Page 56 of Dance With Death

Especially because the guy's theory may be true.

“Does the academy lock the zombies up at night in case they start eating brains?” continues the second guy.

“Good grief. How long do your brains usually take to process information? There are no zombies in town, at the academy, or in existence at all.”

“You saying my dad’s lying?” says Dale and straightens. “What do you think, mate?” He jerks his chin at the silent Leif beside me.

“That you’re idiots?” he replies.

I arch a brow at Leif. That would’ve been my line. But if knowledge about the necromancy spreads around town, even if twisted into tales of horror films, that’s a concern. Does Dorian know?

“Holly.” I snap my head back to the girl at her speaking my friend’s name. “I heard she’s in the hospital and nobody can visit.”

The wildfire spreads…

“Family only. She’s too sick,” says Leif.

The second guy whispers to Dale, “The hospital won’t allow visitors because they’re worried Holly might eat people’s brains. She’s dead.” He slices a finger across his neck.

A shadow sweeps across my vision, and the guy’s eyes go wide as I lurch at him. Leif grabs my arms and pulls me backwards.

“Holy shit. Look at her,” the guy says hoarsely, eyes darting around for an exit. I bare my teeth, and he practically pole vaults over the bench seats towards the counter.

“Violet.” Leif places a palm on my forehead, the warmth and energy grounding me. Slightly. “Ignore them.”

“You heard what they said. About Holly.”

“It was a joke!” says Dale. “No wonder people don’t trust you. Vamps shouldn’t go around… vamping at people.”

Vamping? “I am not a vampire; I’m?—”

I watch the guy who jumped the seats rushing towards the exit, Grayson and Rowan looking on in confusion between us from their seat in the window, but his swift departure isn’t what halts my words.

A guy stands across the street, facing the café, hands in pockets. Rain pours onto him, and I can’t see his face or hair beneath the black jacket hood but do recognize the soaked gray trackpants. I drop a look to his black sneakers. The same ones as the guy wore at the hospital.

Why is he watching us?

Forget moronic humans and their zombie obsession; I need to get my hands on that person.

20

VIOLET

Not only have I just shown a group of humans my aggressive hybrid face, but I’ve also demonstrated how fast I can move. One moment, I’m arguing with them about semantics, the next, they hear the bell over the door tinkle as it closes behind a blur of hybrid movement.

The guy across the street must know I spotted him because he’s already moving away at equal speed to me. He is a shifter. All feline or canine shifter types move exceptionally fast, and this one’s no exception. This must be the shifter from last night. There’s no other explanation.

Our vantage point in the window allowed us to study passersby, but I never expected one to stop and stare. If the guy wants to talk, why not approach? Well, many reasons, including my violent reputation, and he’s a shifter who attacked my friend.

A wolf shifter in human form would beat a human sprinter’s land speed records and also equal me, but once he shifts, I’ll struggle to catch him. Behind, Leif and Grayson call my name, and, when I don’t stop, Grayson catches up.

“Don’t follow him into the woods,” he says, swiveling to face me and blocking my route.

“Why? He’s a suspect.”

“Who could be leading you into a trap,” Grayson calls, as I deftly sidestep him and continue my sprint to the park.

Grayson’s move blocked my view of the guy for only a moment, but enough that he’s sprinted out of sight. He must’ve run into the woods—escaping me by charging through the town in wolf form would lead to trouble, and possibly a stint in a cage in an animal control center.

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