by Hannah Jayne
“Bettina? Banshee.”
Will sat back, looking impressed; I shook my head, worrying my bottom lip. “I don’t know. He’s replacing all the UDA higher-ups with vampires. If he were to take out some of the less desirable clientele, then ...”
Will sipped. “Then?”
The word hung in the air and I turned it over and over, trying desperately to figure out why Dixon, his toothy brethren, or even VERM would start taking out other demons. Coming up blank, I shrugged, took a heavy slug of my beer. “I have no idea, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Vampires can be zealots. And someone did try to stake me through the heart.” I rubbed the fat bruise that marred my skin.
“Why would a vampire try to kill you, Sophie Lawson, human, with a wooden stake?”
“It could have been a sign.”
“Or coincidental. Or the theory of three.”
I cocked a scrutinizing brow. “All bad things happen in groups of three?”
Will opened his arms and looked around the half-empty pub. “And yet, nothing bad has happened since we’ve been here, right?”
“So we’re out of the woods?”
“It’s possible.”
I set down my drink and used my index finger to trace the exposed wood grain on the coffee table. “I’m afraid everything that has happened has had a common link.”
“That link being you.”
I nodded woefully. “Of course. Closing in on me. Killing people around me to let me know they have the power. Its practically textbook. I mean, you’re my Guardian. You should know. Doesn’t the Vessel always draw”—I dropped my voice, my eyes darting around the room—“unrest? And what about it being a fallen angel? Alex said that once Ophelia was ...”
I still had a hard time saying “once Ophelia was dead”—both because I was the reason she was dead and technically (however technical demon blood lines went at least), she was my half sister. For a while there, she was the only family I had.
Unfortunately, she spent our entire sisterly relationship trying to kill me.
I swallowed hard. “He said even after Ophelia, it wouldn’t be over. Another fallen angel would just come and take her place.”
Will held up a silencing hand. “True. And generally, that’s how it is. Once Ophelia was stopped, all it meant is that someone else will take her place and come after you, trying to get the Vessel for himself. But, Sophie, no one knows about you. Ophelia had a connection to you.”
I sat back, both startled and impressed. It must have shown on my face because Will stiffened. “What? You don’t think I know anything about this whole fallen angel business? You’re my charge, love, and I’m well-versed in all the things that go bump in your nights.”
An inappropriate hot blush washed over me. I clamped my knees together, mentally claiming that the fire was the reason for the sudden sweat at the back of my neck—it had nothing to do with Will and what went bump in my nights.
I took a refreshing sip of my beer. “What about Adam? He was working for Ophelia and he knew what I was. He said he did.”
“Just before the building he was in went up in flames.” Will smiled. “Remember? I was there. I was the bloke with the rubbers”—he pointed to his shoes—“and the enormous hose.”
The hopelessness of the situation must have gotten to me, because I found myself giggling uncontrollably when Will said “enormous hose.” He watched me, his hazel eyes catching the gold glow of the cracking fire. The warmth raged inside me again and I sucked down half my beer in a single gulp. I winced, burping softly.
“’ Scuse me. And I don’t mean to be naïve, but aren’t fallen angels like”—I struggled for the words—“immune to fire? Adam didn’t even flinch, and the flames were right on us.”
“Adam isn’t here, love.”
I finished my beer. “So you’re just going to dismiss this whole thing? Just like that?”
“I didn’t say that. As per our otherworldly agreement, I’m keeping an eye on you, and you’re keeping an eye on the Underworld.” Will smiled and clinked his glass with mine; then he finished his beer. “Another?”
“I guess,” I groaned.
By the time Will came back with our second round, I had kicked off my shoes and had tucked my legs under myself, enjoying the calming warmth of the fire, the comfort of the little pub with its beer-and-shepherd’s-pie scent.
“I guess I could be wrong,” I said, taking a hearty sip.
Will turned to stare at me, full in the face. His eyes were wide with incredulity. “You don’t say!”
I took another gulp. “Shut up. I do have another theory.”
