Page 25 of The Vampire in the Potting Shed

Surprise, surprise. Neither of them did. Though I gave Fayne a pass, after almost dying in front of me.

“Stop the SUV at the next gas station.” Sloane made it an order. “I’ll get Ana home myself.”

“That’s not happening.” Bowie cut Fayne a glance. “It’s up to you, Gran.”

“Gran?” I choked on the word. “What do you meanGran?”

“Tell…her…” Fayne leaned her head against the glass and shut her eyes. “About Rían.”

“Rían.” A shiver prickled down my arms as the name struck home. “Rían’s alive?”

Cranking his head around, Bowie gawked at me. “How do you know about Rían?”

“I found him.” I sat back when Fayne twisted in her seat toward me. “In the potting shed.”

“You’re the one who protected him?” She pressed a hand over her heart. “Oh, darling, thank you.”

“You saved his life.” Bowie’s tone held real gratitude. “I didn’t know how I was going to get him out.”

Well, that explained how the sentinels on patrol had missed the copious amount of blood.

Bowie discovered it and hid it from the others. Not that I had any room to talk.

“He’s a vampire,” I grumbled, fidgeting with the dagger’s worn hilt. “He’s already dead.”

Wheezing laughter burst from Fayne until tears streaked down her face, and she had to clutch her belly.

“He’s not a vampire.” Her eyes twinkled at me. “He’s far more interesting than that.”

“He was cold as ice when I found him.” I curled my fingers into my palm. “Andhe flashed a fang at me.”

“Blood loss,” Fayne mused, her eyes slipping shut again. “We don’t run hot like wolves do, but we’re not corpselike.” A delicate snort blasted out her nose as she elbowed Bowie. “Well, not most of us anyway.”

Bowie shared the laugh, but he sobered after catching the annoyance pinching my face.

“As to what he is,” Fayne said, noticing my expression too, “I imagine he’ll want to show you himself.”

“Anything to avoid giving an answer.” I considered using the knife handle to smash the window. “You and Dad have a lot in common.” I stared at the back of Bowie’s head. “He’ll kill you for betraying him.”

“He’ll have to catch me first.” He flashed a broad smile at the open road. “I’ve spent the last year in this form, and as of tonight, I’m free of it.” He slid a glance at Fayne. “As soon as Gran is up to unraveling me anyway.”

“This form?” Sloane scooted closer to me. “What does that mean?”

“Bowie Ferguson—the boy you grew up with—died in a collision. He flew to Los Angeles to race in an invitation-only event on Mulholland Drive. Bowie took Dead Man’s Curve too fast and flipped his Maserati GT2 Stradale at two hundred miles per hour.”

“And you let everyone think…?” The moisture dried from my mouth. “What about his parents?”

“He and Lyra are estranged from their parents, who sought to keep Sartori’s favor after the tooth incident.”

Unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I snarled, “You’re trying to say this ismyfault?”

“Not at all, darling.” Fayne reached back and patted my knee. “Not one bit of this is your fault.”

“Does that mean,” Sloane asked, “their parents don’t know Bowie is dead?”

“They’re aware of the wreck, but they believe Bowie survived.” His hands flexed on the wheel, betraying his discomfort with the topic. “Any inconsistencies in my behavior, including gaps in my memory, have been chalked up to a catastrophic head injury even shifter healing couldn’t entirely fix.”

“That worked out well for you,” I said coolly, hating that Bowie’s parents were about to lose him again. For good this time.

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