Page 26 of The Vampire in the Potting Shed

Far too soon, Bowie—or whatever his name was—cut the wheel, putting us on Main Street in Brentwood.

“As happy as I am to have Ana one step closer to home, you can’t think stopping here is a good idea.” Sloane scoffed a disbelieving laugh. “We’re forty-five minutes away from pack lands. Sentinels will be here in minutes if not sooner. You sure you’re good with making your stand here?”

“Brentwood is now Walsh territory.” Blue light kindled in Fayne’s eyes. “Let him try to cross our borders.”

As soon as Bowie patted the brakes, angling into a parking spot at GSG, a man wearing a hoodie prowled from beneath one of the many flowering magnolia trees lining both sides of the quaint street, right up to my window. Shadows concealed his face, but they couldn’t hide the size of him.

Tall. Stupidly tall. Ridiculously tall.

No one needed that much leg. Except maybe a giraffe. Giraffe shifters weren’t a thing, right?

The guy tested the handle then knocked on the glass.

“Oh.” Bowie laughed to himself. “Forgot the locks.”

Then the door was open, and the hood was shoved back, revealing a rugged face sprinkled with old scars and a chiseled jaw with a scab pulling his cheek down. His lips, the bottom one uneven thanks to a faded injury, twitched in the promise of a smile. But his eyes… They held me in thrall.

I had been wrong about them before. I hadn’t seen the whites of his eyes that night. No. They were pure white, almost glowing, from corner to corner. And when Sloane opened her door and suction dragged a burst of his scent to me, I recalled its warmth with unnerving certainty.

“Hello again,” he rumbled, almost a purr. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Promise twisted the words until I heard one thing but felt certain he meant another.

“You didn’t die,” I stated the obvious, flaunting my keen observational skills.

“You protected me.” His gaze lowered to my collarbones. “You’re not wearing your necklace.”

“Beware strange vampires who come bearing gifts.” I fought down the burn in my cheeks as he chuckled at the joke. “Thanks for returning the charm, but you can have the chain.”

“The necklace is yours.” He studied me with those liminal eyes. “Consider it as a thank you.”

“Thank you for…thanking me…?” I fumbled behind me for Sloane’s hand. “Is my friend safe here?”

“For now,” he allowed, nodding to Sloane. “Come,mo chuisle, I’m sure you have questions, right?”

“Do you plan to answer them?”

“Talk about answering a question with a question,” Bowie huffed, killing the engine.

“Shut up, body snatcher,” I bit out then returned my attention to Rían. “Let’s go inside.”

Predators felt safest in their dens. I wasn’t sure I qualified as a predator, but I would feel better on home turf. The knife helped too. Bonus point to Rían for not demanding I fork it over to him.

Most of the pack would have smirked, snatched it away to prove they could, or ignored me outright.

For him to allow me to keep it, to give me an opening to use it, felt…respectful somehow.

Always a nice trait in a kidnapper.

As soon as my feet hit concrete, I missed the slight advantage the SUV had given me height-wise.

“Freaking giraffe,” I mumbled, waiting for Sloane before heading into GSG. “Dad left sentinels to…”

Upon hearing voices, three women exited the kennel area dressed in GSG scrubs from the laundry room. I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction I expected when they caught sight of me, but the way they each bent a knee wasn’t it. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting Fayne to walk in, but they kept staring. Atme.

The knee thing was odd, but maybe it was the Walshes’ way of showing respect? As an alpha’s daughter, I had seen my fair share of peculiar shows of deference, but this one took the cake.

“Let’s not overwhelm her,” Rían chided them, ruffling his hair as he soaked in my discomfort.

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