Will raised an interested eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“Well, Mrs. Henderson burned Nina up.” I held up two fingers. “Twice.” Then I hiccupped and took another sip to wet my mouth. “And Kale ...” Here I looked over each shoulder, scanned the bar for intruders, and crooked my finger, beckoning Will closer. “Kale,” I started in a hoarse whisper, “and Vlad were almost doing it on my living-room couch. I walked in on them.” I didn’t know if it was the beer or the recalled image of Vlad’s deathly white chest, but a shudder washed over me. I clamped a hand over my mouth because suddenly the idea of Kale and Vlad—Vlad!—writhing on my living-room couch was far more hilarious than disgusting. “Get it?”
A mask of confusion—or maybe disgust—set across Will’s handsome features. “Get what?”
I gestured wildly, slopping some beer on my wrist and licking it up. “Mrs. Henderson burned up Nina.”
Will grabbed my near-empty glass as I tried to negotiate it to my other hand to make the requisite two-finger gesture.
“I know, twice,” he said. “But you told me yourself there is no way Nina is involved, and I have to agree with you.”
I scooched closer toward Will, until he and I nearly were nose to nose. I began enunciating exaggeratedly, certain that that is what it would take to get my point across. “And then Kale seduces Vlad, and she gets hit by a car.” I took my drink from Will and finished it, wiping my foam mustache with the back of my hand. “Get it? It could be VERM, out for revenge. They’re protecting their kind.”
Will blinked at me and I fanned myself. I leaned over and deposited my empty beer glass on the table and took a healthy slug from his. “It’s hot in here.”
A waitress stopped by and poked at my glass with the nub of her pencil. “’Nother?”
“No,” Will said, eyes firm on me.
“Yes,” I said, eyes just as firm. “He’s trying to be my party pooper.”
The waitress returned with another round of beers and a selection of appetizers, which Will had suggested. He read off the menu and I nodded to each one. Now we had an army of deep-fried deliciousness picking up the comforting flames of the fire.
I smashed a hunk of deep-fried mozzarella in between two slabs of boneless buffalo wings and tossed the whole thing in my mouth, reveling in the hot, deep-fried goodness as I licked the gooey residue from my fingers. I finished off my bar menu canapé with a slug of cold beer. “So what do you think?”
“I think maybe you’ve had enough.”
I slapped down my glass. “You know, I’m really tired of you patronizing me. You would be out of work, if not for me.”
“You do realize I work for the San Francisco Fire Department, right?”
I nodded my head hard and rolled my eyes. “I mean out of guardianship work. And what’s with that, anyway? Do I need to remind you who drove a stake through the last fallen angel? Shouldn’t that have been”—I poked Will in the center of his rock-hard chest—“your job?”
Will looked unfazed. “Do I need to remind you who climbed out her flat’s bathroom window to fall into dubious battle with the fallen undead?”
“And whose fault was that?” Somewhere in my sober subconscious I was fairly aware that it was me, but I could see the alarm growing in Will’s four eyes, so I left it alone.
“You might want to calm down, love.”
&n
bsp; “I’m calm.” I pointed at him with a half-eaten chicken wing. “I’m just trying, once again, to give you a little heads-up to the things that go bump in the night.” I smiled, gritting my teeth against a hiccup.
Will stopped trying to fight his grin and it pushed up to his earlobes. “All right, then. I’m listening.”
The setting sun was glistening off the line of empty pint glasses on the sticky little coffee table as I polished off the last potato skin, licking sour cream off my fingers.
“I might be wrong,” I started, then hiccupped, “and I hope I am, but I am not being overdramatic. It just kind of adds up a little bit. I mean, their whole organization. . . Hey, isn’t it weird that in England they spell ‘organization’ with an s, not a z?” I grinned, and Will’s eyes were intent on mine. I knew I was in the zone. I knew I was onto something. I knew if I didn’t stop sucking down Guinness and chicken wings, I would be seeing both again later tonight. “Their whole organization is dedicated to the restoration and empowerment of vampires. They’re all, ‘Vampires good—arghh, arghh, arghh!’” I feigned bashing with my chicken wing. “It’s right there on their website.”
