Page 52 of Blood and Bonbons

“What is?”

“It’s all stories. Which are written badly, I might add. There’s one about a guy who established his farm on some new land in Russia. When he went out to check on his cattle the following week, they were all sliced open, and their hearts were eaten. That one’s from the late 1500s. The next one is from the 1700s. Two girls were stolen from their beds right after their ‘first bleeding.’ Why the hell would my grandpa be reading this?”

“It sounds like an accounting of a werewolf attack and a fae abduction,” Cross said. “Why are the numbered signs along the road?”

“They tell me what road I’m on and how fast I should be going,” I said quickly so we could get back to the concerning information he’d shared. “Werewolves are nice. They don’t eat hearts.”

Cross laughed. Head thrown back, sexy neck exposed, full-on laughed.

“Uh…” Vena’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “That’s not comforting.”

“Which part are you laughing at, Cross?” I asked. “The niceness or the hearts.”

“Both. Werewolves are not nice. They will kill anyone who jeopardizes what they protect.”

“Well, there’s this reality show we watch–calledThe Other House–that follows people living in the same house. It always has a werewolf in it, and there haven’t been any deaths,” I said.

"Are you ready to cry wolf?” Vena said, repeating the show’s jingle.

Cross turned toward me, a weird look flickering over his face.

“You truly cannot be this naive, can you?”

“She can,” Vena said. “And also, don’t ever talk to her like that again. It’s rude, and you’re tarnishing your gentlemanly reputation.”

I frowned out the windshield. “You know what? Both of you can stuff it, or I’ll pull this car over, and you can walk.”

Vena chuckled and went back to reading her book.

Cross asked another question about a sign, but I didn’t answer. I was too irritated with both of them. I wasn’t naive. I simply took things at face value. There was a difference.

“Everly, I apologize,” Cross said after a moment of silence. “Perhaps there are a few good werewolves in existence. It has been a long while since I’ve walked this earth.”

“Like there are a few good vampires?” Vena asked innocently from the back seat.

Cross’ expression turned thoughtful. “Point well made. I would not consider my brethren nice by any means. Nor the fae, particularly.”

“What about the dwarves?” I asked, needing to know.

“The treasure seekers do have their usefulness.”

I made a face and didn’t talk to either of them again until we reached the city. Vena paused her reading to pull up the directions to the nearest pawn shop and impressed Cross with the concept of the internet.

Finding a parking spot a few blocks away from King’s Pawn Shoppe, I paid the meter, and we walked to the store.

Vena was the first one inside, like always. While I preferred to browse bakery cases, the cabinets in pawn shops were like a treasure hunt for her. She veered off to look at the display cases. I stuck with Cross, knowing he would have questions.

His gaze swept through the hodgepodge pickings locked behind cracked glass. There was everything from human antiques to creature goods. He sniffed a hookah pipe that was sitting on the display counter.

“Interesting,” he said as he continued toward the shop’s only other occupant.

“Sell, pawn, or buy?” the man behind the counter asked. He was as shabby as his store. The grease stains on his shirt were too numerous to count.

Cross leaned close to me and whispered, “Is there a more reputable establishment?”

“Let’s start here and see what he has to say about your gold.”

The man eyed Cross. “If you got a thing for vintage, I got some great belts and hats. I might even have a pair of platform boots in the back.”

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