and can be substantial, like cuts, bruises, and bites. But Lydia— Berry’s voice caught. He shook his head.

I touched his shoulder softly. I know.

He cleared his throat. She was torn apart.

I’m sorry. I— I opened my mouth to find a delicate way to ask my next question, but Berry met my gaze. His eyes were red and shone from his welling tears. I reminded myself that these weren’t my people. My acquaintance with Walker might encourage their friendliness initially, but if I made grown, weathered men cry after every interview, no one would want to talk to me, about the investigation or otherwise. My next question wasn’t an end-all anyway, so I swallowed it. I’m very sorry. It’s especially hard when they’re so young.

Berry nodded.

Walker returned empty-handed from scanning the scene. I bid Berry a final thank you for his time, and Berry pounded Walker’s back in that same rough handshake-hug they’d greeted one another. One look at Berry’s watery, flushed expression, however, was enough for Walker. He narrowed his eyes on me over Berry’s shoulder. I blinked back, exuding unperturbed innocence the best I could considering the circumstances, but the moment we were tucked in the privacy of his Chevy pickup, Walker exploded.

What the fuck was that?

I matched his glare with an admonishing look of my own. You said I could interview the coroner, did you not?

Walker opened his mouth.

When you brought me here you knew full well I’d ask questions, I said before he could answer. Apparently, you even warned people. I’m good at what I do because people connect with me. I become a person to talk to, a person to confide in, but if you warn people that I’m a reporter, it only makes me one thing: a reporter. And people don’t open up to reporters.

I warned them for good reason! Berry was crying, for heaven’s sake!

My questions didn’t make him cry, Walker.

I saw him! He—

But it wasn’t my questions.

He ran his hand roughly over his face. I know.

I put my hand on his shoulder. I’m sorry.

Walker raised an eyebrow.

I smiled. Not about my questions. I’m sorry about Lydia.

He nodded. Me too.

Walker started the ignition and followed Berry’s van through the narrow gravel road out of the woods. Outstretched branches slapped the windshield and scraped against the side doors as we dipped and popped in and out of man-sized potholes. I winced in sympathy for his tires. The road could hardly be considered a road, even for Erin, and I remembered from Walker’s brief tour of the town this morning that it led somewhere specific.

What’s at the end of this drive?

Walker’s jaw tightened.

If we drove deeper into the woods would we—

You can’t let it go, can you?

I blinked. I’m just making conversation.

Berry pulled out onto the paved road, and his arm lifted from the window frame in a backhanded wave. Walker waved back, turning right out of the woods.

He sighed. The trail leads to Gretel’s Tavern. It’s not technically a road. It’s his driveway.

His?

Buck McFerson.

I opened my mouth to push my luck with another question, but a shadow moved on the edge of the tree line up ahead.

We still had a few hours of daylight. The sun’s rays streamed across the expanse of the road and dappled in glowing spots over the median and into the woods, but on the inner edge of the woods, where the tree line darkened from its leafy canopy and sunlight couldn’t quite reach a shadow within the shadows, two glowing orbs blinked through the leaves.

Walker, there’s—

Don’t start, he snapped. I’d like to escape from work sometime during the day, and preferably with you, but if you can’t separate church from state, then—

I squeezed my nails into his bicep. There’s a vampire up ahead.

Chapter 2

Walker’s muscle flexed under my hand. He stared ahead for a moment, and I knew the moment he caught sight of its reflective eyes. Walker’s hand tightened in a trembling vise around the steering wheel. We can’t catch a fucking break.

The sun hasn’t set. How is it out?

She keeps to the shadows. Walker took his foot off the gas and sighed. Daylight doesn’t impede her or her abilities anymore as long as she avoids direct sunlight.

I glared at Walker’s speedometer. Why are we slowing down? Do you know her?

Of course I know her. His grip on the steering wheel creaked. There’s an old train overpass up ahead.

Walker, I don’t think stopping is the best—

Bex can’t withstand direct sunlight without bursting into flames, but she’ll make short work of us if we cross into the shadows under the overpass.

Bex. I glanced at her again and the road up ahead, and sure enough, the overpass cast its shadow across both lanes, effectively road-blocking our drive.

So speed up! What could she possibly accomplish in the few seconds we’re under the overpass?

His jaw clenched. This truck is fairly new. I don’t want her denting its grill again.

I blinked. She’s done this before?

If we don’t stop on our own, she’ll make us stop.

I shook my head, both aggravated and impressed. As per my usual experience in dealing with vampires, Bex left us with very few choices, all of which ended in her favor. She chose this position to deliberately block us, knowing you would stop.

Or hoping I wouldn’t. Walker flipped up the center console. Take your pick.

I peered into the console’s depths and shook my head in appreciation of its contents. You’re certainly prepared, I said, hefting a familiar item in my palm. It looked like a pen, but when I clicked the top mechanism, a wooden stake sprang from its tip.

Always.

This one’s new, I commented, picking up a men’s Invicta skeleton wristwatch. It seemed like a simple watch, but nothing in Walker’s arsenal of weapons was ever what it seemed.

He grinned. One of my newest, actually. The hands detach from the watch on a pressurized spring and fire from the twelve like little spears. He pointed to the tip of one of the watch hands. The arrowhead design of the watch hands anchor the shot in place, or at least, I’m hoping it will. Once shot, the spear should be impossible to remove without creating more damage.

Let me guess… silver?

It’s effective. Why deviate from what works?

Very true. I placed the watch back into its holder in the console. I think I’ll just stick with my silver nitrate, I said, reaching into my jacket to pull out the spray I always carried with me, but my fingers slipped through a hole in my right pocket. Shit.

Walker raised his eyebrows.

I had spray with me this morning. I abandoned my pocket and tightened my hand around the pen-stake. Maybe I should hang on to this after all.

You do that. And take more silver nitrate as well. More never hurt.

Thanks. I snatched a can of the silver spray from the console and shut its lid. I preferred the silver nitrate over the stake because if a vampire turned the spray against me, it wouldn’t harm me. I couldn’t say the same about a wooden stake. One stab through the heart would kill me as effectively as it would kill them.

I actually had more than Walker’s weapons as protection against vampires, including new silver earrings I’d bought to match the silver necklace Dominic had given me, but I couldn’t tell Walker about the necklace. A vial of Dominic’s blood hung from the chain in a hollow, glass pendant. I’d shied away from wearing it when Dominic had first bestowed the gift—in general, I made a habit of avoiding jewelry containing bodily fluids—but his blood could heal injuries when applied topically. Anything that could do that was more precious than silver nitrate and stakes combined. Inevitably, no matter the caliber of weapons we carried, I’d need to heal in some capacity after interacting with vampires.

I swallowed nervously as the Chevy rolled to a halt a few feet shy of the shadows. Just because she’ll burn, doesn’t mean she won’t cross into the sunlight anyway. Dominic once deliberately melted his hand on silver just to prove a point. They don’t think of pain and injuries like we do because they heal so quickly.

I know, Walker said. He opened his truck door. But she won’t.

I don’t want to bet my life on it.

"It’s not a bet. It’s guaranteed. Bex is very careful not to remind