“VERM has a website?”
“Everyone has a website.”
Will nodded, picking bits of chicken from the front of his shirt. I finished off my chicken leg, gave myself a makeshift bath with a Wet Nap, then blinked.
“Do you think everything is going to be okay, Will?”
Will’s grin was easy and slow as he tangled his fingers in my hair. His fingertips brushed my naked neck, making me shiver. I closed my eyes and let the warmth from the fire—and from the beers—wash over me.
Will nodded. “Nothing is going to happen, love—not if I have anything to say about it.”
“You have pretty, pretty teeth. Do Guardians get good dental?” I hiccupped again.
“I think you’ve had enough.”
“Now I think I’ve had enough.”
Will slung his arm around me and carried—er, led—me out the door. A slow drizzle had started in the ink black night and I pulled my jacket up over my head, feeling the flaming red curls that I had so carefully relaxed frizz and bounce around my head. I could smell the yeasty scent of beer on my own breath; but when Will turned to me, his breath was minty fresh. Before I knew it, my arms were around his neck, and my chest was pressed up against his. I leaned forward, focusing on the stern set of his chin. I brushed my fingertips over the sprinkle of stubble there, and Will grabbed my hand and kissed it.
“Thought we were workmates,” he said in a throaty voice. His index finger gently tapped my chest. “Guardian and guard-ee.”
“We are friends, too,” I murmured. My eyelids felt heavy. “And friends can do all sort of things.”
Will whirled me around so we were standing under an awning, slightly shielded from the rain.
“No!” I said. “I like the rain!”
My hand trailed down his arm; my fingers interlacing with his. I pulled him into the cool rain and rolled up onto my tiptoes, mashing a rough kiss against his lips. My knees went weak and my whole body exploded in titillating warmth. I pressed my tongue through Will’s slightly parted teeth and found his tongue. Will’s arms tightened around my waist and he pulled me closer. I let out a little groan and slumped against him, enjoying his firm chest and the secure way his hands fit at the small of my back.
“You’re drunk,” he whispered down to me.
“You’re pretty,” I said to his chest.
“Come on, Sophie.”
“Don’t you want to kiss me some more?” I was trying to smile in the sexy way I had seen Nina do so many times, but my cheeks felt like bubble gum and fishing weights. I shrugged. “Hey, where does it say in my supernatural job description that I can’t occasionally imbibe? Besides, I was just going to get a Coke.” I poked his firm chest. “You were the one who bought me the beer. What kind of angel is that?”
I may have been a little out of sorts, but not enough to miss the look of disappointment that flitted across Will’s face.
“I am your Guardian. Alex is the angel.”
I shrugged and continued down the sidewalk, feeling light and silly. “You say potato ...”
Will stepped around me so he was walking closest to the curb. I stopped and snickered. “Alex does that so I don’t get mud on my petticoat.”
He looked at me skeptically. “Come again?”
“Boys from his time walk on the outside so that girls”—I thumped my chest in a most ladylike gorilla fashion—“don’t get splashed with mud from wagon wheels on their dresses.” I attempted an imaginary dress-fluttering twirl, but instead I stumbled over my own feet and landed against the cold bricks of a boarded-up Zain’s Liquors. I hiccupped and giggled, pointing at the wall. “When did that get there?”
Will wagged his head. “Let’s get you home.” In one quick move I was hanging over his shoulder, my hair flopping in my eyes, arms hanging Raggedy Ann style over my head. I was watching the sidewalk roll by ... until I realized that if I straightened up, I had a perfect view of Will’s rump, and it was quite, well, perfect.
“You know, for a Guardian you’ve got a hell of an—”
But my words were drowned out by the pop-pop-pop as it echoed through the empty city streets. I tried to straighten up, to see the car as it backfired, but Will broke into a run and my stomach thunked against his shoulder. I could feel the beer slosh around in my gut and my cheeks started to burn. I was able to crane my neck and catch the shiny wheel covers of an SUV before Will dove behind a Dumpster, both of us flopping onto the wet concrete.
“Are you okay?”
