The Werewolf And The Vampire Gang

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 
“Find a way to honor the trappings of your youth without clinging to them. This is especially true if you grew up in an era of the ruff collar or parachute pants.” 
—A Gentleman in Any Era: An Ancient Vampire’s Guide to Modern Relationships People who said libraries were a useless and outdated relic of the pre-Internet age had never spent time around the McClaine pack. 
The Half-Moon Hollow Public Library might have been a dinosaur. But it was a silent dinosaur. A “keep-me-from-losing-from-my-freaking-mind-due-to-my-loud-ass-family-osaurus.” 
Maybe calling it a “dinosaur” was unfair. The place certainly hadn’t seen new public funding in a few years. The most recent addition was the Jane Jameson-Nightengale Youth Reading Room, which was marked with a rather showy brass plaque very close to the head librarian’s office. But the computers in the lab were less than five years old. The gray industrial carpet was worn, but not shabby, the dust pilling ever so slightly around the edges of the floor-to-ceiling walnut shelving. And I did recognize some of the titles from the last few years’ bestseller lists, probably also donated by Jane Jameson-Nightengale. Her name seemed to be on a lot of plaques around the building, most of them within the direct eyeline of the head librarian’s office. 
Something about that seemed to be a little vindictive. But having met Mrs. Stubblefield, the head librarian with the inexplicably aggressive eyebrows, that made sense. 
Mrs. Stubblefield seemed to think the library was her kingdom to rule. She’d reminded me multiple times that the library didn’t allow “loitering” at the private study carrels—despite the fact that I had a laptop with me and was very clearly working. As a werewolf, I respected her need to protect her territory. As someone who depended on the library for a quiet workspace to earn their living, it was deeply annoying. 
Living on the pack compound, surrounded by the constant noise and interruptions of my large extended family, going to the library was the only peace I got all day. I tried working from a café, using a secure wi-fi hotspot to protect my clients’ privacy while I designed their social media, email campaigns, and other digital promotional materials. But the constant motion from other customers, plus needing to pack up my stuff every time I left for the restroom, was a non-starter. It was just easier to work in the library, where there was less “traffic.” The locking study carrels—another contribution from Jane Jameson-Nightengale—were quiet and clean and comfortable. My productivity had skyrocketed when I started sneaking to the library in the afternoons several times a week. 
My phone grumbled inside my precious backpack, a sturdy blue camouflage model I’d carried since high school. I’d set it up to sound like a growl when the text was from my family. I was sure it was a message from my mama, asking where I was. I glanced at the clock on my computer screen. It was after eight. Where had my time gone? It felt like I’d just gotten here! I rolled my shoulders. Nope, apparently, I’d been in this position for far too long. 
The project I was working on—social media headers for a small bed-and-breakfast in upstate New York that themed itself around a Medieval Celtic romantic imagery—needed help. The owners kept insisting on using a specific stock photo of a sword, but it simply didn’t look right to me. The carvings on the hilt just didn’t have the sort of patterns I’d seen in Celtic weapons. It looked more like Viking swords I’d seen on TV shows, all pointy runes and triangles. But knowing these difficult-but-always-prompt-with-payments clients as I did, I was going to have to have evidence on my side if I was going to convince them that they were wrong. 
I stood from the comfortable desk chair, cracking my spine back into place. I rarely ventured into the stacks unless it was for reference material. Sometimes clients wanted to center their promotional messages around some strange detail that was not accurate. I liked being able to check actual physical books written by experts—as opposed to online image searches—to prevent that embarrassment for them…and for me. 
While they may not have liked being told when they were wrong (and sometimes “super-wrong”), it was my attention to that sort of thing that kept my clients coming back for repeat business. I’d developed a solid reputation for engaging, affordable, and correct work. Sure, there were plenty of platforms out there that helped not quite computer-literate people design their own graphics and such. But for small business owners who already had enough on their plate, it was easier to just pay my very reasonable rates to bring clients to their doors. 
I slipped my phone into my back pocket, just as it growled a second time. I wouldn’t respond to my mother’s text, because that would only mean pointless arguing until I left earlier than planned. My time would be better spent wrapping up for the day and then texting her on my run home. I closed the small study carrel door behind me and punched in my temporary code to protect my stuff, silently blessing the name of Jane Jameson-Nightengale—even though she wasn’t exactly a favorite around my household. 
Jane, who I’d only met in passing when I was a kid, was a close friend of my cousin. Jolene had been the pack’s pride and joy until she’d married a human, had his adorable children, and moved a whole ten miles away from the packlands. Well, Jolene was still pretty much the pack’s pride and joy, but my relatives grumbled under their breath about her a lot more often—usually involving the phrase “such a shame.” Jane was (unfairly) blamed for this. 
Turning out of the study carrels, I narrowly missed bumping into a guy around my age, wearing a hoodie and jeans. 
“Sorry,” I murmured, brushing past him without looking up. I had to move with purpose if I was going to finish this assignment and get home on time. 
As I passed the European History section, I saw two teenage boys wrestling around, bumping against the bookshelf while they fought to look at woodcuttings of nude women from the Dark Ages. 
This was one of many reasons why I’d rarely dated in high school. 
What were so many teenage boys even doing at the library on a Friday night? That was suspicious in itself. Shouldn’t they be in a nearby field somewhere with an illegally-obtained keg, shouting “wooooo?” I knew why I was at a library on a Friday night. I was avoiding my house and pursuing cash. I liked cash. It was silent, dependable, and never judged you for not having a social life. 
Rolling my eyes, I turned my back on the disruptive goofballs and walked into the weapons section. I crouched, scanning the bottom shelf for an illustrated guidebook to swords throughout history. I’d used it for a report on warfare in the Renaissance period when I attended Half-Moon Hollow High. There was a comforting sort of consistency to that book still being there seven years later. Being able to count on the little things was one of the perks of living in the Hollow. It almost outweighed the many, many drawbacks. 
The teenage tussle behind me continued and I blocked it out to focus on the book in front of me. It was a skill I’d developed as a teenager, very useful when trying to ignore about a dozen people all trying to tell you how you should be running your life over Sunday dinner. 
Opening the thick reference guide, I studied the illustration diagramming the various parts of Celtic swords versus Viking swords. The photo my clients wanted to use was definitely Viking. And even if it was a beautiful image, they couldn’t use it. People delighted in calling companies out on inaccuracies like this—especially history enthusiasts, who were very quick to pick up on social media gaffes, no matter what era. Sometimes, those gaffes made you famous for the wrong reasons. 
I took my phone out of my pocket and took a picture of the pages showing examples of both swords. I sent an email to the client, explaining that we couldn’t use their preferred stock photo, but I would find a historically accurate image they would love just as much by tomorrow. Still concentrating on careful email phrasing, I heard a grunt behind me and what sounded like an appendage—an elbow?—thumping against book spines. My head whipped toward the noise. 
Several things happened all at once. The bookshelf behind me wobbled, despite being almost floor-to-ceiling. A literal ton of wood and paper was clearly no match against the adolescent desire to see block-printed boobs. Several extremely heavy books on the last legal duels in Kentucky—I could see the titles on the spines as if they were frozen in time—tumbled towards me. All I could think to do was drop the sword guide, cover my head and hope I didn’t get knocked out. My ears detected lightning quick steps against the worn carpet just to my right. The soft, woodsy scent of cedar with the crisp edge of some sort of resin filled my nose and I felt my heart squeeze—though honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was the lovely smell or if I was having some sort of book-related cardiac event. 
From under my arm, I saw a tall, dark-haired man dashing toward me, hands outstretched. I waited for the impact of the books against my skull, but despite the rain of reference material hitting the carpet all around me, the weight never landed on me. Dropping my arms hesitantly, I looked up and saw the man crouched over me. In his large hands, he held the books that should have been scattered on top of my unconscious body. 
While sheets of music were littered around our feet like fallen snow, he held the books in a neat stack on his palms. He looked so calm, as if it was no big deal that he’d plucked falling hardbacks from mid-air. His eyes, a light shade of hazel surrounded by a darker ring, met mine and his generous mouth parted to say something. Because my brain seemed to be fixating on weird little details, I got completely absorbed in the thin, dark moustache on his upper lip. Normally, I automatically assigned men with moustaches in the creeper category, but on him…it worked. He was older than me, again, not to creeper levels, but enough for me to appreciate it. 
I reached up to touch his face, to trace the sharp curve of his cheek and the soft flesh of his lip with my thumb. I wanted to wallow in the sweet woodsy scent of him, to roll around with him, until I could smell nothing else for the rest of my life. This was the way a person was supposed to smell, all complex warmth sending rippling energy along my nerves. And the pulse of that energy spelled out the word “WANT” like Morse Code in my belly. For the first time, I wanted to take advantage of the seclusion of the library stacks, drag him to the farthest corner and see what was hidden under those maddeningly practical clothes. 
He spoke, but I had no idea what he was saying. I was too distracted by the roar of blood in my ears and the flash of his supernaturally white fangs. Well, everything made a lot more sense now. It was easy to defy the laws of physics when you were a vampire. 
The idiot teens were now fighting over who was responsible for knocking into the books, meaning more bumping against the shelf. Over the vampire’s shoulder—wow, those were some broad shoulders—the bookshelf continued to sway back and forth, picking up momentum as it pitched forward. I shot to my feet and planted my shoulder against the shelf with an “oof,” easing it back up as yet more books fell to the floor. Miraculously, those books didn’t hit us, either. 
It took all of my considerable upper body strength to push the shelves back into position. He grinned at me as I gripped the shelving, preventing it from overcorrecting and knocking into the shelf behind it. The last thing I needed was for Mrs. Stubblefield to find me in a mess of Three Stooges-style domino-ed bookshelves. That would not help my whole workplace situation. 
This time I was able to hear the vampire say, “You’re rather fast on your feet, aren’t you?” 
“Well, you saved me from a concussion first. It’s only neighborly that I return the favor.” I smiled, surprising even myself. I was not the kind of girl that came up with clever lines on the fly. 
Usually, in an awkward situation like this, I froze up and let one of my louder family members take over the conversation. But I was able to pronounce all of my words clearly and smoothly, like I talked to attractive strangers every day. In a tone that was downright cheeky, I added, “Us supernaturals should stick together.” 
His smile widened, his eyes becoming warmer. “I’ve noticed that sort of hospitality since I relocated here. It’s very refreshing. I’ve lived in many places that…weren’t as friendly, particularly to vampires.” 
“Well, just be careful around other weres. We’re not all hot dishes and welcome wagons. I’m sort of the exception to the rule,” I said with a weird-sounding giggle. With growing dread, I realized I’d just exhausted my supplies of smoothness. It would all be downhill from here. I cleared my throat. “Not that you’re probably into hot dishes that much, what with vampire digestion…or lack of it. Also, I’ve heard not-great things about the vampire welcome wagon situation here in town. Be wary of vampires bearing gift baskets.” 
I pressed my lips together because that was an awful lot of words. But in another unexpected turn, rather than looking disturbed by my verbal disgorgement, he threw his head back and laughed. Not in a “laughing at me” way, but “laughing with me.” I’d made him laugh! Simple pleasure, bright and warm, bloomed in my chest. 
Damn, he was pretty. And he hung out at libraries. Who did that? 
Besides me, that is. 
Meanwhile, the boys were still fighting. The shelf I’d just corrected trembled as the taller one threw his friend against the Asian History section. 
The vampire rolled his eyes. “Oh, for pity’s sake.” 
I snorted. He sounded like a hero in one of those historical BBC movies I had to hide in my room like porn, to keep my parents from mocking my “fancy” choices. He held up his hand, not quite touching my shoulder. “Excuse me for a moment, miss. Please don’t go anywhere, I’d like to continue—” 
The shelf rattled hard. I held up a hand to steady it. 
He huffed out an unnecessary breath and ducked around the bookshelf. I took out my phone and checked the time. I needed to go. As if my mama could hear my thoughts, my cell phone vibrated to life in my hand. At the sight of my mother’s photo on my screen, I shook my head and hit the “deny” button. “Nope.” 
I tiptoed through the minefield of fallen books and sheet music, careful not to step on any of the fragile covers. As much as I would have liked to score points with Mrs. Stubblefield and help clean them up, I should have been home already. My parents started asking intrusive questions if I put off going home too much. They had no idea what I did with my time outside of the house. If I didn’t go to a brick-and-mortar building—preferably one owned by family members, where I could be closely supervised—I didn’t have a real job, as far they were concerned. And any time I tried to explain I had an Internet-based job, they immediately jumped to thinking I was doing something inappropriate or that I was just goofing off. My daddy made a lot of comments about “those dumb dragon games” I played online. I didn’t actually play online games. No judgements - they just weren’t my thing. But if that’s what he wanted to believe, fine. I made a pretty good living and with no rent to pay, I had a considerable nest egg and could afford little extras like my laptop. And it was a lot more fun than working at my Uncle Hank’s butcher shop. It was certainly less bloody. 
As I scurried away to the study carrel, I heard scuffling from the other side of the bookshelf. I unlocked the door and stuffed all of my belongings into my backpack. When I came out, the vampire was standing by the front desk, holding both boys by the collar, immobile as they tried to squirm away. He was speaking to Mrs. Stubblefield, giving the boys a gentle (by vampire standards) shake occasionally to make a point. I tried to catch his attention to at least wave goodbyes, but he was wholly focused on Mrs. Stubblefield…or maybe her eyebrows. They were like two gray, hairy exclamation points on her forehead. I knew I had trouble looking away when I talked to her. 
My phone buzzed again. Another impatient text from Mama. “Where are you?! You better answer this phone now!!!” 
I winced. Mama was not one for text speak, but she was one for excessive punctuation. 
I glanced back toward the checkout desk and the handsome stranger with the velvety voice. Who was I kidding? Why would I need to stay to talk to him? It wasn’t like this attractive stranger was going to ask me out for…did vampires drink coffee? It didn’t matter. I doubted I would see him again. My life was too complicated for that sort of connection. I needed to get home, and quickly. 
With one last look at the vampire’s back, I hurried out of the library and into the street. It would take me about twenty minutes to jog home—ten if I ran at full speed. 
My pocket buzzed and somehow, it sounded angrier. 
Full speed it was, then. 
I ducked between the library and the courthouse, into the less desirable area of the Hollow’s town proper. It was shocking, really, how close the woods edged the more vital areas of town. I wasn’t the toughest member of the pack, or the fiercest, but I was the fastest. 
When I reached the tree line, I slipped out of my clothes and stuffed them into my backpack with my phone and laptop. I secured the straps around my shoulders and clipped the belt around my chest so it would stay on my back when I changed into my other form. 
I rolled my shoulders, glancing up at the moon. Just another Friday night, running naked in the woods. 
I tried buying a car when I was nineteen, scrupulously saving my earnings at the butcher shop until I had enough for a used Ford sedan the color of spilled beer. I sold it within a year. Every time I turned around, my aunts and cousins had borrowed the keys without asking or my daddy had insisted that someone should use the car for some random errand because “pack shares with pack.” Eventually, it was just easier to sell the car to a distant cousin to avoid the frustration, and save my gas and insurance money. 
