Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I pause here. Because his tone has changed. Is he angry?
“I asked you a question.”
“How could I know what you’ve been through. We haven’t spoken.”
“Because you won’t answer my calls. Did it ever occur to you that I have important things to say?”
I almost laugh here. He sounds… needy. And he’s always been that way with me, but it’s a little bit desperate this time. So I don’t laugh. “OK. Then tell me what you have to say.”
“The witch did a number on me.”
“A number?”
“She… the… the blood.” He takes a breath and lets it out. “I’ve had a very bad week and I would like you here at home.”
“No! How many times do I have to fucking tell you, that place is not my home?”
He hangs up on me.
I slump back into my beach chair and tilt my head up towards the sun, enjoying the heat. I love the sun. Especially after trekking around the Rocky Mountains for three weeks.
My phone buzzes again and I rip my sunglasses off, ready to chew him out, but when I look at the screen it says ‘Echo.’
I accept the call. “What is it now, Echo?”
“He did it again.”
Now I have a full-on headache. I might actually have to go west just to get a drink from Paul if this keeps up. “Who was it this time?”
“Willie!”
I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Well, I mean… it’s Willie, Echo. He’s a meth-addicted fiend who steals anything not nailed down. What did you expect?”
“He was getting clean.”
“Sure he was. Is that all? Because I’m busy here.”
“He ripped his head off, Ryet. His head! People are traumatized.”
“They live on a vampire’s compound in the middle of the wilderness. What do they think is gonna happen?”
“His head, Ryet.”
“I get it. It’s gross. But what do you want me to do about it?”
“Come home. Come home and—”
I end the call. He put her up to that. I’m willing to bet—fuck, pretty much everything I own, including my already claimed soul—that meth addict Willie is alive and well. Probably drinking beer and playing pool with the guys.
Something needs to give here. I can’t deal with Paul like this. He’s not even himself. And I’m a little bit sympathetic. I am. I get it. His feeder is gone and we’re all properly freaked out about it, and if the witch got to him—I understand this is a time of great change.
But I’ve got my own problems. And I don’t need a feeder. Hell, Paul doesn’t even need a feeder. He feeds me, and I don’t require much. I could go another three or four years without drinking him if I had to. And he’s got blood on ice everywhere. Young blood. Really good, nutritious, tasty, sweet blood.
Why is he so obsessed with this one girl?
It bugs me.
Mostly because I’m a little bit obsessed with her as well. She’s practically an urban legend at this point. Her grandmother kills her mother the moment she’s born. Steals the mother’s power—who knew that was even possible?—and then uses that new power to escape, with the baby, and hides her from the oldest vampire in the western hemisphere for twenty-eight years.
If I had gotten a chance to meet that old witch, I would’ve given her a long, slow clap.
Well played, witch. Well played.
But that’s not the end of it, is it? Then the girl gets away. Even though the magic keeping her hidden is now poof. Gone.
It’s impressive.
But why is Paul obsessed with her?
I narrow my eyes as I think about this.
There could be many reasons. None of which are seriously worth considering because every time I try to figure him out, I’m never right.
But there is something to the blood inside this woman. Something important. More important than just being young, and fresh, and sweet. That’s about all I can say for sure, so I get up from my lounge chair and sniff the air.
This is why I’m here. And now that I know there’s a Guild involved, it adds up.
Someone has put her scent in the poolside misters. It’s being sprayed all over the cabanas, and the pool, and even as far out as the sand and the crashing waves.
They set a trap for me and I fell for it.
Of course, I don’t feel bad about it. I like this hunt. It keeps me busy. And I’m kinda looking forward to finding her. I want to meet this little witch.
I check the whole area anyway. Wouldn’t it be ironic if she were one cabana down? Just lounging in her chair, sipping margaritas, and watching me look for her?
This thought comes with an interesting voyeur twist that almost makes me smile.
I check the whole outside area. I even check the hotel next door, just in case. But the scent disappears quickly when I leave the one I’m staying at.