to feel for anyway? She’d never been good at this kind of mumbo jumbo. Give her an equation to solve at ReVamp and she was all for it. Feeling for creepy things that go bump in the night—not so much. “I don’t feel anything.”
Smirking, he squeezed her hand with extra effort. Her knuckles cracked.
“Well I feel that .” Damn him and his twisted sense of humor.
The bulky gold ring on his middle finger dug into her skin. Embossed on the top, the symbol of the Crimson Council—a black heart tangled in vines of barbed wire—was given only to members serving on the board. Protection of vampires in the area was paramount. Lately the group of haven leaders had had success after success.
As they rounded the corner to the great room, Dylan gasped. Large groups of her khissmates were gathered together beneath the vaulted wood ceiling. It was easy for Dylan to differentiate between the branches of khiss administration, but having them all together in one place puzzled her. She’d never seen it done before.
Members of the military branch were on post at entry points to the haven. Erock, who happened to be the Primus’s nephew as well as the leader of the fight-hungry crew, was pacing the room like a hungry predator, checking on his men standing strong at the doors and windows with stakes at the ready. Dylan could make out that greasy mop of black hair anywhere.
Sitting closely together in the center, trying to make sense of the situation, were khiss guards, medics, educators, local blood distributors, and general members.
The heavily glossed black stone floor stretching through the main living space was jam-packed. Deep-mocha-colored leather couches had been pushed to the outskirts of the pentagonal great room to make space for more. Dark ruby-red walls, normally soothing and calm, now made the place feel cramped and anxious from too many bodies in such a confined space.
They must’ve been on high alert, gathered together so as not to lose track of a single soul.
Hiram, their active Primus, approached Dylan and Slade immediately. He was a whitewashed powerhouse with fire blazing behind his luminescent eyes. From his gray slacks to his off-white polo, up to his silver hair and paler-than-pale skin. He was the walking tinman from Oz with enough heart to make you fight beside him, whether his cause was a lost one or not.
“What’s going on?” Slade asked, surveying the crowd of confused vamps.
Hiram spoke barely above a whisper, his light eyes paling out, as he led Dylan and Slade around the great room. “We got wind of something sweeping through the haven from one room to another. Not a big threat, per se, just something out of the ordinary catching peoples’ eyes. Like a fog, or a—”
“Dark shadow,” Slade finished. “Got it.”
Dylan knew he was already forming his plan of attack. No doubt that plan entailed him bashing and smashing, killing whatever this thing was, and brushing off his hands like it was nothing.
Hiram ushered them toward a large wing leading to the registrar’s office and a private movie theatre that played all-night showings of classic romance flicks like When Harry Bit Sally and Breakfast at Tiffany’s Throat.
“At first we thought it was just some vamp who knew basic magic playing a joke,” Hiram explained. “We sent out a scout to check it out. When he failed to report, we sent a search party after him. He was found behind the Dumpsters in the alley, right near the back door. Not a scratch on him. Cause of death is unclear . . . it’s like his heart simply stopped beating.”
Dylan and Slade exchanged heated glances, Slade giving a quick shake of his head. There was no way it was therian.
“We sent a second scout with professional training at Erock’s request,” Hiram continued. “Same story. No report back. We started asking around, thinking we’d find him at his post looking the same as the last scout.”
“And?” Dylan asked.
“We found him all right. He
Smirking, he squeezed her hand with extra effort. Her knuckles cracked.
“Well I feel that .” Damn him and his twisted sense of humor.
The bulky gold ring on his middle finger dug into her skin. Embossed on the top, the symbol of the Crimson Council—a black heart tangled in vines of barbed wire—was given only to members serving on the board. Protection of vampires in the area was paramount. Lately the group of haven leaders had had success after success.
As they rounded the corner to the great room, Dylan gasped. Large groups of her khissmates were gathered together beneath the vaulted wood ceiling. It was easy for Dylan to differentiate between the branches of khiss administration, but having them all together in one place puzzled her. She’d never seen it done before.
Members of the military branch were on post at entry points to the haven. Erock, who happened to be the Primus’s nephew as well as the leader of the fight-hungry crew, was pacing the room like a hungry predator, checking on his men standing strong at the doors and windows with stakes at the ready. Dylan could make out that greasy mop of black hair anywhere.
Sitting closely together in the center, trying to make sense of the situation, were khiss guards, medics, educators, local blood distributors, and general members.
The heavily glossed black stone floor stretching through the main living space was jam-packed. Deep-mocha-colored leather couches had been pushed to the outskirts of the pentagonal great room to make space for more. Dark ruby-red walls, normally soothing and calm, now made the place feel cramped and anxious from too many bodies in such a confined space.
They must’ve been on high alert, gathered together so as not to lose track of a single soul.
Hiram, their active Primus, approached Dylan and Slade immediately. He was a whitewashed powerhouse with fire blazing behind his luminescent eyes. From his gray slacks to his off-white polo, up to his silver hair and paler-than-pale skin. He was the walking tinman from Oz with enough heart to make you fight beside him, whether his cause was a lost one or not.
“What’s going on?” Slade asked, surveying the crowd of confused vamps.
Hiram spoke barely above a whisper, his light eyes paling out, as he led Dylan and Slade around the great room. “We got wind of something sweeping through the haven from one room to another. Not a big threat, per se, just something out of the ordinary catching peoples’ eyes. Like a fog, or a—”
“Dark shadow,” Slade finished. “Got it.”
Dylan knew he was already forming his plan of attack. No doubt that plan entailed him bashing and smashing, killing whatever this thing was, and brushing off his hands like it was nothing.
Hiram ushered them toward a large wing leading to the registrar’s office and a private movie theatre that played all-night showings of classic romance flicks like When Harry Bit Sally and Breakfast at Tiffany’s Throat.
“At first we thought it was just some vamp who knew basic magic playing a joke,” Hiram explained. “We sent out a scout to check it out. When he failed to report, we sent a search party after him. He was found behind the Dumpsters in the alley, right near the back door. Not a scratch on him. Cause of death is unclear . . . it’s like his heart simply stopped beating.”
Dylan and Slade exchanged heated glances, Slade giving a quick shake of his head. There was no way it was therian.
“We sent a second scout with professional training at Erock’s request,” Hiram continued. “Same story. No report back. We started asking around, thinking we’d find him at his post looking the same as the last scout.”
“And?” Dylan asked.
“We found him all right. He
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