As usual, shifting into a wolf felt far more comfortable than my human skin, like shedding an itchy wool sweater. I shook out my sleek chestnut fur, stretching the muscles I would need on a run over land I knew as well as the back of my human hand. My phone buzzed insistently in my backpack, reminding me that I didn’t have time to relish just how good this felt. 
Scanning the area one last time for people or predators, I bounded through the trees and followed the scent of home. My paws slipped over the soft grass silently and the wind tickled at my sensitive ears. Scent and sound and sight blended into one sense, channeling information into my hind brain—the rustling of potential prey under the brush, the light of the moon against the leaves, exhaust from cars on the faraway interstate. It was like trying to read a dozen books simultaneously, all at once distracted and laser-focused. Home was the only thing that could keep me from following the myriad of prey scents that flared across my nose. 
As I loped over what my cousins called the “wrassling hill,” the McClaine pack compound came into view. The McClaines were among the first to settle in Half-Moon Hollow, choosing to stay far away from the early human settlements and stick to our own. Though my family was sinfully proud of it, the compound was nothing fancy, an ancient farmhouse surrounded by a neat array of trailers on nearly seventy acres that stretched all the way to the Ohio River. The trailers stood in varying states of repair and the pickup trucks had seen better days, but as my Uncle Lonnie liked to say, “They’re paid for, and that’s what counts.” 
Still, we were better off than some packs, who had to sell off their territories as the wilds of the world shrunk and poverty was an ever-looming threat. People talked about the disappearing middle class without realizing exactly how bad things were getting for were-creatures in this new modern world. While there were a precious few werewolves who could stand to live in crowded cities, to attend college and become doctors and lawyers, most of us remained pretty blue collar. The sort of jobs werewolves could do without losing our damn minds—mechanic work, farming, anything that kept us outdoors and out of an office—were changing so fast that we couldn’t keep up. And so, some packs were forced to sell their land to developers to keep the metaphorical wolves from the door. 
All you had to get my old Uncle Creed cussing was say the words “gated community.” 
Werewolves were the most highly evolved were species and underwent the most complete, dependable changes. We also had the most stable social hierarchy, so our lives were a bit easier to balance between the two forms. Each pack had an Alpha male mated to an Alpha female, who controlled their packs through a combination of biological imperative and social conditioning. While their “subjects”—like my parents—had all of the property rights and general free will of any regular person, all major decisions had to be approved by the Alpha couple. Everything from mate selection to major (or sometimes, minor) purchases had to be deemed for the good of the pack to be acceptable. 
Our Alpha couple, my Uncle Lonnie and his wife, Mimi, lived in the trailer closest to the old farmhouse, which had mostly been used as a communal meeting space since the family outgrew it decades before. My daddy technically should have been Alpha as eldest son of the previous Alpha and Lonnie’s older brother, but he’d been overlooked after he’d left the packlands to wander. By some strange instinctive magic, leaving had stripped Daddy of his authority and transferred it to Uncle Lonnie. Personally, I’d always thought Lonnie did a much better job than my father would have done. He was fair, but firm, with a kindness in manner that made you want to do as he asked. And yes, he bothered to ask, which could not be said of all Alphas. 
Of course, I never voiced these thoughts in front of my parents. That would lead nowhere good. 
After years of his wandering, Daddy came back mated to my mama, who was carrying me. While Lonnie accepted Daddy back, it was just “understood” that Daddy’s place in the pack was tenuous. My whole life, I’d heard Daddy rail about being given a spot on the far end of the land, how he’d been edged out, rejected. Our placement may have allowed Daddy his privacy, but in his eyes, it was also a daily reminder that he’d never be fully accepted back into the pack. 
So, the situation had soured long before I was born into it. I was an only child, an anomaly in werewolf society, and not the much-desired son – which only added to Daddy’s list of perceived slaps from the universe. We were an alarmingly fertile bunch, which was why there were so many trailers on the compound. Our three-person family unit was just another thing that made us “odd.” 
Secretly, I’d always been grateful for it. Crowding more people into our house definitely wouldn’t have made it a happier home. 
I whuffed off the calls of the uncles and aunts who were out on their front decks, enjoying the soft spring air. Uncle Eagan commented on how I was out late, with that tone that managed to express disapproval, along with genuine concern. Aunt Paulene asked if I’d eaten yet with the same fretting anxiety she always had: that any member of the younger generation would drop dead if she didn’t cram them full of carbs every three hours. 
I stopped just in front of my family’s trailer. White and laminate paneling, it certainly wasn’t the nicest one on the compound, but it wasn’t the worst-off. (That particular honor belonged to my cousin Vance, whose moldy “bachelor pad” would be condemned by any health inspector with eyes and sense.) But Mama made an effort to spruce it up, planting bulb flowers around the stoop and hanging a pretty windchime she’d made from tumbled bits of old glass Coke bottles. 
I ducked around the corner of the trailer to shift back to two legs and put on my clothes. Generally speaking, nudity was no big deal for a werewolf. Clothes just got in the way when you were trying to shift back and forth between two forms. But I didn’t enjoy seeing my family members naked, so I was a little more careful of where and when I was dressed. Fortunately, my parents felt pretty much the same, at least, if we were in the house. 
Though the windows were lit, the trailer was silent aside from the screech of the front door. Normally, the TV would be blasting some sort of sports channel or one of Mama’s game shows. Maybe they’d decided I warranted the cold shoulder and decided to go to bed early? No—the last time they’d done that, they’d shut the trailer door with one of those anti-theft Club things and I’d had to sleep in my car. 
“Tylene McClaine!” 
Shit. 
Like a lot of female McClaines over the last two generations, my name ended in some form of “lene.” Because my daddy was Tyler, I was Tylene. Still, I was better off than my poor cousin, Eugenelene. 
“Where have you been?” my father thundered from where my parents were seated at the dinette set with two of my aunties, Lurlene and Braylene. Oh, hell. 
Petite and cherubic with meticulously dyed auburn curls, Braylene had had three cubs by the time she was my age. She included that little factoid in almost every conversation we had. She even wrote it in my birthday card once. Lurlene had been a great beauty in her time, blessed with what she called an “hourglass figure.” She’d had her pick of mates from the best packs and never let anyone forget it. Of all my aunts, Lurlene and Braylene were the most “involved.” They didn’t like how I dressed, how I spoke, how I refused their constant advice. (I much preferred Aunt Paulene and her endless carbs.) When I was younger, I’d learned how to quietly fade into background of the pack, easy enough to do when everybody else was so damn loud. My parents were lucky I was a good kid who was more interested in my schoolwork than the bad choices available to me as a teenager in a rural area. But once I graduated, it was if I popped back up on the pack’s radar and they started questioning what I was going to do with my life, when I was going to settle down, get serious about my role in the pack. My aunts and uncles, for the most part, weren’t content with my plans for community college and a job I enjoyed. 
In general, werewolf attitudes towards social justice may have evolved over the last century or so, but it took much longer for my relatives to adjust to the idea that I might want something more from life than marriage to a big strong male who could provide for me and the children I would bear for him. 
When I didn’t immediately change this attitude, they’d taken to ambushing me with makeovers and “sons of friends” visiting from nearby territories. I tensed, scanning the trailer for the sight or scent of an unknown male. 
When I didn’t see a stranger, or a set of hot rollers , I relaxed ever so slightly and smiled, like I didn’t have a care in the world. 
I hadn’t done anything wrong tonight, not even by werewolf standards. Okay, sure, I was about to lie…but that hadn’t happened yet. My whole life was spent dancing on the edge of this sort of subtle distinction. “I was out with some friends from school.” 
“What friends? You haven’t talked about friends in months,” Daddy scoffed, rising from his seat. Like most McClaine men, he was huge, well over six feet tall and still fairly muscled for a man in his early fifties. Deep, unhappy lines bracketed his mouth, the roadmap of his unsatisfying life. My mother sat, quietly working through a crossword puzzle book, as if her husband wasn’t hollering to wake up the whole pack just a few feet from her face. I’d watched over the years as she’d perfected her little bubble of concentration, impervious to noise or tension or the verbal barbs from my aunts. Unfortunately, the bubble had also hardened against her daughter’s discontent a long time ago. 
“Where were you?” Daddy demanded. 
“I was at the library with friends,” I told him. 
He burst out laughing. “What the hell would you be doing at the library on a Friday night?” 
“Reading?” I suggested. 
“A girl your age should be on a date,” Aunt Braylene said, shelling peas into an old stoneware bowl. “What happened with that Scottie? Darla’s boy? I gave him your phone number. Or do you kids just talk over the texting now?” 
I clamped my lips together to keep my expression neutral. I’d agreed to one date with Scottie Briggs. He’d been so handsy, I’d barely escaped the movie theatre without popcorn butter-flavored handprints on my ass. I would not subject myself or my jeans to that again. 
A headache started to bloom behind my eyes. 
“It didn’t work out,” I said vaguely. 
“You know, when I was your age, girls didn’t hide in their rooms behind computer screens. If you want to catch a man, you’re going to have to work for it,” Braylene told me. 
I shrugged. “I’m good. Really.” 
Lurlene looked sincerely offended. “You need to think about your future. You know, your daddy isn’t gonna put a roof over your head forever.” 
I had a lot of opinions on this topic. I’d been willing to move out for years. I’d even tried a few times, only to cancel my plans when my parents claimed it would somehow make their position in the pack even worse. So, my secret savings account grew right along with my frustrations. Daddy glared at me hard enough not to bring those opinions up. 
“Why don’t you come on over to my place tomorrow? We can freshen up your hairstyle a little bit, make you over,” Braylene pressed, with a significant look towards Mama and her dishwater blond hair. “You were lucky enough to get the McClaine coloring, honey, but you gotta take full advantage.” 
“I’ll think about it,” I promised, angling my body towards my room, so I could make my escape as soon as possible. I would not submit to another torture session in the chair Lurlene’s oldest son had ripped out of a defunct hair salon. Last time, she’d damn near given me a perm. 
“Well, what else do you have goin?” Lurlene asked. “Hank said that you’re not signed up for a shift at the butcher shop. Or the bait shop. Or the towing business. What are you gonna do with yourself all weekend?” 
“I have homework,” I lied again smoothly. Community college coursework had been my go-to excuse for years. And while I did have a few associates degrees under my belt, including computer science and marketing, I hadn’t taken actual classes in about six months. My parents didn’t need to know that. 
“Oh, honey, community college isn’t gonna get you anywhere you want to go,” Braylene said. “If working for family is good enough for your cousins, it’s good enough for you. You know how busy the butcher shop is on weekends.” 
“Angelene met her husband while she was working at the butcher shop,” Lurlene added. 
“Angelene’s husband thinks he’s gonna make money off of selling homemade batteries!” I retorted. 
“He says it’s all about who you know,” Braylene said, shaking her head. 
“Pardon me if that isn’t exactly what I’m looking for in a mate,” I huffed. 
“Well, you’re never gonna find one if you’re so all-fired picky,” Lurlene shot back. 
I objected, “It’s not ‘picky’ to—” 
Daddy cut me off with a gesture. “All right, all right, enough. I’m sure Tylene will come to her senses soon enough.” 
Braylene stood, picking up her bowl of peas. “You need to talk to that girl, Tyler.” 
She pulled Lurlene up by her elbow. Lurlene was trying to pull away, whispering to me, “Just some layers around your face maybe. Or some bangs! We could tease ’em real high!” 
“With all due respect, Aunt Lurlene, I would rather be bald,” I said quietly, shaking my head. 
With the front door slamming behind my aunties, Daddy whirled on me. “I’ve had enough of that library bullshit, Tylene. I know when you’re lying to me. Where were you? Were you with some boy we don’t know? Go ahead and tell me. You know I could smell him on you if I wanted to.” 
Pointing out that at twenty-four, I should be spending time with men, not boys, was a point that would have been completely lost on my whole family. Instead, I chose to focus on the idea of my father literally trying to sniff out my sins. 
“Oh, gross, that is a huge violation of privacy,” I said, backing away from him. 
“You live under my roof, so you follow my rules.” 
“Well, then maybe I shouldn’t to be under your roof.” 
“Don’t start that again, Tylene,” Mama said quietly. “Until you’re grown, your place is in our home. If you leave sooner, the whole pack will ask why. You’ll put our place at risk.” 
“I am grown! I’m twenty-four years old! I have savings. I can pay my own bills, my own rent.” 
Mama rolled her eyes. “You know what we mean by ‘grown!’” 
“‘Married’ does not mean grown!” 
“How do you all the sudden have all this money?” My father’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s been giving you money?” 
I gritted my teeth and took a big breath through my nose. These arguments were always so circular, not to mention pointless, because they never listened to a word I said anyway. “I don’t suddenly have money. I’ve been saving it for years! I have more than enough to support myself. I could get out of your hair. You don’t even like having me around. You think I can’t tell when I’m not wanted? Trust me, I’ve picked up on the signs.” 
“What do you mean ‘not wanted?’” Mama exclaimed. “We’re your parents!” 
“Okay, but most people move out from their parents’ home by the time they’re twenty!” 
“Most humans, you mean,” Daddy countered. 
“I knew this was going to happen,” Mama murmured. “I told you, when Jolene married that human, that she’d bring the whole pack down with her.” 
“This has nothing to do with Jolene,” I groaned. 
“Just look at this.” Mama tossed a copy of the local newspaper onto the table. The headline read, Beeline Abuzz: Hollow-based vampire concierge service expanding to five new cities. When I failed to react—because I couldn’t figure out what that had to do with us or Jolene—Mama rolled her eyes and flipped the paper over to show a photo of an event celebrating Beeline’s “statewide launch.” Mama stabbed a long finger into the background of the photo, where Jolene and Zeb seemed to be happily wrapped in a sort of group hug with the vampires. 
“Your cousin’s out there in public, huggin’ a bunch of vampires like she doesn’t have a care in the world,” Mama huffed. “Like vampires haven’t looked down their nose at us since before time began. Like everything is just rainbows and roses. And now she’s corrupted you along with her.” 
“Mama, honestly, this has nothing do with Jolene.” 
“Y’all be careful when you talk about the Alpha’s daughter,” Daddy stepped between us and growled in a low voice. “She’s still everybody’s favorite, even if my brother should have disowned her the minute she moved off the packlands.” 
Considering Daddy’s own wanderings, this seemed more than a little hypocritical. This was definitely not the time to bring that up. 
“Tylene’s always careful to stay on Jolene’s good side,” Mama said, her eyes begging me to help her change the subject. “She’s watching the twins on Monday night for her. Aren’t you, hon?” 
I nodded. “They need a ride to some music class. Jolene’s got a meeting she has to go to.” 
“See? That’s the sort of thing we want to see you doing with your time. Helping out the pack,” Daddy said, nodding, his mood suddenly lifted. “But when you’re out, you answer your mama’s calls, no matter what. And her texts. Otherwise, we come looking for you. And you know we can track you if we want to.” 
