Page 30 of Taming His Vampire Mate
His observation was likely correct. My unease deepened. Godric wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have needed to.No experienced vampire would. This was the work of a newborn. Someone crazed with hunger and clueless about their own strength.
But Jeremy was every bit as odd as the scene before us. Too at ease. If he truly thought there might be some interplanar creature prowling Rookwood, shouldn’t he look a little more tense?
“You’re awfully agreeable all of a sudden,” I said, casting him a suspicious sidelong glance.
“Something bad—and apparently strong as hell—is snatching townsfolk. No good reason for us to be at each other’s throats.” He gave a dark chuckle. “Not yet, at least. We still have a job to do. After, we can hash it all out.”
“Hash what out?”
“You tell me.”
I snorted, shaking my head. I wasn’t about to let some small-town wolf with low-rent villain aspirations trick me into talking about my feelings. “I’ll pass for now. Thanks ever so.”
I moved deeper into the store, noting the puddle of refrigerant in front of the shattered case was larger than expected.
Jeremy reached through the hole in the glass and touched a carton of milk. “Room temperature. Maybe a little colder.”
It made sense, given the unit’s still-valiant, ear-splitting attempt to run. I had to bat away the faint surprise that he’d thought to check. The bad news was that it meant this had happened at least hours—and maybe days—ago. The faint gunpowder scent, probably undetectable to human senses by now, suggested not much longer than that.
My unease ratcheted up another notch.
Jeremy echoed my thoughts, shaking his head. “This isn’t right. Rookwood’s population is just over a thousand. Even in atown this small, someone would’ve needed gas. Or cigarettes. Or beer.”
Exactly. Humans loved their vices as much as I did. Someone should’ve noticed and called the police. A manager or owner would have come in, put the till in a safe, and locked up. Or, even more likely, cleaned everything so it looked like nothing happened here.
“Maybe Oscar’s dream was entirely correct,” I said. “Maybe everyone’s gone.”
“What do you make of his dream?” Jeremy asked, watching me too intently. “You offered to come here without asking any questions.”
It was strangely pointed, almost an accusation. And the second time he had asked me that, as a matter of fact.
How very odd.
I yawned. “What I make of this whole thing is that I wouldn’t mind a cocktail right now.”
“And the fact that it’s six-thirty in the morning wouldn’t stop you?”
“Rules like that are silly human conventions. They don’t apply to vampires.”
His lips twitched. “Let me guess—your drink of choice is a bloody Mary?”
“An Old Fashioned, actually,” I said, oddly unwilling to let the conversation die. “With top-shelf liquor. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“And if I’m treating myself, a cosmopolitan.”
“That tracks.”
“No doubt your drink of choice is whatever the NRA endorses.”
He scowled. “No one likes assholes, Thierry. And I own a bar. You might want to paint me with a broader brush. I might surprise you.”
I snorted. “You have the emotional range of a soggy toe rag. I think my brush is fine, thanks.”
No comeback came, though his face went satisfyingly beet-red and his lips pressed into a tight line.
While he fumed, I moved toward the back room. I strained to listen for any sign of a heartbeat, breathing, or the faint rustle of fabric. Humans were rarely still for long.
