Page 10 of The Alpha's Protective Mate

As his car grows smaller and smaller in the distance, my heart tightens in my chest.

Two dead vampires.

My father’s not going to let that go.

Chapter 3

Charlotte Sanguinite

Two black vans arrive, and serious-looking men unload from it.

I am completely ignored as they move about, cleaning the entire animal shelter and the street outside. A couple of them head to the backyard, where they disappear with the bodies. Two of them measure the door, and not thirty minutes later, a similar glass door is brought and fixed into place. Even the dogs in the back rooms, who are causing an uproar, are given treats to calm them.

One of the men goes so far as to wipe the security camera footage.

The whole thing is over in less than an hour, and they leave as quietly as they came.

As I look around the shelter, it is like no one was ever here.

I sit down heavily with a sigh. Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s time to feed the kittens again. I’m starting to get worried about Ricky.

As I’m about to pour the milk into the pan, I hear the back door open.

My first instinct is fear, and I immediately pick up the pan, ready to slam it into the intruder’s face. The footsteps are slow and careful. I put myself in an ideal position. The face, first, and then hit them in the family jewels. Double strike.

I’m already swinging the pan when I see the person emerge from the doorway.

Unfortunately, I’m not able to stop the momentum, and Ricky goes down with one blow.

“Oh my God! Ricky!” I toss the pan aside, crouching by the side of the dazed man. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were an intruder!”

“My head,” the young vet groans, clutching his skull.

I help him up, the guilt eating at me. “I really did think you were a thief or something. I’ll get you some ice.”

Sitting on the kitchen stool, he rubs his forehead while I get him a cold compress out of the freezer. I apply it to the bump that is forming. “Did I hit you hard?”

“No, Charlotte. You barely grazed me.” Ricky snatches the compress from me. “I just decided to fall on the floor for kicks.”

It feels like I keep apologizing these days. “I’m sorry.”

“Who would want to break into our shelter?” He glares at me. “Explain the logic to me. We don’t have anything worth stealing here.”

I can’t really explain my paranoia to him, so I mutter, “We have drugs.”

Suddenly he blinks, giving me a good, hard look. “What happened to your eye?”

“I—” I struggle to think of an explanation that doesn’t involve vampires and beheading. “I walked into the door.”

“With your left eye?” Ricky’s gaze narrows. “Do I look like I’m five? What happened, Charlotte?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did someone hit you?” he asks abruptly. “Are you seeing someone? Is it an abusive—”

“Ricky!” I cry out, horrified. “Of course not! It’s stupid, alright?”

“Somebody punched you in the eye, Charlotte,” the vet says darkly, “and you’re making up stories about it, which means you either know the person—”

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