When I opened my mouth to argue, he cut me off with a sharp gesture. “End of discussion. Now, why don’t you go on to bed? I’ll ask Hank to come by to talk about your shift tomorrow morning.” 
“But—” He leveled me with a look and I clamped my lips shut. “Goodnight.” 
I turned on my heel and walked to my room. I was careful not to slam the door. I sank onto the bed and rubbed my hand over my face. I’d been having such a nice, quiet night. How had so much gone so wrong so quickly? I hated arguing with my parents. It was always so pointless and frustrating. And I knew, just like I knew that I’d accomplished nothing talking to them, that I would end up working that damn butcher shop shift the next morning. Because I would feel too guilty to tell my sweet Uncle Hank “no” to his face. 
Robotically, I changed into my pajamas and got ready for bed. As I pulled the blankets up to my chin, I realized I hadn’t looked for that replacement stock image for the sword. I would have to get up early to look for one in the morning. 
I closed my eyes and the vampire’s face floated to the surface of my mind. Never mind the fact that he was a gorgeous specimen of man…vampire…manpire? He’d been so polite—just unfailingly appropriate and considerate. How sad was it that I was so impressed by basic manners that was what I remembered about him? 
It didn’t matter. I doubted I would see him again.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 
“A stagnant vampire is a vampire who loses their will to live. Be open to new experiences. Otherwise, you’re just wasting your eternity. Nobody likes an eternity waster.” 
—A Gentleman in Any Era: An Ancient Vampire’s Guide to Modern Relationships A vampire named Dick Cheney made me the best cappuccino I’d ever had. 
My life was very strange. 
I sat at the shiny maple bar at Specialty Books, scanning the shelves as I sipped my frothy coffee drink. After seeing Jane Jameson-Nightengale’s name on library plaques over the years, it was sort of shocking to find myself inside her shop, with its comfortable purple chairs, restful purplish-blue walls and twinkling fairy lights. The air smelled of coffee and old paper and dried herbs inside the pots lining the back wall. I could also smell the tang of blood in the air, which was a little off-putting, but I found I didn’t mind it all that much. It wasn’t that different than hanging out at Hank’s butcher shop. 
Western Kentucky harbored a secret supernatural world that was downright magical that I never even knew about, and I was a freaking werewolf. How had I never visited this store in my twenty-four years? Of course, I knew that vampires were a thing. Vampires had even been part of human daily life for almost twenty years now, since a vampire accountant from Milwaukee decided to launch his species out of the coffin with a lawsuit. 
Were-creatures were more reluctant, preferring to watch how the vampire Coming Out played for a few…decades. It turned out to be one of our more prudent decisions as a species, considering how immediately after finding out that they’d lived alongside the blood-sucking undead for centuries unawares, humans ran out to buy silver and stakes by the ton. If humans knew how many people around them could shift into any number of animals—bears, wolves, big cats, even skunks—I shuddered to imagine what they would do. Of course, no were wanted to admit that the vampires were braver than us. We chose to think of it as being “cautious.” 
But even with my more “liberal” supernatural education, I had no idea there was a treasure trove of supernatural literature guarded by the undead right in the middle of town. I’d heard Cousin Jolene talk about “the shop” before, but being so removed from that part of her life, I’d never connected it to the little storefront I’d driven past probably a million times. Even with the bright blue-violet awning, I’d sort of assumed it was a sketchy adult bookstore…Come to think of it, there had been an adult bookstore next door at one point. But I’d never imagined what a cozy, cheerful space was inside, lined with more books than even I could read. 
Of course, I didn’t spend a lot of time in this neighborhood. There were a lot of vampire-owned businesses here, not to mention its proximity to the local headquarters of the Council for the Equal Treatment for the Undead. And while I didn’t have a problem with vampires, sometimes the older ones didn’t much like my kind…except for that one vampire…who’d I thought about pretty much constantly since Friday. I hadn’t returned to the library. I’d spent the weekend behind the counter at the butcher shop, taking customer orders and cleaning out the fridge cases. I liked to think I did enough cleaning to justify working so few days there. 
In order to finish the Celtic email campaign, I ended up staying up past midnight, searching stock art sites over the weekend. I didn’t hide under my covers with a flashlight and my laptop, but it was a near thing. The clients were happy. That was all that mattered. 
“You need a warm-up?” Dick Cheney—the vampire, not the vice president—asked from behind the bar. He was definitely a different sort of vampire than “my” library vampire, handsome in a roguish way that I didn’t quite trust, even though I wanted to snatch his “In need of supervision” t-shirt. And it felt like he didn’t trust me, either. He’d watched me carefully for the past twenty minutes, as I’d waited for Jolene to show up with the twins for their Monday night class. I didn’t know if it was because I was a werewolf in a vampire shop or because I was the first member of Jolene’s family he’d met since her wedding all those years ago. 
“I’m fine, thank you. It’s delicious, just the right amount of milk.” I drained the cup, carefully swiping my top lip for errant foam. 
“Well, if you need anything, just let me know,” Dick said, smiling awkwardly. Brow raised, I bent my head over my phone, scrolling through my Fiverr account for job offers. I had enough to keep me busy for the next few months, which was gratifying. I glanced up and caught him staring again, his expression concerned. 
“Is everything all right?” I asked. “I’m not gonna steal anything, I swear. Jolene’s told me all about you, and the rest of her friends here. I would never do anything to hurt friends of the pack.” 
“Oh, sweetheart, no!” He burst out laughing and patted my hand. It was curiously cool against my naturally warm skin, making me think of the library vampire again. Is this how his hands would have felt? 
Nope, nope. Stop those thoughts right now. 
“I know you wouldn’t steal anything!” Dick exclaimed. “But I’m trying to find a way to say this without offending you.” 
“It’s nice that you’re concerned about that, but I’d rather you just come out with it.” 
“You smell like blood,” he said. “Old blood, new blood, just lots of different kinds of blood, from different creatures. It’s not all that unpleasant for me, but I just want to make sure—are you okay? Are you safe? Do I need to call someone?” 
Now, it was my turn to laugh. “Oh, no! I worked in my family butcher shop this weekend and the smell kind of gets into your hair, your skin. I don’t even notice it anymore.” 
“Oh, it’s just butcher shop blood, that’s good…which is a sentence I never thought I’d hear coming out of my mouth. I had this image in my head of trying to explain to Jolene that something was going on with her cousin and then she’d wolf out in the store. The cleanup involved.” He paused and shuddered. 
A pretty brunette woman stuck her head out of the office, a confused expression on her face. “What about butcher shop blood?” 
“Oh, like that’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard me say,” Dick shot back. 
“True enough.” The woman walked out of her office, carrying a box of books on her hip. 
“Jane, this is Jolene’s cousin, Ty. Ty, this is—” 
I stuck my hand out with what was probably too much enthusiasm. “Jane Jameson-Nightengale. I know. I spend a lot of time at the library. Thank you so much for everything you’ve donated. I get this weird feeling you only did it to mess with Mrs. Stubblefield, but it’s made my life easier.” 
Jane grinned. “You’re welcome…and you’re very perceptive.” 
“I knew it!” I whispered, holding up my fist in triumph and making Jane giggle. 
Behind me, the little cowbell over the door jangled and the shop was filled with what could only be described as “thundering chaos.” Jolene McClaine-Lavelle herded two unnaturally tall eight-year-olds through the door as they chattered and bounced off of each other, the shelves, the stools. Joe, a serious boy with his father’s sandy hair, was wheeling a cello case nearly as tall as he was. He was wearing a t-shirt that read, “They told me I could be anything and I chose ‘kid who plays a musical instrument the size of a car.” Janelyn’s case fit under her arm. Her t-shirt read, “Will trade sibling for a Stradivarius.” 
They were beautiful children and just smart enough to be worrisome. And Uncle Lonnie and Aunt Mimi absolutely doted on them, meaning that no one in the pack dared do anything else. 
“Hey, Twin Terrors!” Dick crowed as the children launched themselves over the counter with an agility that would have been impossible for entirely human children. They threw themselves at “Uncle Dick,” and only his super-human strength kept him from toppling over into the scary copper espresso machine. 
While I wasn’t insecure about my looks, Jolene was widely acknowledged as the family beauty—the McClaine auburn hair, high cheekbones, wide green eyes and a figure only made lusher by bearing two babies. It was probably why my family was so embittered by Jolene’s marriage. The McClaines could have forged a bond with some well-to-do pack with Jolene “on offer.” But instead, they saw her as being wasted on a goofy, affable human. 
Secretly, I thought Zeb was a far better partner than any girl in my pack landed. He was funny and kind and didn’t feel the need to prove that he was in charge all of the time. But I would never ever say that to my parents. I didn’t want to know whether they believed they could ground me. 
“It’s all right,” Jolene whispered out of the side of her mouth, picking up on my alarm as the kids crawled on the vampire like he was a jungle gym. “I know I don’t bring the vampires around you much, but Dick and Andrea and the rest have spent just as much time with the kids, if not more, than the pack. They just love their Uncle Dick to death. Hell, they have sleepovers at Jane’s every other weekend so Zeb and I can have a date night.” 
I suddenly remembered a very loud argument just after the twins were born, where the whole pack spent Thanksgiving unanimously freaking out because Zeb and Jolene asked Jane and Gabriel to babysit the kids. It had seemed very sensible to me, to leave your newborns with someone with super-sensitive hearing who didn’t need to sleep at night. My relatives had not agreed. 
Like this charming little nook of supernatural wonder, her relationship with these vampires was a whole piece of Jolene’s life I didn’t know about. And in our family, that was a damn miracle. 
“I can’t believe you went on the Internet specifically to get smartass string instrument t-shirts,” Jolene muttered. She turned to Jane. “I told you to delete his Etsy account.” 
“Andrea says he keeps finding ways to set up new accounts. He’s surprisingly tech savvy for a senior citizen.” 
“There’s no limit to the number of email accounts you can open!” Dick said, while the kids hung off of his arms. 
Jolene handed me a small musical case, while lugging a larger wheeled case up to the bar. “I really appreciate this, Ty. Zeb got elected to some sort of important staff committee for the school, poor soul, and I promised Jane I would attend this meeting for local supernatural muckity-mucks. Represent the pack, you know?” 
You would never know it looking at them, but Dick and Jane were the big muckity-mucks with the local office of the Council for the Equal Treatment of the Undead. They were sort of like the Alphas of the local vampires, regulating their behavior, communicating with the human community and helping other supernatural species maintain their cover. According to Jolene, vampires were way less bite-y and way more socially responsible under their recent leadership. 
“It won’t be fun, but it will involve a really tedious and lengthy agenda,” Jane chirped. 
“Stretch, you’ve gotta stop trying to sell it with words like, ‘tedious,’” Dick told her. 
“I know,” Jane admitted. “But Jolene’s family. I don’t like lying to her.” 
Hearing someone else calling Jolene “family” left me with an odd sensation in my chest—empty and sour. And to my surprise, I didn’t feel possessive insult at the very idea that someone was trying to claim my cousin. It was a different sort of jealousy. Jolene had found a place here in the outside world, independent of the pack—hell, almost in spite of the pack. She had a life and people who loved her for herself. I hated to imagine what I would trade for that. 
“Uncle Lonnie didn’t want to go to the meeting?” I asked, clearing my throat. “Did Jane use the word ‘tedious’ on him, too?” 
“Wow, we reached the mockery stage of our relationship really quickly,” Jane told me, throwing up her hands. 
Jolene shook her head. “You know Daddy. He accepts the idea that working with the vampires is better for us, but he just doesn’t like the idea of doing it himself. Besides. I’ve been friends with Jane for years. If anybody’s going to be cooperative, it’s me. Daddy, not so much.” 
“That’s a really good point,” I conceded. 
“And when I tell anybody in the pack that the kids are getting special lessons for cello and violin, they act like I’m getting all snooty. ‘What’s next? You gonna put them in private school? You gonna start taking vacations in Europe?’” she huffed, mimicking what I thought maybe was Aunt Lurlene’s voice. “It’s not like I can sign them up for team sports. They’re faster than all of the other kids—like, obviously faster. And Janelyn is so competitive, she doesn’t know how to hold back. They’d boot werewolves out in the open before the end of their first practice.” 
“Jolene, I get it,” I assured her. “We weren’t able to play sports, and it’s not like we were able to afford extra music lessons. You’re trying to do something good for your kids.” 
“And not get mocked for it,” Jane added. 
“Exactly. It’s what good parents do,” I agreed. “I’m really impressed.” 
Jolene took a deep breath. “Thank you. It’s good to hear that from someone who grew up like we did. Here are the keys to the van. I’ll ride with Jane and Dick to the meeting. I texted you the address for the music studio. Just make sure they eat their jerky snacks on the way to class. It’s two hours long and the last thing you want to do is to hand wooden sticks to a couple of hangry werewolf cubs.” 
“Mu-ohm, they’re called bows,” Janelyn sighed in that derisive tone only tweens could manage toward their parents. “And it’s not like you can hurt anybody that bad with them.” 
“Watch the sass, Janelyn, or there will be no triple cheeseburgers after class,” Jolene informed her daughter in her nasal twang. 
Having a voice that could peel paint was Jolene’s only real flaw. Janelyn seemed to sense she’d gone too far and mimed zipping her lip. 
Jolene told me, “I left cash in the glove box. Our drive-thru bills can get really ugly. Just tell the cashier it’s the Lavelle twins. They’ll know what to do.” 
“Which fast food place?” I asked. 
Jolene jerked her shoulder. “Any of them. We’re known pretty much everywhere.” 
Thinking of the amount of food my own family could put away at any given meal, I nodded. “That makes sense.” 
“Okay, kids, have a great time,” my cousin said, kissing each of them on the top of their heads. As the twins trooped out of the door, Jolene handed me a pair of packaged, high-end foam earplugs. 
“Why?” 
Andrea winced. “Trust me, you’re going to need them.” 
“What have I agreed to?” I asked Dick. 
Jane sniffed, smirking at me. “Suddenly ‘tedious’ doesn’t sound so bad, now does it?” 
I had to add “special violin studio” to the list of things I didn’t realize existed in the Hollow. The nondescript, beige cement block warehouse was on the industrial side of town, painted with a stately sign reading Half-Moon Hollow Music Academy. If I hadn’t seen a parking lot full of cars, I probably wouldn’t have stopped there with children. But the twins ran in with a confidence that spoke of familiarity—or at least, the recklessness of being eight. 
I had no idea there was enough local interest in string instruments to merit a whole studio devoted to them. Local kids could sign up for piano lessons or even guitar fairly easily. Or if they couldn’t afford private instruction, they usually joined their school bands for woodwinds and brass. Those bands rarely included a string section. I’d known a girl in high school who had been considered a violin prodigy, thanks to her well-off parents’ early intervention. And she’d had to travel to a youth orchestra in Nashville just for the opportunity to play. But this room was packed with at least twenty kids and their parents, holding everything from a tiny violin to an enormous contrabass. (I could only identify it because of a previous work project involving a regional orchestra.) The school was basically an open rehearsal space with chairs and music stands arranged on risers in the center. It smelled familiar, a warm woodsy scent that immediately calmed me. Maybe it was the instruments? The owner had painted the walls a crisp white and hung carefully-placed acoustic panels. The floor was an immaculate maple that shone in the bright overhead lights. The only decorations were photos of students performing in various concert halls, interspersed with portraits of famous composers. Little brass nameplates labeled Brahms, Bach, and Beethoven, with a little sign underneath that read, “Learn Your Three B’s!” 
