Undead on Arrival
Page 26
Besides, there was a long hard talk she had to have with her brother, once Doc told him some family secrets man-to-man . . . just like Hunter needed time to talk to his sibling, who still had to cope with the loss of his mother and sister, no matter how twisted they were.
Lines of demarcation had finally blurred, family customs, cultures, histories had to get shared across what had once been a great wolf divide. So Sir Rodney was wise in allowing the party to rage on into a fortnight. She’d think of something to tell the general so he wouldn’t get pissed off—and would bring him some more glowing evidence that might earn him another star. Truthfully, if it was quiet and nothing was going bump in the night, the man really didn’t wanna know.
All of that was fine by her. Her family was around her safe and happy, the Fae made fantastic ale, plus she’d learned to dance a Pixie jig, and . . . Max Hunter was to die for.
Anyway, folks were partying hard because, although nobody said it, everybody knew that once the music stopped they’d have to pay the band. Sir Rodney seemed to know it more than anyone. He kept milling through the throng and checking like a local mayor at a county fair to be sure every entity was having a good time—and he sure was, two different ladies on each arm at all times. They said the wolves were bad, but the man was quite literally an animal.
Notwithstanding, it was an unspoken fact that you just didn’t screw Vampires out of a power position and kick their butts and then figure they’d make nice. Oh . . . nooooo. Instinctively everyone seemed to know that they’d better get their party on now, hard and fast. Give it a day, a week, a year, or a coupla centuries—the old boys would be back, undead on arrival, and there’d be hell to pay.