Page 5 of The Vampire in the Potting Shed

“Don’t give me that crap, Peanut.” He poked me in the shoulder, his eyes golden. “You might fool your old man, but I see you. You’re as delicate as a fucking bomb, and your fuse is shorter than my thumb.”

Oddly flattered by the comparison, I tilted my head. “Often measure things with your thumb,David?”

“For the last time,” he rumbled at me, “I was named after the knife, not the singer.”

“Then don’t call me Peanut. That’s a father/daughter thing, and you’re not my daddy.” I made gagging noises. “Eww.” I cupped a hand over my mouth. “That’s a mental picture I wish I could erase.”

Lifting his hands with a huff, he walked away to pester someone else.

“That’s Lyra’s brother, isn’t it?” Sloane sidled up to me. “I heard he was a sentinel.”

To prevent my former bullies from earning a spot on my security detail, Dad recruited from outside the pack. I so rarely saw Sloane off the clock, and almost never with the pack, sometimes I forgot she hadn’t been a Sartori but a year.

“Good eye.” I supposed they did resemble one another. “That is definitely Lyra’s brother.”

Just like that, her brows slammed down. “And do we like Bowie?”

About to snap thatnowe did not like Bowie, I caught her drift. “He won’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” She tracked every step of his exit. “He looked ready to tear out your throat.”

From her angle, I could see how she got that impression. “He’s never laid a hand on me.”

“Let me know if that changes while I’m not around, okay?”

“I will.” I touched her arm. “Thanks for having my back.”

Sad as it might sound, she was the closest thing I had to a friend, even if I had to pay her by the hour.

“It’s my duty,” she said, bowing her head, “and an honor to serve.”

Certain Dad was ready to climb out of his skin for the verdict, I went to give him and Mercer my update.

And if I felt a pair of golden eyes on me the whole way, well, I was used to feeling like there was a target on my back.

three

The shop was oddlyquiet at the end of the day without Harvey warning of our imminent demise via alien invasion. I was flipping the sign to closed, eager to put today behind me, when the three dogs in the kennel runs hit the flaps on the doggy doors leading from their fenced yards into the building with resounding slaps.

Two climbed onto their elevated cots, shivering, and one slid under his, whimpering.

Surely Myrtle’s owner hadn’t gotten so bold as to let himself in while I was still here. I might have been a touch more concerned about investigating solo if I wasn’t certain Dad hadn’t liberally sprinkled sentinels between GSG and home. Odds were good a wolf on patrol was the cause for the panic.

“Sloane,” I called out, aiming for the rear exit. “I’m going to secure the runs.”

On my way out, I flipped on the floodlights that illuminated every square inch of the enclosed property.

Walking the rows, I examined each run for signs of tampering, but the chain-link fences on the individual yards were secure. As I went through the motions of my nightlyroutine, I filled my lungs with air. I pushed out slow, even breaths, searching for a hint of what had frightened the dogs.

Halfway to the potting shed where we kept lawncare supplies, I caught a whiff of copper.

Dread coated the back of my throat as I crept toward the small building, noticing the door was ajar.

“Sloane?” I strained my ears for signs it was occupied but heard nothing. “Are you in there?”

Aside from the stale blood, I couldn’t detect any underlying scent that hinted at who or what had gotten into the shed. As freaked out as the dogs had been only minutes ago, I got the feeling I was about to find out what sent them running to the safety of their cots.

Hand on the door, I gave it a firm shove, but it didn’t get far before thumping off a shadowy lump.

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