Immediately, the space seemed very professional and focused, which was reflected in the kids’ behavior. Yes, they were still kids, talkative and loud, but they weren’t running around or roughhousing. I hoped this was a demonstration of how much they valued the lessons, and not the music teacher being some sort of super-strict ogre. 
Most of the students were around the twins’ age, with a few teens who seemed to be in charge of getting the youngest kids into their seats with their instruments intact. It struck me that the crowd here was much more diverse than the average gathering in the Hollow. While most of the region’s occupants were Caucasian, the students here represented a healthy blend of Asian, Latino, Indian, and African American. I couldn’t help but think that was good for the twins, too. Growing up on the McClaine compound, where everybody was exactly like you, could leave you unprepared to deal with the outside world and all its differences. Jolene’s kids wouldn’t have to struggle with that and it made me all the more proud of her as a mom. 
Janelyn, always the more social of the two, was greeted with hugs from several of the girls in class, while Joe seemed to have two or three “core friends” who separated from the class to talk very intensely about the instruments they were unpacking. 
“Okay, I’ll just wait over here then,” I said awkwardly, joining a row of parents sitting along the wall. Some of them were knitting or reading. I guessed sideline coaching wasn’t a big thing in youth classical music classes—another point for Jolene and her ability to choose activities for her kids. I pulled out my phone to check my emails and two older boys led the twins’ group through breathing exercises and arm stretches. 
The older boys, who continued to glance towards a closed office door near the front, stood in front of the seated group and raised their arms. Watching each other carefully to keep time, they lifted their arms and the children raised their bows in response. A chaotic clash of noise—the likes of which I’d only heard that one time a raccoon dared to infiltrate my uncle Eagan’s trailer—knocked me back against my chair. At first, it was just an assault on my eardrums, but eventually, I could hear that some of the notes were perfectly played—the tone whole and soothing. Others sounded like a hacksaw drawn across a chalkboard. 
Suddenly, the earplugs made so much sense. 
I wondered how Jolene could stand this at all. With our supernatural hearing, sitting through these sessions had to be torture for her. And the kids had private lessons on top of these weekly classes! Never underestimate the tenacity of a devoted werewolf mama. 
It took a few moments for my nerves to adjust to the aural anarchy, but eventually, it became background noise. I couldn’t tell whether it was because the students were getting warmed up or I was simply able to block it out. I’d spent years tuning out my relatives nonstop droning. By comparison, the screeching scales were far less annoying. 
The noise stopped and the “assistant teachers” called out advice for the kids who were making errors. Joe was asked to demonstrate a proper finger position for a B flat. The sound that filled the room was warm and rich, like honey flooding over a sweet, dense cake. 
I chewed my bottom lip. I had food on the brain. Maybe I should have had some of the beef jerky in the car. 
“Are you with the twins tonight?” a nearby mom asked kindly. When I nodded, she added, “They’re very talented.” 
“Like, suspiciously talented?” I asked, my brow raised. 
She stared at me for a long beat because I’d just said something very weird. “No. Some kids are just a little more musically inclined than others.” 
I smiled awkwardly. “Oh, well, thank you, that’s very nice of you to say. I’m their cousin, Ty. I’m filling in for Jolene tonight.” 
“Namita Singh,” the lady said, shaking my offered hand. 
“Which one is yours?” 
“Amelia.” She nodded to a tiny form almost entirely hidden behind a youth cello. She didn’t seem to be struggling with its size or playing scales. While not quite as smooth as Joe’s playing, she clearly knew what she was doing. 
“Wow,” I marveled. “How old is she?” 
“Six. Joe has been helping her since she started here. He’s such a sweet boy, and very patient with the younger kids.” 
“That’s our Joe,” I said, grinning proudly. On the other side of the room, Janelyn demonstrated a scale, the notes rippling off of her bow at a hummingbird’s pace. 
“Janie’s a little more intense,” I added, making Namita laugh. 
“It’s good for the kids to get together like this,” she said. “The private lessons are essential, for the kids to get the individual attention they need to grow. But they really need this time together to see how the other students play, the little tricks they use and how they cope with frustration if they’re not getting it right. And of course, it’s good for them to socialize and learn how to play as a group. Mr. Bonfils says music can be lonely pursuit and that can be very bad for the musician.” 
“Mr. Bonfils is the teacher?” 
Namita blushed, glancing down at her book. “He’s very good.” 
In the risers, a boy tried to copy Janelyn’s speed on the scale and failed. Repeatedly. Janelyn tried to calm him down and tell him that she’d worked for weeks to get it right, and he just needed to slow down. But he stood up suddenly, red-faced and frustrated, knocking over a music stand and nearly smacking the boy seated in front of him. 
Suddenly, the office door opened, and a blurred blue shape sped toward the falling stand. A tall, dark-haired man caught the stand before it fell. None of the other parents reacted, so I assumed they were used to this sort of vampire speed displayed in class. The kids’ music teacher was a vampire. Interesting. 
The teacher knelt in front of the frustrated kid and spoke to him, so quietly that no one else could hear what was said—not even with my hearing. The boy’s shoulders relaxed, and he took deep breaths. The vampire showed him how to place his fingers around the violin’s neck and handed him the bow. The student played through the scale slowly and the notes were far less jarring on the ears. The tension in the classroom immediately eased. 
“Welcome, class, sorry about the late start,” he said as he turned. “But what do we know about responsibilities?” 
“Responsibilities, like school and chores, are just as important as music,” the kids chorused together as if they’d heard it many times before. 
The vampire crossed to the conductor’s stand and I got a good look at his face. Only my werewolf speed kept me from fumbling my phone to the floor. He wasn’t just any vampire. He was the library vampire. 
All around me, the moms seemed to straighten in their chairs and suck in their stomachs simultaneously. I couldn’t even blame them for the unified hair fluffing. If I’d had any idea I was going to see him again, I would worn something besides a t-shirt and jeans tonight... even if he had seen me in t-shirt and jeans before. But I would have at least worn a tinted lip balm or something. 
I ran a hand through my thick auburn hair. Yep, it was frizzy; there was nothing I could do about it. 
For a moment, it was like a scene from one of those movies, two people making eye contact across a crowded room while time slows and sound makes way to the dramatic swell of a hundred violins…more advanced violins than the ones I was currently hearing. I could see the moment he recognized me, and his face filled with a delight that made me dizzy. 
And now that he wasn’t looking directly at me, that dreamy movie feeling faded away and I was full-on panicking. I’d never thought I would see him again. I had no idea what to do. What would I even say to him after class was over? Should I say anything at all? The tone of our last conversation had been decidedly flirty, and I don’t think I’d ever had more than one flirty conversation with a man. At least not one I was interested in, as opposed to some poor blind date I’d been corralled into by my pack—and on the rare occasions I flirted with those guys, I was generally trying to make them uncomfortable enough that they would find a reason to end the date early. 
The ease with which I had spoken to him in the library was a fluke brought on by adrenaline and gratitude that I wasn’t suffering a book-related concussion. And was it even worth the risk of talking to him? The kids would be sure to mention to their parents—or God forbid, their grandparents, my Alphas—that I was having flirty conversations with their vampire music instructor. 
I slumped back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. What if I was making entirely too much of this? What if I was just imagining this whole thing on my side and he was just a gregarious personality who treated everybody like they were interesting and delightful? What if this was some weird vampire thing where he was just trying to bite me so he could brag to his friends about this time he fed from this gullible, back-country werewolf? 
As if he could hear my thoughts, the vampire turned and smiled, like he was relieved to find me still sitting there. 
I couldn’t just run away again, right? That was technically child abandonment. Jolene would definitely notice if I dropped her car off at her house without her kids in it. 
“Wow, um, I’ve never seen Mr. Bonfils smile at anyone like that before,” Namita said. 
“He’s usually pretty reserved,” 
“Do you know him?” another mom asked to my left. I glanced around and saw that several of the mothers were watching me with interest…and resentment. Great, because I needed to level up the difficulty in getting to the car after class. 
“Oh, I just met him once at the library,” I said, shaking my head. “No big deal. We barely spoke.” 
“He was at the library?” a third mom murmured, chewing her lip. Somehow, I got the feeling she was planning her own excursion to the local book depository. 
I hummed in a non-committal tone. It was official. I could never go back to the library. I’d just infested it with aggressive music moms. I checked my phone again and pretended to stare at the screen for the next hour, instead of the library vampire and the way his jeans clung to his rear. 
The class ended and Mr. Bonfils spoke to the students about an upcoming performance at a community meeting. I hurriedly packed my belongings into my backpack. I wondered if I could get away with scooting across the floor to the kids’ cases and packing their stuff up as quickly as possible. But none of the other parents moved, so I just sat there, watching. He was so…careful with the kids. He spoke to them gently, never getting too close. I understood the instinct. I tended to be overcautious about contact with humans, even the ones I liked. With super-strength, all it would take would be an ill-timed movement of my hand to result in broken bones. And he had bloodlust and insane noise levels to deal with on top of that. Why would he put himself through all this? 
He either truly loved teaching, or he was charging a lot more for these lessons than Jolene would admit. The kids clapped, marking the end of the teacher’s speech. I tried to bolt towards their bags as subtly as possible, but I was sure it still looked like bolting. The twins scampered across the floor to me, their hair plastered across their foreheads. 
“Okay, kids, let’s go get in the car,” I said, handing their cases to each of them. I eyed the vampire from across the room as he talked to students, glancing up at me every few seconds. 
“We have to pack up our instruments carefully,” Joe told me, his expression solemn. “Dad says if they get damaged, he’ll have to sell a kidney to replace them.” 
“I still say he could get more for a lobe of his liver,” Janelyn said, sliding her bow into its compartment. 
“Janelyn, that is creepy,” Joe told her. Janelyn shrugged. 
“Okay, great, be responsible and respectful of your belongings, but let’s get out of here as quickly as possible. All right?” I said. “First one back gets extra fries!” 
I looked back over my shoulder, but couldn’t see the vampire. I’d lost him in the shifting sea of parents and kids. 
“Hello, you must be the McClaine twins’ cousin,” that same smooth voice sounded over my other shoulder and it was all I could do to not shriek. It pricked my pride as a predator that he’d been able to sneak up on me. I was having a really off night. “They were very excited you were coming to see them tonight.” 
“Tylene McClaine. Just call me Ty. Everybody does,” I said, laughing in a breathless way that made me want to facepalm. 
“Alexandre Bonfils,” he said, glancing down at my hand. I remembered something from an old movie my aunt Maybelline loved, some corseted historical romance where the heroine was highly offended that a man reached for her hand, instead of waiting for her to extend it for a kiss across the knuckles. “But you should call me ‘Alex.’” 
“Nice to meet you.” Smiling, I extended my right hand and was grateful that he stuck with shaking it. If he’d kissed my knuckles, I’d probably get tackled by a jealous mom in the parking lot. Parking lots could be very dangerous places in the Hollow. 
“Truly, I’m glad to see you again,” he said. “I was afraid I might never have the opportunity.” 
If he was this charming towards everyone…he was really good at it. I probably deserved to be bitten at this point and I didn’t even care. I was so used to guys my age behaving like, well, guys my age. He didn’t accuse me of running off on him or trying to dodge him. And then, that put me on edge, because that was just not what I was used to from guys I’d interacted with. 
“I had to get home, and you seemed determined to finish your conversation with Mrs. Stubblefield,” I said. 
He pressed those full lips together into a frown. “Yes, those boys didn’t seem to understand that they’d done anything wrong, or that they should apologize…or at least try not to do it again.” 
I scoffed. “Kids today. I blame the video games that should be parenting them.” 
He didn’t laugh. Oh, no. How was I making this situation more awkward with stupid dad jokes? That shouldn’t be possible! 
“How old are you?” he asked. I lifted an eyebrow and he winced. “That sounded less sinister in my head. I’m asking for ethical reasons, not legal. I can’t tell human ages anymore.” 
“Does it matter?” I asked, tilting my head. 
He nodded emphatically. “Well, yes, if you’re a teenager, I’m going to have to change the way I speak to you and look at you, not to mention my thoughts around you. I don’t want to be…what do my students call it? A creepster.” 
“I can appreciate that, I think. But it’s “creeper,’ if you don’t want the kids to make fun of you,” I told him. “And I’m twenty-four. How old are you?” 
“Much older than twenty-four,” he said. “Hmmm, still sounds sinister. Maybe we should avoid age, as a topic?” 
“I could do that.” I snickered. “So, what were you doing in the library? It’s not exactly a hot spot for the vampire underworld.” 
“The library has a remarkable selection of classical sheet music, believe it or not. Some donation from a music enthusiast’s estate. I like reading them over in person.” He shrugged. “I have to maintain an online presence for my business, but in all other ways, I try to live life as what you might call a ‘beta-version.’” 
“How dare you!” I mock-gasped, making his eyes widen in alarm. 
“I’m sorry,” he said, his brow furrowed. 
“No, that was a bad joke. I’m sorry. I meant it as ‘how dare you reject the Internet’ in an over-the-top, meant-to-be-funny way. I spend a lot of time on the Internet,” I said. “Wait, that sounds sad—why is this conversation going so badly? I can’t even tell if it’s your fault or mine! I work in digital promotions for clients I meet over the Internet…there are no explicit images involved. I should stop talking.” 
“I would be very sad if you did,” he replied, his lips quirked into a smile that made my stomach do this weird flippy-thing. 
Over his shoulder, I could see the twins packed and ready to go…and about a dozen music moms giving me the evil eye. “I should get my cousins home. It was nice to see you again, without the books raining down from the sky.” 
“Would you like to meet me sometime for…coffee?” he asked, as if searching for a food group that might appeal to both of us. 
“You paused before coffee,” I noted. 
“I almost said drinks, but I don’t know if you drink,” he said, nodding. 
“Is ‘drinks’ some sort of euphemism?” I asked. 
“Why? Do beverages make you uncomfortable?” he replied. 
“No, it’s just…you’re a vampire and I’m a werewolf and we’re not supposed to date. I think it’s a rule.” 
“Did you sign something agreeing to these rules?” 
My lips twitched and his eyes flicked town. It felt like he was staring at my mouth. With intent. “No.” 
“So have coffee with me. I’ve heard of a place in town, Specialty Books. They make vampire-friendly drinks. It’s a nice public place, lots of witnesses, should you feel unsafe. Maybe I’m the one who should stop talking, because I don’t think I’m making this sound appealing.” 
I giggled. I actually giggled. Because he was not quite as awkward as me, but he was still a little awkward. And it was adorable that I was able to chip under the smooth exterior enough to make him appear to be anything but suave and courtly. 
