GB.”
Tossing the notebook aside, Lacey rolled on to her back. “Baby powder,” she muttered. “That’s what he smelled like—baby powder.” She rolled her eyes. “Looks like some kind of punk rock biker and smells like a baby.”
She snorted laughter as Casper, with the aid of the comforter, climbed up the side of the bed. Curling up next to her, he settled down for a nap. “Oh, so you like me now that you have food and a warm place to sleep, huh?” She gave the kitten’s round belly a soft pat. “No hard feelings though...at least you’re honest about it.”
Lacey sighed. If only humans were as easy to read. A person’s true motivation usually stayed hidden until it was too late, unlike an animal’s—with them, what you saw was what you got, which was why she preferred their company. “People suck,” she told Casper. “Just remember that and you’ll be okay.”
Yawning, Lacey closed her eyes. Lack of sleep plus a sugar overload was as effective as a tranquilizer, and she felt herself drifting off within seconds.
What if the Serial Killer Jogger shows up again?
She pushed the thought aside, too tired to worry about him...
Or anything else for that matter.
Chapter 8
“Sure she is,” Zane said as he pulled into the driveway. “A woman, just like the rest of them.”
That is not what I meant, my child. You could slaughter all of the others and no one would care. But this one—
“Is an appetizer, not the main course.” Zane jerked the gear shift into park. “Just like the rest of them.”
What if you were to lose control?
“I will not.”
Accidents happen. You must be prepared—
“I am.” Smirking, Zane picked up the pink bakery box that was on the passenger seat. “I have charm and chocolate, two things a woman cannot resist.”
My child—
“Sorry,” Zane said, climbing out of the van, “duty calls.”
He whistled as he crossed the front yard, only half-listening to Blodbad’s tyrant about needing to be serious or not taking things seriously or some similar bullshit.
Zane refused to pass up on an opportunity to add to his menu, and the human inside the dilapidated house would be mouth-watering item number ten, the freshest one yet. Plus, he could not beat the prime location—a quarter of a mile from his house meant she would be the equivalent of fast food.
Blodbad stopped in mid-sentence when Zane stepped onto the porch. “About goddamn time,” he murmured, rapping his knuckles against the window pane.
Once, twice, three times.
He tilted his head forward. Listened. Heard nothing—no voices, no breathing, no footsteps.
Zane inhaled deeply. No blood, either. “Fuck,” he exhaled.
A loud creak made him pause in mid-turn. Smiling, he faced the door.
No one there.
Frowning, he knocked again.
Heard another creak.
Cupping his hand above his sunglasses, Zane peered into the house. Swept his gaze around the foyer, up the stairs. His smile returned when his eyes landed on a pair of feet. “Hello,” he said, holding up his hand.
The girl didn’t move or speak.
Zane lifted the bakery box. “Welcome wagon.”
She moved down two steps.
Come on, baby. You know you want a taste...and so do I.
“I do hope you like cake.”
Three steps this time, and then a soft voice. “You brought me a cake?”
Success.
Zane nodded. “Devil’s Food.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He shrugged. “It seemed the neighborly thing to do.”
She moved down two more steps. Her closed hand flew up to her mouth as she glanced at what Zane assumed was the lock, no doubt to make sure it was engaged. She began chewing on her thumbnail as she fixed him with a wary, scrutinizing gaze.
Blodbad had been right—she was not like the others. This human was going to be a challenge, an unexpected and unwelcome realization that made it difficult for Zane to keep his calm facade as he said, “I will leave your housewarming gift on the porch.”
He was about to turn away when the girl
Tossing the notebook aside, Lacey rolled on to her back. “Baby powder,” she muttered. “That’s what he smelled like—baby powder.” She rolled her eyes. “Looks like some kind of punk rock biker and smells like a baby.”
She snorted laughter as Casper, with the aid of the comforter, climbed up the side of the bed. Curling up next to her, he settled down for a nap. “Oh, so you like me now that you have food and a warm place to sleep, huh?” She gave the kitten’s round belly a soft pat. “No hard feelings though...at least you’re honest about it.”
Lacey sighed. If only humans were as easy to read. A person’s true motivation usually stayed hidden until it was too late, unlike an animal’s—with them, what you saw was what you got, which was why she preferred their company. “People suck,” she told Casper. “Just remember that and you’ll be okay.”
Yawning, Lacey closed her eyes. Lack of sleep plus a sugar overload was as effective as a tranquilizer, and she felt herself drifting off within seconds.
What if the Serial Killer Jogger shows up again?
She pushed the thought aside, too tired to worry about him...
Or anything else for that matter.
Chapter 8
“Sure she is,” Zane said as he pulled into the driveway. “A woman, just like the rest of them.”
That is not what I meant, my child. You could slaughter all of the others and no one would care. But this one—
“Is an appetizer, not the main course.” Zane jerked the gear shift into park. “Just like the rest of them.”
What if you were to lose control?
“I will not.”
Accidents happen. You must be prepared—
“I am.” Smirking, Zane picked up the pink bakery box that was on the passenger seat. “I have charm and chocolate, two things a woman cannot resist.”
My child—
“Sorry,” Zane said, climbing out of the van, “duty calls.”
He whistled as he crossed the front yard, only half-listening to Blodbad’s tyrant about needing to be serious or not taking things seriously or some similar bullshit.
Zane refused to pass up on an opportunity to add to his menu, and the human inside the dilapidated house would be mouth-watering item number ten, the freshest one yet. Plus, he could not beat the prime location—a quarter of a mile from his house meant she would be the equivalent of fast food.
Blodbad stopped in mid-sentence when Zane stepped onto the porch. “About goddamn time,” he murmured, rapping his knuckles against the window pane.
Once, twice, three times.
He tilted his head forward. Listened. Heard nothing—no voices, no breathing, no footsteps.
Zane inhaled deeply. No blood, either. “Fuck,” he exhaled.
A loud creak made him pause in mid-turn. Smiling, he faced the door.
No one there.
Frowning, he knocked again.
Heard another creak.
Cupping his hand above his sunglasses, Zane peered into the house. Swept his gaze around the foyer, up the stairs. His smile returned when his eyes landed on a pair of feet. “Hello,” he said, holding up his hand.
The girl didn’t move or speak.
Zane lifted the bakery box. “Welcome wagon.”
She moved down two steps.
Come on, baby. You know you want a taste...and so do I.
“I do hope you like cake.”
Three steps this time, and then a soft voice. “You brought me a cake?”
Success.
Zane nodded. “Devil’s Food.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He shrugged. “It seemed the neighborly thing to do.”
She moved down two more steps. Her closed hand flew up to her mouth as she glanced at what Zane assumed was the lock, no doubt to make sure it was engaged. She began chewing on her thumbnail as she fixed him with a wary, scrutinizing gaze.
Blodbad had been right—she was not like the others. This human was going to be a challenge, an unexpected and unwelcome realization that made it difficult for Zane to keep his calm facade as he said, “I will leave your housewarming gift on the porch.”
He was about to turn away when the girl
Similar Books
