No Man's Land by Debra Dunbar Page B

fight the feelings of fear and loneliness.
    George. She thought of his strong arms and lopsided grin. If only he were here now, but George was long dead. She’d gone with the vampires, made her choice. They were her family— she just had to find a way back to them, to do something to prove her worth so they’d bring her back. They hadn’t killed her; they must be planning to collect her after an appropriate punishment period.
    Finally she gulped the tears back down, wiping her eyes and nose on the rolled–up sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt. When she’d left her humanity behind to become a vampire, she’d mourned. She’d need to mourn her fall from grace too. Even if her family did eventually come for her, she’d be back to menial labor for decades, centuries even. Could she do that? Go back to being everybody’s whipping post? It would be like her human life all over again.
    Kelly stood and clenched her jaw in determination. Whipping post was better than dead. She’d need to survive until they came for her. What else could she do, a lone vampire in hostile territory, squeezed between two powerful families?
    Kelly thought of the silver fillet knife back in her trailer. If things got too bad, at least she had an option to slow death by starvation. But, it was no time to stand here, tear stained and thinking negative thoughts. Time to keep collecting useless, stray items then head back to her trailer and hope to channel the spirit of MacGyver. Crossing her fingers, she hoped that there was at least one drunk wandering outside this bar tonight that no one would miss.
    Kelly scoped out the parking lot in a grid pattern, excited to find another five dollars in change and a ten–dollar bill. Evidently, inebriated humans regularly spilled money from their pockets and purses. She also picked up a plastic packet with a handful of large metal washers in it, and another bungee cord.
    The noise of car tires on gravel. Kelly looked up to see a small pick–up truck pulling into the bar area.
    “Can I help you?” a man asked as he pulled alongside her. His pleasant tone ended abruptly once he got within a few feet. His red nose lifted, and his lip curled up in a snarl visible even through his dark brown beard.
    A human, and she was starving. Kelly resisted the urge to jump on him and rip his throat out with her bare hands. Now was not the time, especially with the man clearly suspicious and on alert. Getting mowed over by his truck as she tried to throttle him wasn’t a good plan. So instead, pushing the thoughts away, she tried to smile.
    “I dropped something the other night and walked back to look for it. I live just up the road,” she said. Her voice came out slurred and puffy from her swollen mouth. It took effort to articulate properly.
    “You’ll have to do better than that,” he said briskly. “Your kind isn’t welcome here. Get on back home before any of the others see you around. They won’t be half as charitable as me.”
    What was with this stupid state? Leaning closer, Kelly felt a blast of warm from the truck heater — and caught the man’s scent. She froze, and her urge to eat him changed to an urge to run. He smelled of smoked ham mingled with an odd canine note. That’s what the faint smell from back in the trailer area was. Werewolves. Panic seized her heart. They had to have been everywhere for their scent to be so strong. They were probably living right on the same street as her trailer. She’d never met a werewolf. None had ever been foolish enough to walk into a vampire–owned casino.
    Crap. Evidently she was smack in the middle of their territory — solo, injured, with nowhere else to go. How the heck was she going to be able to hunt human prey with a werewolf pack nearby, and that freckled woman, the modern–day Van Helsing, watching her every move?
    “I’m leaving soon. I just need to heal up a bit and I’ll be out of here,” she said, hurriedly backing up a safe distance from the