I grinned at him, prompting him to smile at me just as warmly. “Dick Cheney does make a magical cappuccino.” 
Our devastating raid on the local Burger Shed left the back seat of Jolene’s car littered with cheese-covered wrappers and ripped fry containers. It was fast food carnage as far as the rearview mirror could see. I felt bad feeding the kids a mess of non-organic, corporate-fueled empty calories, but I also knew how expensive and difficult it was to feed growing werewolves. Jolene tended to cook pretty healthy when the kids were home—another marked difference from the ranch dressing-soaked, deep-fried cuisine that our mothers embraced. So, I figured it all balanced out eventually. 
The Lavelle house was a tidy little ranch, unremarkable in any way beyond the fact that a werewolf lived there, away from her pack. The instinct to run back to the packlands must have driven Jolene insane, but she did it so she could raise her kids on her own terms. And well, for Zeb’s safety, because if they’d tried to live on the compound, he would have lost a lot more than a toe. (There was an “accident” involving a chainsaw.) I carefully parked the car in the garage and herded the kids inside. Without having to be told, they hung up their backpacks and took their instruments upstairs, instead of just dropping everything by the door. It was a minor miracle, as far as werewolf child behavior was concerned. I heard keys jangle in the front door and Jolene stepped through. I could practically see the maternal tension bleed out of her face when she saw her cubs. I didn’t take it personally. It wasn’t that Jolene didn’t trust me. She just didn’t trust the rest of the world. It was a common attitude among most werewolf parents. 
Jolene threw her arms wide. “Hey, guys! How was practice!” 
“Great! And we made the kid at the drive-thru cry again!” Joe informed her, throwing himself against Jolene’s side and nuzzling his face against her ribs. 
“Joe ordered everything with no onions, so they had to make them fresh,” Janelyn said. 
“Onions taste like that stuff that grows on the bottom of the toothbrush rack,” Joe insisted. 
“Why would you taste stuff at the bottom of the toothbrush rack?” Janelyn asked. 
“Kids, please spare cousin Ty your thoughts on what weird things taste like.” Jolene flashed a brilliant smile at me. “Thanks, Ty. You’re a lifesaver.” 
“No problem, it was really interesting to watch,” I assured her. “How was your meeting?” 
“Productive,” she said. “But I got roped into serving on a committee.” 
“Sucker.” 
“I know,” she sighed. 
I dug into my backpack and handed her the package of earplugs. “Here, I didn’t use these. I know they’re the good ones.” 
Jolene frowned. “You didn’t need them?” 
“It wasn’t that bad,” I told her, making her jaw drop. “What? I’ve spent years tuning out the aunties and they’re way louder.” 
“That’s what the twins say,” Jolene said, chewing her lip. 
“It’s all about focus, Mama,” Janelyn told her solemnly before following her brother down the hall. “I call first shower, Joe! You never clean your nasty hair out of the drain! Joe!” 
Before Janelyn managed to reach the closed bathroom door, the shower started. 
“Well, that will be a fun fight to referee,” Jolene sighed. “So it looks like these meetings might be taking up a lot of my Monday nights. Would you mind taking them to the music classes on those nights? I didn’t know if you were usually working then.” 
I shrugged. “I think I would like that. I get out of the house and I get points for being helpful to family. You know how that goes.” 
Of course, this arrangement would only work if the date I’d scheduled with Alex didn’t go terribly awry. But I wasn’t about to mention that in front of Jolene. If things went wrong, I would just make some excuse about not being able to take the kids to class. 
From down the hallway, I heard what sounded like the shower curtain being ripped off its hooks. 
“I’m just gonna run home, and let you deal with that,” I said, nodding. 
Jolene cringed as something crashed and the twins yelled simultaneously for their mom. “Thanks.”

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 
“Understand that the courting manners of other generations will be different than your own. However, no matter when or how you were raised, back-handed compliments are always bad.” 
—A Gentleman in Any Era: An Ancient Vampire’s Guide to Modern Relationships Specialty Books very quickly became my new “office space,” though the change came more out of necessity than the charms of Dick Cheney. 
Mrs. Stubblefield seemed to blame me for the ruckus the previous week and was decidedly cold to me on the one night I’d returned. Suddenly, there were no study carrels available to me, despite the fact that they were all empty. I took the hint and made myself scarce. Also, there were at least three moms from the music class sitting “casually” at the reading tables, dressed to the nines. The library was now infested. 
Jane had almost as many books as the library anyway. And I knew I could depend on the vampires to defend my stuff if I stepped away. They’d been so incredibly welcoming since I started showing up, occupying one of their tables for hours at a time. Jane and Dick tried to switch nights in the shop as they were also expected to work at the Council office. But I could tell the shop was where they preferred to spend their time, along with their partners. They were comfortable there in a way I tried not to envy. This was their home and I had the feeling they’d worked hard for it. 
Dick kept me in caffeine, letting me try experimental “human coffee drinks” before adding to them to the permanent menu. I ingested more bottled caramel sauce than any human would be able to metabolize. Jane’s husband, Gabriel, found the writing for media process to be fascinating and would spend my breaks discussing obscure typography rules with me. Dick’s wife, Andrea, hovered like a mother hen, making sure I had water, pens, a coaster for my coffee. 
And the location included one hundred percent fewer disturbing eyebrows, which couldn’t be discounted, in terms of a perk. 
Other that their usual complaints about me not being home, my parents didn’t really notice the difference. Well, they did ask if I was drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee, and then we had to have another discussion about sniffing me. 
“Can you come give this a try?” Dick asked on the night I was supposed to meet Alex at the bookshop for our date. I’d taken a little more care with my appearance than normal, wearing a pair of jeans so dark they were practically navy slacks and a new shade of lipstick that I would have to wipe off before I went home. 
Reluctantly, I abandoned the special anniversary edition of The Princess Bride I’d been ogling ever since I’d spotted it on the shelf days ago. I knew that most people preferred the movie to the book, with its ambiguous and potentially gloomy ending, but that story had gotten me through some very unhappy times as a preteen. I’d devoted many hours to imagining that I’d be whisked away by some handsome man in a mask. Hell, at several points, I would have settled for an angry Sicilian genius. This was a gorgeous leather-bound tome that I couldn’t bring myself to splurge on. I was sort of a tightwad when it came to buying things just for me, just for fun. 
Dick slid a purple Specialty Books mug across the bar. It smelled…funny. 
“Is there blood in this?” I asked him. “I think, legally, you have to tell me before I drink it.” 
“No blood, just a sample of some flavoring syrups,” he said as I took a tentative sip. “But they’re made by a new vampire-run company and sometimes I wonder if it’s a good idea for us to produce food products. Human food tastes like garbage to us, so vampires making human food products seems like a not-great idea.” 
I smacked my lips, trying to clear my mouth of the weird, synthetic raspberry cough syrup taste combined with nicely brewed coffee. “Well…” 
“Well, what?” 
I pressed my lips together before whispering, “My mama always told me if I couldn’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” 
Dick cringed. 
“So I’m trying to figure out a way to go back in time so I can take some words back from my lifetime total, to make up for how bad this is,” I said, making him draw the mug back across the bar. “I mean, when was the last time these people ate fruit?!” 
“I’m guessing a long time.” 
“It tastes like a cough drop that’s been left in an old lady’s sweater pocket for like a year, and then she digs it out and you take it because you don’t want to be rude, but then you’re just left with this awful pocket fuzz taste in your mouth,” I said, shuddering. “But then add a weird synthetic chemical taste afterwards.” 
“For someone who doesn’t want to say anything mean, this is a very specific old lady-based scenario,” he deadpanned. 
“I do what I can,” I said. 
“So…don’t buy the line of syrups.” 
I shook my head vehemently. “Don’t buy the syrups.” 
The bell over the door rang and a vampire in a floral peasant top came in, carrying a large shipping box labeled “SPECIALTY BOOKS—TEA ORDER” in a haphazard hand. 
“Hey Meadow, how’d the move go?” With Dick’s accent, the name came out as “Medda” but the lady didn’t seem to mind. She smiled brightly at him. 
“As well as you could expect when the people moving are one person with what you might call a lax attitude towards organization and the other one is Erik,” she said, jerking her shoulder. “You and Andrea have been really good to us and we appreciate it. So, to thank you, I brought you this.” 
She reached into the shipping box and pulled out a package wrapped in brightly patterned cloth. 
“Is it slippery elm bark tea?” Dick asked, his expression caught between affection and dread. 
“It’s slippery elm bark tea!” she chirped, relentlessly cheerful despite Dick’s clear lack of enthusiasm. 
“I know you say this stuff is good for me, Hippy Dippy, but by comparison, Ty’s old lady cough drop description sounds tempting.” 
Meadow blinked at him, confused. I snickered. 
“Drink the tea, Dick!” Andrea called from the stacks. 
“It’s good for you!” Jane added. 
“This is a vast conspiracy among the women in my life to drive me nuts, isn’t it?” he asked Meadow. 
I laughed, clapping my hand over my mouth. 
“You got something to add there, Little Red?” he asked. 
I shook my head. “Is that my nickname?” 
“You have to admit it’s better than Hippy Dippy,” Meadow said. 
“We’re still working on it.” Dick looked at me, his lips pursed in contemplation. “Cough Drop Hater?” 
I shook my head again. “We’ll figure it out.” 
“I’m Meadow Schwartz,” Meadow said, offering her hand. “I own the tea shop down the street, Everlasting Health. Stop by anytime.” 
“Thanks, but I’m more of a coffee drinker. Or at least, I was before Dick and his cough drop syrup ruined the drink forever,” I said as Jane and Andrea joined her at the bar. Jane gave her a quick hug before setting an electric kettle to boil. Andrea took the box and began emptying bags of loose tea into enormous glass apothecary jars. 
“Everybody says that at first,” Meadow assured me. “Except for the cough drop thing. I’m hearing way more about cough drops than I thought I would today.” 
“This is Ty McClaine,” Jane said. “Jolene’s cousin.” 
“Nice to meet you,” she said, tilting her head as she looked at me. If I wasn’t a werewolf, I probably wouldn’t have picked up on the almost imperceptible flaring of her nostrils. It wasn’t personal. She was a predator, taking stock of another predator. I was doing the same. She seemed like a gentle thing, too kind to do what was needed to survive as a vampire, but I also knew better than to underestimate her. I’d heard enough stories through Jolene to know that Jane and her little chosen pack had been through hell and high water over the years. Vampirism in Half-Moon Hollow wasn’t for the ill-prepared. 
“You’re uncertain about almost everything, huh?” Meadow said, patting my hand. “Well, don’t be. Once you get a nickname, you’re basically adopted in.” 
All right, I hadn’t been expecting that. Because Jane and her friends seemed so normal, I sort of forgot that every vampire had some sort of special ability beyond their already unfair predatory advantages of super-strength, super-speed, and forever preserved more-than-above-average good looks. (Yeah, I was a little bitter.) At some point, after turning, every vampire developed a special talent—being able to persuade someone to do their bidding or find hidden objects. 
Werewolves didn’t get that. (Still bitter.) I wondered what Alex’s special ability could be … maybe it was just looking really, really good in jeans? Could that be considered a super-power? 
My eyes must have gone wide at that because Jane elbowed Meadow lightly. “Sweetie, we’ve talked about the emotion-sniffing thing. It’s rude to do it without permission.” 
“You know I can’t help what I smell, Jane. Besides, you’ve dipped into my brain on occasion without a password,” Meadow replied, shooting me an apologetic glance. “Sorry. It’s a gift and a curse.” 
I’d completely forgotten Jane was telepathic. Shit. 
Jane told me. “Don’t worry, I’m getting much better at keeping my shield up. As long as you’re not thinking loud, panicky thoughts, we should be fine. Also, to my knowledge, looking really, really good in jeans isn’t considered a super-power. But I think it should be.” 
“I say this as someone who grew up with a bunch of werewolves, but this is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever heard,” I told her. 
“Well, I have a hard time believing that,” Dick said. “I’ve hung out with Jolene for too long.” 
I chuckled, turning to Meadow. “So do you work here, too? I just started visiting.” 
“I’m usually here for book club nights, but I’m pretty busy with my own shop,” she said. “And I used to be Dick and Andrea’s tenant, but my boyfriend and I just bought a house together.” She preened as she dropped a set of keys into Dick’s hand. 
“I’m so pleased for you,” Andrea said, hugging her. “That’s a huge step.” 
“Especially for me and my trust issues,” Meadow admitted. 
“You own an apartment building?” I lifted a brow. Dick didn’t seem like the landlord type. Owning a building that people lived in was a lot of responsibility and upkeep and dealing with people and their complaints. And while Dick was a super nice person, that seemed like a lot for him. Then again, he had Andrea, and I once saw her defuse a fifteen-minute customer meltdown over the absence of cashew milk at the coffee bar—with a smile on her face. 
Cashew milk. At a vampire coffee bar. In Kentucky. 
“Yeah, are you looking for a place?” Dick asked. “We were going to advertise it, but we’d rather rent to people we know. You’re way less likely to try to grow hallucinogenic mushrooms in the laundry room or something.” 
“But you barely know me!” I scoffed. 
“You’ve been in here every night this week, working steadily for hours at a time,” Andrea said. “Clearly, you have a job to which you’re very dedicated. You’re pleasant, responsible and you haven’t once tried to stick gum under the table, which means you respect other people’s property.” 
“The gum thing drives her crazy,” Jane added. 
I was frozen like a—well, werewolves never got caught in headlights, but it was close. Just thinking about the offer almost made me dizzy—living alone, in my own space that I controlled. It was enough to make me nearly tear up right there in front of everybody. It was so tantalizing. I could almost taste it, the freedom, the control. My own life. 
My parents had always told me that landlords would never rent to me. My work history was spread out across several family-owned businesses simultaneously, making my resume a nightmare. My references were limited to family members. I had no rental history. And it was just too hard for werewolves to try to assimilate into town, they’d insisted. I’d never even considered looking at apartment listings. No one my age had ever moved off of the compound unless it was to get married and move onto some other pack’s lands. What I wanted had always seemed impossible, until now. 
“How much is the rent?” I squeaked. I took a quick sip of coffee to wet my throat and then immediately regretted it because cough drop syrup. 
Dick checked under the coffee bar and pulled out a piece of paper with all of the specs for the apartment. One bedroom, one bath, kitchen, breakfast nook, a balcony overlooking Millard Street. It wasn’t exactly huge, but it would be more space than I was used to having on my own. And I had more than enough in my savings to cover rent for the first year on my own, plus utilities and Internet. It was pretty reasonable considering it was right in the middle of town. I could work from home! I could take on jobs I had been turning down because I would have hours of uninterrupted time! Which would mean I could afford things like furniture and sheets and toothpaste! 
Was this real? 
Andrea seemed unnerved by my losing the ability to speak. “Do you want an application? We’ll waive the references.” 
My mouth opened to say ‘yes, please!’ but then Jane’s cell phone jangled in her back pocket. She pulled it out, grinning at the screen. “Iris? What’s up?” 