“Were those—”
There was one more echoing pop! and I saw the sweat beading above Will’s upper lip. My teeth started to chatter. “Gunshots?”
The last shot melted into squealing tires and Will pushed me back as he peered around the Dumpster. I could feel the cold wetness of the concrete seeping into the seat of my jeans, and my palms were rough and stung from hitting the ground, raking through the gravel.
“Is he gone?” I was surprised I was able to get the words out as my teeth hammered together.
“Stay back,” Will commanded.
I did as I was told, holding both my breath and my stomach. I felt my beer and potato skins climbing up my throat. “I don’t feel so good.”
Will turned back to me and did a precursory examination as he knelt beside me. “Are you okay? You weren’t hit at all?”
I shook my head, unable to talk. “Wha-wha-wha,” I mumbled dumbly.
“Don’t move. I’m going to make sure they’re gone.”
Will reached behind him and fished a gun from his waistband. I could feel myself blanch. “Since when do you carry a gun? Fire people don’t carry guns! Is it Guardian-issu—”
Will shushed me, and I clamped a hand over my mouth, parting my fingers to whisper, “I can’t believe you had that the whole time.”
He answered me with a hissed “shhh!” and crept around the Dumpster after cocking the gun once. I heard the safety slide and felt like I needed to pee. My heart thundered in my temples, replaying the rhythmic pop of every gunshot.
“Oh God,” I grumbled. It is happening again.
I could still see Will’s shoes as he crept along the side of the Dumpster, but I felt so incredibly alone. A tongue of icy cold air dipped down the back of my coat. The tears started to fall, and I darted after Will, pushing myself in front of him.
“Sophie!”
“They want me, Will. They’re after me!” I turned to him; tears and snot were mingling at my chin, and my eyes blurred. “I can’t let you get hurt, too!”
Will yanked hard on my arm and I flopped to the concrete, letting out an inelegant “oof!” as I hit the ground.
“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?” I screamed as Will worked to still me.
“Sophie, stop!”
I finally stopped flailing and looked up at Will; he was st
raddling me, sitting gently on my hip bones. I sobbed miserably.
“All my friends are going to die, and it’s all because of me. I’m going to give myself up. You can’t stop me. Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’m going to do it!”
I was midway through my suicidal soliloquy when I realized that Will had climbed off me, tucked his gun back in his waistband, and was crouched down a few feet from me, studying the concrete.
I pushed myself up. “What are you looking at?”
“Shell casings,” he said without turning around. “Do you know what shell casings are made of?”
I shrugged, thinking back to the single shooting lesson I had with Alex a year ago. “I don’t know. Brass, right? Aren’t they usually made of brass?”
Will nodded and I crouched down next to him, following his gaze to the litter of shell casings gleaming on the wet concrete.
“They’re usually brass or aluminum.” Will picked up one of the casings and held it up between thumb and forefinger so we could both examine it. “But look. These are made of silver.”
“Silver?”
“Silver bullets.”
I felt my eyebrows go up. “Silver bullets? That’s either—”
Will licked his lips and forced a small smile. “Skunky American beer.”
“Or the only thing that could kill a werewolf.”
We both looked out to the deserted street and noticed the lone silver bullet at the same time. It was lolling against the black concrete, winking in the night.
Suddenly I was stone-cold sober. I sucked in a sharp breath.
“My God, Will. Someone is hunting werewolves.”
Chapter Fourteen
In my imagination I am Sophie Lawson, Badass Investigator, Paranormal Specialist. I wear black leather, like a second skin; I wield a sexy, jeweled sword; I have the kind of hair that flies in gorgeous wisps over my naked, carved shoulders.
In real life I was crouching behind a Dumpster, sputtering and making snot bubbles; my skin was pasty white and “I’ll hit the gym tomorrow” jiggly.
“Someone’s hunting werewolves?” I finally bellowed; my voice was choked with tears and terror. “Does someone think I’m a werewolf?” I pointed to my own chest and then focused on my index finger. “Have I always had hair on my fingers? Oh, holy lord, I’m becoming a werewolf, and someone is trying to kill me!”
