Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 by Michele Bardsley Page B

80-year-old
    grandmother announcing she was an Elvis-decking
    criminal behind bars in downtown Las Vegas. The
    entire phone call had been a delusion. A dream. A
    catastrophe. What the hell had happened to
    Ultimate Bingo?
    She looked up and met Trent’s worried gaze.
    “Sophie, what’s wrong?”

    CHAPTER SIX
    TRANSPO BY VAMPIRE had been ditched in
    favor of Patsy and Gabriel’s Cessna Citation X+, a
    personal luxury jet that happened to be the fastest
    in the world. Trent insisted on coming with her,
    and she insisted that no one else go. As
    werewolves, she and Trent could blend in fairly
    well with the humans. But even in Vegas vampires
    and fae would stick out.
    As for the plane, Sophie didn’t care that much
    about the leather seats, flat-screen television, touch
    screen controls, or ambient lighting. However, she
    was immensely grateful for the fully stocked bar.
    By the third vodka, she had loosened her grip on
    the armrests of her seat and was beginning to
    believe Nana had played a big joke.
    “Elvis is dead,” she announced. “Nana
    couldn’t have punched him. I mean, him being
    buried in a grave at Graceland and all.” She
    blinked. “Wait. Is Elvis dead? Or is he some
    vampire?”
    “I don’t think he’s a vampire.” Trent sat across
    from her. “Virginia probably smacked an
    impersonator.” He leaned over and pried the drink
    out of her hand.
    Sophie took it back and glared at him. She took
    a big swallow and tried to snort her disgust at the
    situation. Unfortunately, the vodka hadn’t finished
    its journey down her throat and abruptly changed
    directions—going up instead. The burning liquid
    exited her nose in a generous spray—much like a
    sprinkler watering a lawn—and she attempted to
    hack up both lungs. And her pancreas, too.
    Silence filled the cabin. After all, what did a
    person say after a moment like this? Oh sorry. Did
    I get any snot on you?
    Heat scorched Sophie’s cheeks. She released
    her grip on the glass and let Trent take it, humbly
    accepting his offer of a few tissues. She couldn’t
    look at him; her nose felt like she’d inhaled a
    jalepeno. She wished the plane would crack right
    under her plush seat so that she could plummet to
    her death. God, she’d been acting like an
    incoherent idiot. Sophie nodded and concentrated
    on the wadded-up tissues.
    Trent squeezed her knee. “Everything’s going
    to be okay.”
    NINETY MINUTES LATER, the plane landed at
    McCarran Airport, taxiing to the executive
    terminal used by several tour companies. Sophie
    felt nauseous and anxious as Trent helped her off
    the jet.
    “I hope I don’t throw-up,” said Sophie. “That
    would just suck.”
    “You’ll be fine,” soothed Trent. He led her
    through the small building. As they stepped out the
    glass front doors, a limousine pulled up.
    “Patsy is the bestest queen ever,” said Sophie,
    as a headache formed. Vodka plus stress plus
    errant grandmothers made for a doozy of a brain
    melt.
    Trent ushered her into the limo. She sank into
    the leather seats and sighed. Trent handed her a
    cold bottled water.
    She drank from it. “Thank you.”
    She’d been whisked to Vegas so she could
    rescue her grandmother from jail. How different it
    would be if she and Trent had gone off for the
    weekend, arriving by private plane, then taken by
    limo to a luxurious hotel. She lost herself in the
    little fantasy, then immediately felt guilty and
    selfish for wishing she’d been on a lover’s trip
    with Trent instead of spending her time worrying
    about her grandmother.
    She sipped on her water and stared out the
    window.
    Themed-hotels
    lined
    Las
    Vegas
    Boulevard—from the huge emerald-green MGM to
    the pink big top of Circus Circus.
    Sophie felt like she’d been dropped onto a
    movie set for giants.
    It was nearly midnight when they reached the
    police station. After several inquiries and wrong
    turns, they found an information desk.
    The matronly woman behind the counter stared
    at