I could only hear a distressed jumble of words, muffled by Jane’s ear being pressed to the phone. Jane gasped. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I’ll come on by right now. No, it’s no trouble. Does Cal think I need to send the UERT guys? No, that’s not an overreaction! Okay, okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” 
“Why would Iris need the Undead Emergency Response Team?” Dick demanded. 
Jane blew out a long breath as she hung up. “Meadow, I’m going to need a bunch of that Calm Your Ass Down Blend to go. Iris will appreciate it.” 
“What’s going on?” Andrea asked as Meadow started frantically looking through her box of teas. 
“Somebody threw bricks through all of the windows at Cal and Iris’s place. Spray painted some nasty stuff on the porch. Threw bleach on her rose beds. She’s beside herself,” Jane said. “That was her parents’ house. You know how she feels about it. I’m going to head over there and talk to her with my Council hat on, take a report. Which means a meeting with the local sheriff, Lord help me.” 
“I thought people had pretty much accepted vampires around here!” I exclaimed. “I haven’t seen any sort anti-vampire stuff since the first few years after the Coming Out.” 
Except for the anti-vampire stuff my family said on occasion. But I didn’t think that would be a helpful contribution to the conversation right now. 
Jane nodded. “That’s what Dick and I have been working toward during our whole tenure. We’ve worked to encourage vampires to pay taxes at unprecedented rates, recycle, participate in Neighborhood Watch programs, volunteer. Hell, Libby’s an officer in the PTA, now. People are comfortable with us being here. Why would that suddenly change?” 
I thought about my parents, and the way they muttered angrily under their breath any time they saw positive vampire news on TV. But I didn’t think it was a good idea to bring that up here and now. 
“I thought Cal and Iris had all those fancy security systems,” Dick mused. 
“She said it must have happened just after dark. They only keep the steel shutters down during the day,” Jane said as Meadow handed her a package containing a lot of dried tea. “They woke up at sundown. Everything was normal. Cal went into his home office. Iris was down in the basement, something about seedlings and grow lights. She was talking super-fast and it was about gardening, and you know I don’t do well with that particular subject. Anyway, they’re settling into their day and bam, broken glass and anti-vampire slurs painted on their porch.” 
“Poor Iris,” Dick murmured. “How’s Cal handling it?” 
“Also, beside himself,” Jane said as she grabbed her purse. “He’s talking about building some sort of secret underground lair to protect Iris. Again.” 
“Well, good luck with that,” Dick said. “But if Cal is serious about the secret underground lair, I know a guy.” 
Jane shot an alarmed look at Andrea, who said, “He hasn’t built one for us because I threatened to burn all of his t-shirts.” 
“Of course, you know a guy,” Jane sighed. “And no, I will not encourage secret underground lair-building. Next thing you know, Gabriel will be shoving me into one, whenever he thinks I’m in danger.” 
“Maybe stop being in danger so much,” Dick suggested. 
“Stop saying ridiculous things,” Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “I’ll see y’all later.” 
Jane dashed out the door, leaving us in her wake. 
“I take it that you don’t have that sort of thing happen very often around here?” I asked. 
Andrea shook her head. “Not since Jane and Dick took over the Council office. They’ve devoted so much time to getting humans and vampires on the same page, the humans tend to write grumpy letters to them now instead of outright vandalism.” 
“It’s the first report we’ve had like this all year,” Dick mused. “And it just happens to be one of our friends.” 
“You’re getting that look in your eye,” Andrea warned him. “That ‘Danger approaching, build a secret underground lair' look.” 
“Please don’t tell Erik,” Meadow pleaded. 
“I’m just saying that it helps to get ahead of the curve on these things,” he protested. 
“All of your t-shirts, Dick,” Andrea said sternly. “Even the ones without writing.” 
The bell jangled over the door. I turned, sure that somehow, my parents had psychically sensed me thinking about moving out earlier and had stormed into Specialty Books to put a stop to it. 
But it was just Alex was walking through the door, that warm smile on his face. In his hands, he held a flat package wrapped in purple paper with a silver bow. In fact, it was the exact purple of the upholstery, mugs and walls. That seemed…odd. 
“Hello,” he said, his expression confused, as I appeared to be surrounded by vampires. “Is everything all right?” 
“Oh, I was just talking to Dick and Andrea Cheney, who run the shop. And this is Meadow Schwartz. She owns Everlasting Health down the street. Everybody, this is Alex Bonfils. He owns a music school here in town. He’s the twins’ coach.” 
“Nice to see you again,” Alex said, offering his hand to Dick. He waited for Andrea to extend hers. 
“Oh, you’ve met?” I asked. 
“When I moved into the region, I made it a point to stop by the Council office and introduce myself,” Alex said. 
My cheeks flushed warm. Of course, he’d met them. You didn’t just move into the Council’s territory without so much as a by-your-leave. I was reminded all over again how different my life was, compared to Alex and these other people who seemed to want to be my friends. Not for the first time, I wondered if we were making a big mistake even meeting here tonight. I thought it was smart to meet a vampire in a place he would be comfortable in, but members of my family wouldn’t be—other than Jolene, that is. But while Jane and Dick and the rest were super nice, they were also very loyal to my cousin. What if they told Jolene about this? And despite the fact that logically, I knew I wasn’t really doing anything wrong, the possibility of Jolene telling my parents seemed very real. And that was terrifying. 
What was I thinking? I’d been so caught up in the moment, the excitement of Alex being interested in me that I hadn’t considered the very real consequences until he was right in front of me. It had seemed like some pleasant dream, a distraction from the drudgery I went through every day at home. But now it was real, and I was having second, third and fourth thoughts. 
Vampires and werewolves didn’t date. In fact, generally speaking, we didn’t get along all that well. On our side, there was too much hostility—probably barely-repressed envy that they got to live out in the open. Vampires, particularly older ones, could be, well, snotty. We only enjoyed solid diplomacy here in the Hollow because of Jane’s efforts and her friendship with Jolene. 
And I was processing all of these thoughts while standing in front of him. And Dick Cheney, whose eyes were tracking between the two of us as he frowned. “What is happening here?” 
Alex pressed the wrapped package into my hand. “I thought you might like this. I’m told that flowers and chocolates are outdated.” 
“What is happening here?” Dick asked again. 
“Thank you.” I opened the package and burst out laughing. He’d given me the illustrated sword guide I’d been holding at the library when the bookshelf tried to murder me. 
“Now you don’t have to take the risk of going into the history section,” he said. 
“Thank you, that was very sweet, and I think I was unofficially banned from the history section, so it’s extra thoughtful. Did you get this here?” I asked, holding up the purple paper. 
“I ordered it over the phone earlier this week,” he said. “It seemed rude to bring a book into someone’s bookstore.” 
“Like bringing a cake into a restaurant,” I suggested. 
“I haven’t ever done that, but I’m assuming it’s…very bad?” he guessed. 
“It’s not good,” Andrea told him. 
“What is happening here?” Dick asked again, much louder this time. “Are you here on a date with Ty? Was that book a courting gift?” 
My heart sank at Dick’s angry tone. I thought he liked me, but I guess that was easier when I didn’t want to mix in with his kind. I shrunk away from the group ever so slightly, back toward my table, just in case I needed to pack up and get out quickly. 
For his part, Alex seemed caught off-guard by Dick’s vehemence. “Is there a problem?” 
“Only in that Dick never thinks any man is good enough for the women in his life,” Andrea said as Dick drew me against his side, his arm around my shoulders. 
“Damn straight,” Dick muttered. “As someone who’s not good enough for his wife, I know what I’m talking about.” 
“He offered to keep a getaway car warm for Jane at her wedding,” Andrea said. “And he was the best man.” 
“He gave Erik the shovel speech. In German,” Meadow added. “He paid someone on the Internet to translate a threatening speech into my boyfriend’s native language just so it would come across as more intimidating.” 
“I sure the hell did,” Dick agreed. “You’re a nice girl, just like Ty here. Someone needs to look out for you, make sure that anybody who wants to have any sort of connection to you knows that you’re not alone in the world. That you have people who would be very responsive if you were upset or mistreated or even irritated a little bit.” 
I gritted my teeth and inhaled deeply through my nose. I would not cry. I had more eye make up on than usual and I did not want to spend half of our first date in the bathroom scraping it off of my cheeks. I was used the pack having my back, but lately, that felt more like having a whole platoon of people who wanted to tell me what I was doing wrong with my life. The support, the assurance that the pack was supposed to give me, had been missing for a long time. I didn’t get this sort of reaction from people. Granted, most of my interactions were with other werewolves, but even within my own pack, I was considered weird. Too bookish, too stubborn, too mouthy, and overall off-putting. I’d only known these people for a short time, and they’d given me more acceptance than I’d had since I was a child. 
“Half of that German speech was grammatically incorrect, by the way,” Meadow told him. “But thank you, for trying.” 
“Got the point across, didn’t it?” Dick asked, leveling a long, meaningful look at Alex. “So don’t make me learn French, Bonfils. You be a gentleman. Or else.” 
“I wouldn’t dream of making you give another ‘shovel speech,’” swore Alex, who seemed to be taking this all very seriously. 
Dick squinted at him for a long moment and crossed the store to the self-help section. He came back to the counter and slapped a copy of a softcover book on the counter. It was called A Gentleman in Any Era: An Ancient Vampire’s Guide to Modern Relationships and had a bright blue cover featuring a man in a sharp suit, standing inside an hourglass. “Just in case you have any questions on how to stay a gentleman. Consider it a gift, and a warning.” 
“Sorry, hon, he’ll lighten up after a few…years,” Andrea promised me. 
“All right then, why don’t you two go sit down, and we’ll make you some drinks. And we’ll be watching, from over here,” Dick said, while Meadow and Andrea rolled their eyes fondly. 
“It’s really okay,” I told her, my voice suspiciously raspy. 
“I’ll make your drinks, so Dick isn’t tempted to tamper with anything,” she offered. “What would you like?” 
“I’ll try a mocha this time,” I said. 
“Just a filter coffee with a little B-positive, please, if you have it,” Alex asked, keeping his tone very polite as he pulled my chair out from the table. 
“Is that like ordering a plain drip coffee at Starbucks?” I asked Andrea. 
She nodded. “Essentially, but we’ll do it, no problem.” 
Alex slid into the chair across from me. 
“This is a little more awkward than I expected,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. I’m not sure I’ve ever really dated, to be honest. I certainly never had to deal with my lady friend’s disapproving friends and family.” 
“What do you normally do?” 
He tugged at his collar, as if he hadn’t meant to venture into this conversational territory. “Most of my partners have been vampires. We tend to stay to our own places, only venture out to gatherings hosted by other vampire gatherings. It’s more of a private situation.” 
“Oh, well, this is what we do now. We meet in public and let our friends harass our dates to the point of embarrassment,” I told him. 
“It wasn’t that bad,” he assured me. “There was no actual shovel involved. And it’s nice that you have so many people who care for you. I will put up with the questions and the concealed threats, even if it’s not entirely in my nature.” 
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to try to want something that isn’t really in your character?” I asked. 
“No, but that’s half of the fun.” 
“You’re a very strange man.” I smiled as Andrea brought our drinks to the table. Alex thanked her politely. Dick made the “watching you” gesture, pointing two fingers at his eyes and then at us. 
“We agreed to stay away from age as a topic, right?” 
“Yes, we did,” he said. “But just in case you start making pop culture references, I suppose I should tell you I’m around six hundred years old. So, I probably will not get those references. It’s not personal.” 
I tried to keep my jaw from going slack. I really did. But he was older than anything I knew. He was older than my country. I was just able to drink legally a few years before. I had so many questions—what country was he from, how was he turned, what had he seen? But all I could squeak was, “And the music school. How do you get into something like that?” 
“Practice?” he suggested, grinning when I gave him a glare with no real heat in it. “I’m afraid I have led what you might have considered a dissolute life. I was disowned, ran away from home to study music, caught the attention of the wrong vampire while performing at a concert. He didn’t ask me, he just drank from me and told me that if I wanted to live, I would have to drink from him. He said he wanted to give me time to perfect my talent for centuries. I did not respond well. There was crying. And some whining. My sire was immediately sorry he turned me, but he was stuck with me until I was ready to go out on my own.” 
“I’ll bet he didn’t do that again.” 
“As far as I know, he did not,” he said, shaking his head. 
“So you’ve just wandered around the last six hundred years, playing your instrument?” I asked, immediately wanting to suck the words back into my mouth. “Yeah, I heard it.” 
Alex just suppressed a little smirk and said, “I’ve had plenty of time to master all of the strings. I learned from some of the best musicians on the continent. I taught students of my own and discovered how much I enjoyed working with young musicians, polishing their talents. I performed in grand concert halls and tiny salons and country dances, wherever I could earn coin and shelter over my head. And when I couldn’t find work playing, I did lots of things to survive. I fought for causes I didn’t particularly believe in, which is how I met my friends who live nearby. The friendships outlasted the battles by a long shot. I worked aboard vampire-owned ships. I worked on archeological digs in environments where breathing would have been a problem. But I always come back to music. It’s what I love doing.” 
As his words wove a tapestry of images in my head, I pictured him standing on stage in front of an adoring crowd, as a soldier running across a battlefield, wearing the full Indiana Jones outfit and the whip. 
I would file the Indiana Jones image away for later. 
He’d been to so many places, had so many adventures. By comparison, my life felt small and half-lived. How was I possibly going to keep him interested when he’d seen so much? 
“Did you meet anyone famous? Like Mozart?” 
He grinned. 
“What?” 
“It’s just so interesting that you would ask the same sort of question a human would. It’s a common misconception. Just because we’ve lived longer than the average person doesn’t mean we’re more likely to meet famous people.” 
“Well, you’re more likely to meet famous people than I would be!” I objected. 
“I saw Mozart play once,” he confessed. “From the nosebleed section in a concert hall in Amsterdam. He was only a child, but he was a genius. It was obvious, even then. In a way, I suppose that was what inspired me to teach, seeing such potential in a musician so young. I knew I would never reach that level myself, but maybe I could help someone else find it.” 
“So how did you end up here in the Hollow?” 
“Those local friends I mentioned,” he said. “In all that ‘wandering’ as you put it, I’ve never had a home. I’ve never really wanted one. I enjoyed chasing one adventure to the next. To put a vulgar point on it, over the years I have built considerable wealth—certainly not from music, just solid investments and a lot of time to let them build up—but not much else. I have no home, no family, not even nestmates. If I were to be dusted, I would leave no mark on the world. And I find myself longing for…permanence.” 
“And yet, you seem to be resisting the very idea,” I said, snickering. 
“I talked to Cal and Nik over the last few years. They seem so contented, having found their place with people they love. And I wanted it for myself, that security, the feeling of belonging somewhere,” he said. “Maybe that sounds a little strange, but one can only face near-death so many times before it’s no longer thrilling. I wanted to wake up in the same place every night and know that I didn’t have to be ready to pack up and leave at any moment. I wanted to know people. Other than Cal and Nik, I didn’t have friends. I could go months without speaking to anyone and that seemed wrong.” 
I thought that I would love going months without speaking to anyone, but I thought it would come across as anti-social if I said so. “If I ask more questions about music, can we come back to that?” 
He chuckled. “Sure, but I would like to talk about you.” 
“I’ve had twenty-four years and I have never worked on a ship, fought in a war, or dug up anything interesting. My life is pretty quiet, boring really.” 
“You’re a werewolf,” he countered. 
I burst out laughing, and Dick seemed to relax ever so slightly. 
“Not a very good one, ask anybody,” I snorted. “So, is it difficult, getting students here? We don’t exactly have a symphony orchestra in the Hollow.” 
“It took some time for the parents to get used to the idea of a vampire teaching their children,” Alex said. “But it helps that there are so few instructors in the area for string instruments. They don’t have many options. If they have the interest and they don’t want to travel to Nashville or Louisville just for lessons, they come to me.” 
He pronounced Louisville all wrong, calling it “Lewisville,” in a way that would make most locals mock him. But he was so earnest about it, I just didn’t have the heart to correct him. 
“Music teaches focus, discipline, patience, cooperation. Not to mention the studies that show how involvement in the arts improves a child’s academic performance. I wish those had been around when I was a child. Children need that and I think their parents recognize it. And I’m told it’s much more interesting to put on your college applications than the recorder.” 
“Having attended a few recorder concerts for my younger cousins, I can confirm,” I said, shuddering. “Did you realize my niece and nephew were werewolves?” 
He shot me a confused smile. “Of course, I did.” 
“And you still taught them?” I asked. 
“Why wouldn’t I? They’re eager to learn, well-behaved, and they have talent. That’s what I set out to do, to teach children who want to learn.” 
I smiled, reaching out to press my fingertips to his hand. I didn’t know why of all the things he’d said, that touched me the most. Maybe it was that if he could be so open with the kids, that he would accept me, too. Or maybe it was just nice to meet someone who was kind for no reason other than they wanted to be. 
He cleared his throat. “So, enough about me. You work in social media for people you’ve never met? That seems as foreign to me as a music school must seem to you.” 
“I was a little bit of a grammar stickler in high school,” I said. “And after high school. Most of my life, really. Combine that with computer nerdery and you get this job.” 
“This is going to sound somewhat rude, but when you speak…” 
“I sound like an extra on Justified?” I suggested. 
“I’m not sure what that is,” he admitted. 
“I’m only strict about grammar for the written word. Verbally, I’m a little closer to my roots,” I said. “It’s one of those ‘do as I write, not as I speak’ things?” 
“Oh, one of those,” he said, nodding before grinning widely. 
I nodded solemnly. “It’s a classic conundrum. Anyway, I can’t imagine starting something like a music school or a restaurant, but I love being able to help someone find the right words to help them market their business.” 
“But you’re also growing your own business, which is just as important,” he noted. 
“That’s a good point.’ 
And on and on it went. It felt like I spent hours talking about myself, the books I’d read, the places I wanted to travel, non-traumatic childhood memories. I hadn’t been on a date that hadn’t been arranged by one of my relatives in so long that I’d forgotten what real “date conversation” sounded like. Alex didn’t care about my family or who they were or what they could offer him. He didn’t ask me what I could cook—which was good, because the answer was “not a lot.” I had serious doubts that he cared about my pack or my bloodline. He wanted to talk about me, what I liked, what I read, what I thought about interspecies politics. It was almost exhausting talking about myself that much, but a) no one ever asked me about those things and b) he was very good at dodging questions—in a way that could have been suspicious if he wasn’t so good at appearing engaged and curious. 
My phone buzzed. I glanced at my laptop screen. It was almost midnight. Nearly three hours had gone by and I hadn’t even noticed! Dick and the other vampires were quietly tending to shop chores, acting like they weren’t watching our every move. 
I didn’t have to look at the phone screen to know the text was from my mama. I hadn’t mentioned staying out late tonight. I’d really counted on them being distracted by the NCAA basketball tournament. Usually, when University of Kentucky was playing, they didn’t register that I was in the same hemisphere, much less not present in the same house. The Wildcats must have lost…which meant my dad would be in an even worse mood when I got home. 
Shit. 
“Are you all right?” 
“I’m so sorry. I have to go.” 
“But are you all right?” he asked again. “You seem upset.” 
I hesitated before finally admitting. “I live with my parents.” 
He had no reaction. I sort of squinted at his face, as if I could read micro-expressions that would tell me whether he felt sorry for me. But nothing happened, and that was almost worse. Had I shocked him into total immobility? 
“Is that unusual for unmarried women of your age to still live with their parents?” he asked. “Keep in mind that when I was your age, women stayed with their families until they were married. Of course, most of them were married by the time they were sixteen.” 
“Well, that’s not the case now. Most people my age live on their own, but with my parents and pack dynamics…I think I’m just embarrassed. I’m having a nice time and I don’t really want to leave.” 
“And I’m assuming that you didn’t tell them that you’re out with me,” he said, the corner of his lips lifting. 
“No, I did not.” I shook my head, my cheeks flushing. 
“Surprisingly daring and rebellious,” he noted, wiggling his eyebrows. 
“This is as about as rebellious as it gets for me.” 
He stood and held out his hand. “I’ll walk you to your car.” 
I packed my things away in my backpack and slung it on my back. “Oh, I don’t have one. I usually run to and from town.” 
His mouth dropped open. “How far do you live from here?” 
“Just a few miles. In my wolf form, I can run it in fifteen minutes.” When the appalled expression didn’t move from his face, I added, “It’s good exercise!” 
“That’s insanity,” he exclaimed. “I’ll drive you home.” 
“Damn right, you will!” Dick exclaimed from the back of the shop. “Like a gentleman!” 
“I think a vampire dropping me off at the werewolf compound I call home will cause a lot of questions,” I replied. “Questions I probably shouldn’t answer.” 
“That is a good point,” Dick conceded. “I’m still watching you, Bonfils.” 
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Alex conceded. 
“Goodnight, Dick! You adorable menace!” 
“Goodnight, Cough Drop Hater!” 
“Still gotta work on the nickname!” I called back as we walked out. “Goodnight, everybody!” 
The various vampires called their goodnights as the door shut behind us. I gestured towards my usual “exit point” into the woods. He kept a respectful distance, and I felt grateful for it. I’d been on too many blind dates where the moment I stepped into a secluded space, my companion basically attacked my face. Respectful distance was a pleasant contrast. 
“So, when you say you run to your home from town, do you mean in your human form? Or your wolf form?” 
“My wolf form, usually. I’m faster on four feet,” I said as we reached a wooded area where it would be safe for me to strip down. 
“Will you show me your wolf form?” he asked, frowning when I threw my head back and laughed. 
“It’s the first date! We’re not in the ‘transforming into supernatural creatures in front of each other’ stage yet!” I exclaimed, only half-kidding. 
“I’ve just never had the opportunity to see a werewolf in an interaction that didn’t involve me getting bitten, clawed or otherwise injured. I didn’t realize I was asking anything untoward. I’m sorry.” 
I giggled. “Okay, but you don’t just ask someone for that. It’s like saying ‘send nudes’ two messages in.” 
He shook his head. “I have no idea what that means.” 
“That’s for the best, trust me,” I assured him. 
It dawned on me that he had no way to inappropriately ask for nudes because he had no idea how to contact me. “This is a weird conversational transition, but would you like my phone number? We could text instead of waiting for both of us to end up at the same place at the same time.” 
“I would very much like to have your phone number, but I don’t text that often,” he admitted. “Cal and Nik mock me constantly for it.” 
“Well, I will help you catch up to modern dating conveniences,” I told him, holding my hand out for his phone. He handed it to me and I programmed my number into his contacts under “Tylene, Terribly Interesting Werewolf Girl” and then texted to my phone so I could have his info. 
“Did you just save me in your contacts as Aunt Myrtle?” he asked. 
“If an unfamiliar male name pops up on my screen while my family is around, you will be on the receiving end of a lot of harassing calls,” I told him as I tapped on my phone screen. “It’s better to save you as a fictional aunt.” 
“Won’t your parents realize that you don’t have an Aunt Myrtle?” he asked. 
“I have so many aunts, it’s pretty unlikely.” I grinned up at him as I hit send on a text. 
He paused to look at his screen. “Heart, winking face, grey German shepherd.” 
“That’s a wolf,” I told him. “Our first step towards modern communication is getting you comfortable with emojis.” 
He frowned. “I don’t know if I want to be comfortable with emojis.” 
“I promise not to use frustrating and abbreviated text speak.” 
He looked down at his screen and hit a button. 
“Cowboy hat, cardboard box?” I asked. 
“It’s going to take some time,” he told me, nodding. 
I burst out laughing. There was this moment of silence, where I wondered whether he was going to kiss me. A strange sensation of dread rippled down my spine. This part of the date could be so, well, freaking awful, when you were dating an alpha male werewolf type. You’re just standing there, minding your business, and suddenly they lunge at you, like they’re going to eat your face. 
What if it was worse with vampires? Would there be fangs involved? I didn’t know a lot for sure about this…whatever it was. But I knew I was not ready for that. 
But like everything else I’d observed about Alex, he was a gentleman. He wasn’t timid. He just didn’t push. And like everything else about him, I appreciated that. I’d had more than enough of alpha types wanting to take my choices away from me. Alex seemed to care about what I wanted. That was sexy in a way I didn’t expect. 
Deciding to seize the moment, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He smiled, bumping his forehead against mine. Another girl might miss that gesture, but among wolves, a forehead bump was a significant expression of affection. It was practically a non-verbal “would you like to go steady?” proposal. 
The question was, did Alex know that? Probably not. 
I inhaled deeply, enjoying that woodsy smell of him. “Do you smell like the instruments? Or do they smell like you?” 
He startled. “What?” 
“You smell like cedar and resin,” I said, nosing at this shoulder. 
“You know, I’ve never thought about it,” he said. “But it makes sense. I’ve spent more time with them, than anything else in my life. Do you know what you smell like to me?” 
“I don’t think so. Jolene mentioned that she and Jane had some ‘scent incompatibility issues’ when they met. Turn around, please,” I told him. Though he looked more than a little disappointed, he turned. I dropped my clothes and stuffed them into my backpack, watching him for any sign of turning or craning his neck. But he all but whistled innocently while contemplating the moon. 
I rolled my shoulders and concentrated on the change, shaking my fur free and stretching my long lupine back. I was grateful that I was in full command of my mind when I changed. Some weres who left long gaps between changes or tried to live too “normal” could lose track of their time during the change. They could do unspeakable things, under the influence of their other forms—mostly involving the slaughter of chickens—and not remember a thing. Suddenly, my family’s insistence on weekly runs through the woods together seemed very wise, instead of a pain in my furry ass. 
I chuffed lightly. My keen eyes detected the delight on his features, even in the dim light. In werewolf terms, I was a fine specimen—silky russet fur, long lines, sharp teeth. Alex knelt in front of me and rubbed his hand over my ears, pressing the tips a bit between his fingers. “Just look at you!” 
I nuzzled my nose against his chest, making him scratch behind my ears. “Who’s a pretty girl?” 
I growled in a way that I hoped implied, I will bite you. 
He chuckled and nudged his nose against mine. Again. Maybe he had read something of our mating rituals. There was a book written years before, about the love customs of the were, though most people wrote it off as some sort of joke. Thank goodness. 
“Goodnight, Ty.” 
I yipped and dashed off, only glancing over my shoulder once to see that he him waving. He didn’t follow me, and for that I was grateful. I was going to have enough to deal with when I got home.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 
“Approach younger partners’ families with caution, like you would a ballista loaded with flaming pitch, or the nuclear option of your day.” 
—A Gentleman in Any Era: An Ancient Vampire’s Guide to Modern Relationships It is very unwise to wake a sleeping werewolf by ripping the covers off of her head. 
And yet, my aunts chose to do this, practically blinding me with early morning sunlight and shouts of “Wakey-wakey!” 
This made me transform as I rolled over, resulting in a snapping wolf, circling on my bed. I was not a morning werewolf. 
Aunt Lurlene and Braylene stood over me, with my mother standing by the door, her arms crossed over her thin chest. Lurlene and Braylene’s lips curled back simultaneously in distaste at my display. You just didn’t snap at your elders, particularly these aunts. It just wasn’t done. 
Daddy was at the door in a flash, all teeth and snarling. He didn’t even have to change. I quieted down almost immediately, slipping back under the covers so I could shift back to human. 
I sighed, throwing the scraps of my favorite sleep shirt to the floor. I’d shredded my pajamas to rags. Again. 
“Apologize to your aunts!” Daddy shouted. 
“I’m sorry, Aunt Lurlene and Aunt Braylene,” I mumbled, rubbing a hand over my face, “that you woke an apex predator up from a sound sleep.” 
“You must be tired from your late night,” Lurlene sniffed as Daddy strolled off, having proven that he was still in control of his household. 
I groaned and wanted more than anything to pull the pillow over my head. I should have known I’d gotten off too easy the night before, walking into the house under my parents’ glares and brazening my way into bed, pretending that I didn’t smell like aggressively floral moist towelettes I’d wiped down with right before I walked in. But hiding under bedding would just give my family the impression than I’d done something to hide from—which I hadn’t. 
The trick to not giving away incriminating information to one’s nosey relatives was to make a lot of eye contact and keep your expression neutral. This was sort of difficult to do when your still-adjusting eyes were all squinted from the sunlight pouring through your windows. 
“We have good news,” Lurlene announced. 
“That seems unlikely,” I muttered, grabbing a spare shirt from the floor, next to my bed for just such an occasion. Mama tossed me a pair of sweatpants, which was more than she’d intervened on my behalf in years. I slipped into my clothes under the blankets. 
“Braylene has called in every favor she had and gotten you a dinner date with Donnie Ansen,” Lurlene told me. 
“What kind of favors?” I asked, squinting up at them. 
“I’m gonna have to curl and set every woman in the Ansen family, and do an ungodly amount of plucking,” Braylene muttered. 
For just a moment, I felt an unfamiliar flash of warm affection for Braylene. While Braylene loved to ply her trade as a not-quite-licensed beautician, it would be a blow to her pride to work on the Ansens, who were a couple of tax brackets higher than our pack. I could only imagine their wealth (something to do with fertilizer) had a lot to do with why my aunts were pushing me to make a match with Donnie. I’d met him a few times. Young werewolves tended to mix together when the packs gathered. He was tall, dark and handsome, the cliché Alpha male package, but we just weren’t compatible . He didn’t understand why people made fun of the Cats movie. He thought “that Shakespeare dude” was still alive somewhere. But my approved werewolf dating pool was so small, he was probably considered the best I could get. 
“We thought you might like to meet at that nice restaurant in town, Southern Comfort. Donnie’s going to call and set up a time,” Lurlene told me. 
“He has my number?” I asked, carefully refusing to mention that Southern Comfort was well-regarded in undead circles for its vampire-friendly options. 
“No, he’s going to call your daddy and set it up with him,” Mama said softly. 
“Of course. Why would he call me to ask me out?” I muttered, swinging my legs out of bed. 
“He’s not asking you out, you’re going. That’s it. We’ve let you do things your own way long enough,” Lurlene informed me. 
“When?” I giggled. I couldn’t help it. The very idea was just freaking preposterous. “When have I ever ‘done things my own way?’” 
Lurlene ignored me. “And that ends now.” 
“Mama, thoughts?” I asked. 
“I’m sure your aunts know what’s best,” Mama murmured. She rubbed the sleeves of her worn gray cardigan before backing out of the room. 
“You stop by my place, when Donnie and your daddy set up a time,” Lurlene told me, thumbing through my limited closet options. “We’ll go over what you should wear.” 
“And what to do with your hair,” Braylene added as she and Lurlene bustled out of my room. “Now, get yourself up. It’s too late to be lazing around. My Annaleese has already done three loads of laundry and butchered a hog this morning.” 
I groaned, rubbing my face with my hands. “That explains the laundry.” 
Since I woke too late to start a shift at the butcher shop, Daddy sent me to the enormous vegetable patch the pack kept just over the hill from the trailers. Yes, we did eat mostly meat, but even we knew better than to go completely without roughage. McClaines had figured out a lot of tricks to grow the cheapest bumper crops possible. Which was why I was on my knees in the dirt, transferring tomato plants that would result in the stewed tomatoes that I despised. 
Several of my cousins, plus a few aunts and uncles who preferred the garden to the other family ventures, were working the rows around me. The Kentucky growing season started relatively early in the spring, as long as the weather held, and it took quite a bit of work to get the ground ready for the endless rows of strawberries, sweet corn and who knew what else. 
Personally, I thought stewed tomatoes tasted like mushy sour dirt. Every year, I considered sabotaging the crop so I wouldn’t have aunties trying to shove them onto my plate. 
I shuddered at the thought, even with the pleasant warmth of the sun on my shoulders. 
I didn’t mind working in the garden. It was nice out here, and when I was alone, it was quiet enough that I could think. As it was, my cousins were chatting loudly about sports and town gossip and whatever else could fill the silence, but I could mostly tune them out as I moved down my row. I would have worn earbuds, but on previous gardening excursions, I’d been told it was rude. 
I wondered what it said about me, that I was supposed to be a pack creature but clearly preferred my own company. Well, that wasn’t true. I preferred the company of the vampires I’d met, and that was probably even weirder. Why was it so easy for me to be accepted by creatures who were supposed to loathe me, but my own blood, the people who were genetically disposed to like me, seemed to find so much wrong with me? 
“So how’s school going, Ty?” Eugenelene asked from two rows over. 
Eugenelene, for whom we’d never come up with a decent nickname, was one of the closest cousins to my age. My parents considered her damn near perfect, what with her recent engagement and persuading her husband to move on to our packlands instead of taking her to his own. I’d resented her quite a bit when we were kids. Eugenelene always did what she was told. Eugenelene ate every bit of venison on her plate. Eugenelene always took care of her baby brothers and sisters without complaining. But as I got older, I realized that Eugenelene gave up a lot for those compliments. By comparison, I wasn’t as well-liked, but I was happier. 
“Oh, just fine,” I lied. “Classes are interesting. Professors are really cool. Nothing crazy.” 
Eugenelene, who had dreamed of opening her own café when we were kids, gave me a soft smile. “Sounds nice.” 
“You know, the technical school has culinary classes.” 
She shook her head, even though I could see longing in her eyes. “Oh, I couldn’t, not with the wedding coming up.” 
“You never know until you try,” I told her. “You could start classes next semester, maybe finish a certificate before you start having kids. It’s not selfish to do something for yourself. It’s your life.” 
Eugenelene stood, ripping off her work gloves. “Not everybody’s like you, Ty. Some of us put a priority on the pack.” 
She stomped down the row and started working next to her sister, Shaylene. 
“Three minutes and I managed to piss her off enough to storm off,” I muttered. “That’s got to be a record.” 
Interactions like this were what kept me so isolated from the family, while still living within ten freaking feet of them. And even bigger fights were coming. I didn’t want this date that my aunts were setting up for me. I didn’t want to marry some nice werewolf boy and settle for a life where happy kids and a clean house were the most I would hope to achieve. But at the same time, I knew – as sure as the sun would rise and fall —I would go on the date because otherwise the constant pressure, the snide remarks, the scenes like this morning would become so much worse. I was only delaying the inevitable, but it felt like my only power lived in that delay. I didn’t want to give that up any more than I wanted to give up the work I loved. 
I was drawn out of these gloomy thoughts by the sounds of footsteps through the grass to my left. I scented pipe tobacco on the wind. 
“It’s real nice of you to plant the tomatoes, even when you hate them.” 
I glanced up to see my Uncle Lonnie standing at the end of the row I was working. He was wearing an old work shirt and battered jeans with his muck boots. The garage advertised on his hat—McClaine Auto Repair—had closed when I was a child, but I’d never seen him wearing another. 
I stood up, taking off my UK cap. I swiped my forehead, ignoring the dirt it left smeared across my skin. Uncle Lonnie and I had never been close, but I admired him. I’d seen too many Alphas use fists and fangs to bully their packs and run their packlands like dictatorships. So I appreciated Lonnie’s tendency toward good sense and a stern, quiet voice. Mimi was much the same. She didn’t swan around like my aunts, shouldering an ax to grind. Aside from the brief period of losing her damn mind around the time of Jolene’s marriage and childbirth, Aunt Mimi tended to just give orders and then stared at whoever was giving her trouble until they relented. 
My parents tended to keep me out of both of their reach. I’d always assumed that it was because they didn’t want me to embarrass them, but now I wondered whether they didn’t want the Alpha couple to know what was happening in our house. The money problems, the desperate unhappiness of my parents’ marriage, the constant conflicts with me—my father didn’t want Lonnie or Mimi sniffing out any of those issues. 
“It’s all an elaborate ruse,” I told him. “If I flood the barn with tomatoes, the aunties will be so overwhelmed by supply that their canning might not turn out.” 
Uncle Lonnie just squinted at me and shook his head, all amusement. “Well, it can’t be any crazier than your cousin Waylan’s plan to build a tractor that runs on expired mayonnaise.” 
Cousin Waylan was either a genius or completely freaking crazy. Nobody had ever been able to figure out which, no matter how many tests they ran. 
“I actually liked that plan,” I said. 
Lonnie jerked his shoulder. “Waylan’s a dreamer. How’s the job search coming?” 
I dropped my garden knife, nearly impaling my foot. “Beg pardon?” 
“Your daddy said you’re looking for a job. That you’re not much for working at the butcher shop.” He kept his lips pursed. I imagined he was trying to find a way to avoid saying, “because you think you’re too good for the butcher shop,” which I’m sure my father had added. 
I flushed red, which had nothing to do with the sun. 
“If you don’t want to work at the butcher shop, you don’t have to,” Lonnie told me. “A smart girl like you has plenty of options, especially in this family. Your cousin Vern is getting busier and busier with his construction business. He needs someone to take care of the billing and the scheduling and such. And Vonnie could always use some help at the Bridal Barn.” 
I shuddered. Nearly all of the McClaine brides got their formalwear from my aunt’s shop. Aunt Vonnie made all of the dresses herself, based on a circa 1982 pattern called “Ruffles and Dreams.” It looked just as awful as the title implied, and Vonnie usually used the shiniest sateen polyester she could find. Despite steadily dwindling business, she insisted that eyesore was the height of elegance. 
I would not submit. I might humor the aunties with their dating machinations, but I would not connive unwitting bridesmaids into wearing the Ruffles and Dreams. Every person had their ethical limits, and this was mine. 
“I have a job, Uncle Lonnie,” I told him carefully. “I help people with social media…um, it’s like advertising for their businesses on the Internet.” 
He tilted his head. “You can make money at that?” 
Well, that was a more interested response than I expected. Unlike my parents, Lonnie seemed to be waiting for me to explain, instead of just huffing dismissals about what they were sure I was doing. “I make enough. I would make more if I could get a bit more peace and quiet.” 
“Don’t get enough of that at home, huh?” 
I shook my head and pinned my lips together, because any words I said would just be destructive and disastrous. 
“You happy doing that?” 
“Sure.” I managed to say that without adding “so much more than cutting up animals and wrapping them in butcher paper.” 
“Well, then, I don’t see why you shouldn’t go on doing it. I’ll tell your daddy to give you some, uh, breathing room,” he offered. 
I grinned at him, grateful to the point that it was sort of sad. Suddenly the vacancy in Dick and Andrea’s apartment building came to mind. If I asked Uncle Lonnie for permission to move off the compound, would he give it? The very idea made me dizzy with the possibilities. Bathroom privacy. Sleeping, working, and living on my own schedule. Kitchen privacy. Being a grown ass woman without a curfew. Garage privacy. 
I opened my mouth to say the words, but I seemed to run out of air. I’d scored a victory for my independence, getting Lonnie on board with my self-employment and his offering to get my father off my back. It felt like pushing too far to ask for more. It might have seemed like sad baby steps for a human, but these were giant furry leaps for werewolf kind. 
I ran through the woods on four feet, scenting the wind, leaping over fallen trees. My prey was only a few hundred yards away, taunting me with the promise of a belly full of my favorite kill. 
I paused at the edge of the tree-line, listening, waiting as my brain processed the flood of sensory information from the hunting grounds. The flat terrain. The number of targets. The dim light of the starlit sky. The scent of hot dogs frying in the grill. 
I’d seriously missed Marv’s Drive-In Picture Show. 
I shifted to my human form, pulling a pair of jeans and one of my nicer tops from my backpack. Fully dressed, I used the faint light from the drive-in’s streetlights to put my hair up in some semblance of a ponytail. I’d thought about make-up, but even with my keen eyesight, I didn’t think applying eyeliner in the dark would be a good idea. The bravest I got was applying some raspberry-colored lip gloss. Alex met me without a lick of make-up on and he’d been attracted to me then. What was the point of putting up layers of illusion between us on a date? He knew what my face looked like. It was sort of the point of vampire super-vision. 
I’d told my parents that I was watching the twins for Jolene. And she had (reluctantly) agreed to confirm my story if they checked up on me. I didn’t feel great about it…but I also didn’t feel great about the prospect of telling my parents I was out on a date with a vampire they’d never met. 
I walked out of the woods with my backpack slung over my shoulder, as if it was totally normal for a girl to walk alone for miles through the trees toward a drive-in. Carrying yourself with confidence, that was the key. 
Marv’s was something of an institution in Half-Moon Hollow, built in the 1950s when drive-in theaters were all the rage. Even as the passion for outdoor cinema waned, Marv’s endured, with the same ancient window-clip speakers, the same old cement block concession stand and the same weirdly outdated playground equipment in front of the screen. The movies were also incredibly outdated because Marv couldn’t pay the distributors for recent releases. 
Once upon a time, my parents had loved bringing me here. It was one of the few things we did just for our family, just for us. My daddy would buy enough food to make the back gate of his truck dip as we sat on it, watching 1980s classics. It was a place where I’d felt loved and normal. I was accepted by my parents, good enough for just one night at a time. 
And suddenly, we’d stopped. Sometime around my turning twelve, Daddy was “too tired” to sit all night in an uncomfortable lawn chair getting bit by mosquitoes, and Mama didn’t like old movies. She said she never had, though some of my fondest memories involved her laughing so hard at that Steve Guttenberg robot movie, she had tears rolling down her cheeks. Based on what I heard, eavesdropping from the hallway, drive-in nights became another thing we gave up in order to keep the pack happy. 
Towards the back of the parking lot, I spotted the music school’s black SUV among the neat rows of cars. I took the long way around, avoiding the foot traffic areas. I didn’t know if I would be recognized, but I figured the fewer people who saw me, the better. Alex was hopping out of the car before I was anywhere near it. “You look lovely.” 
“Thanks for coming,” I told him. 
He grinned, taking my hand in his. “How could I resist the invitation? ‘Would you like to go sit in a dark car with me and watch a weird old movie you’ve probably never seen?’” 
“Yeah, I haven’t asked a lot of guys out on dates,” I told him, shaking my head. 
“I find that comforting in a way that is probably outdated and unhealthy,” he admitted. 
“The windows of your car are super tinted,” I noted, realizing I could barely make out the outline of his seats from outside the SUV. 
“Well, it comes in handy, if you have to leave your house before the sun has entirely set,” he replied. “Why, what are you planning for the two of us to get up to inside this car?” 
“Nothing like that,” I scoffed, nudging at his shoulders as he chuckled. “I just mean, it’s a good thing. It will keep us off of the kitchen gossip circuit...unless we stand out here all night.” 
He sighed, opening the passenger side door. “I could have picked you up. I believe Dick mentioned that as part of the ‘rules for gentlemen who don’t want to have their asses handed to them.’” 
“No, you really couldn’t have,” I assured him. “My family wouldn’t have understood and answering the questions would have been…difficult.” 
“You could have just said I was a friend,” he said as he handed me into the car. 
“Werewolves don’t have vampire friends,” I told him. He closed the door, but not before I saw the injured expression on his face. When he returned to the driver’s seat, I added, “I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with you. You’re…I don’t want to use the word ‘perfect’ because that seems like a little much. But it wouldn’t matter that you’re kind or smart or you treat me well or that Jolene trusts her children to you. My family just wouldn’t understand. And they would make life really difficult for me at home. I would never be allowed to forget ‘that time you brought home a vampire.’ And this is so new…” 
“That you don’t want to risk that sort of repercussion without knowing whether this is going to work long term.” He took my hand and I leaned across the front seat, my forehead almost touching his. 
I wanted to object, but honestly, he was right. I didn’t want to risk that sort of estrangement from my family if this relationship wasn’t going anywhere. “Thank you.” 
“I’ll try not to push,” he promised, his lips hovering over my skin, just over my cheek. My fingers stroked over his jaw, tracing the sharp lines of it. All I would have to do was move my head up just the tiniest bit and my mouth would connect with his. And the closeness, the knowledge that kissing him would be so effortless, made butterflies the size of condors fistfight in my belly. “But that’s going to be difficult…I want you, Tylene. And not just with the aggressive and slightly creepy implications of the way I just said that. I want all of you. I want to be able to take you out on my arm, without you looking over your shoulder like we’re doing something wrong. I want you in my home, relaxed, knowing you belong there. I’d like to be able to meet members of your family beyond Jolene and the twins. I just want to be part of this strange, colorful life you live. I haven’t been a part of the light in a long time. I hope to borrow a bit of yours, for as long as you’ll let me.” 
I breathed him in. I wasn’t sure if he closed the distance between us or I did. All I knew was the cool, sweet press of his mouth against mine. He let me lead, only opening to me when I slid my tongue tentatively across the soft line of his bottom lip. He moaned softly as I licked into his mouth, tasting mint and the copper-bright tang of blood. 
His hands slid down my back, not quite pulling me closer, but keeping me right where I wanted to be. His skin was so cool against mine, smelling of cedar. I wanted to wallow in it, to carry that scent on my skin forever so I would never forget this moment and how it felt to kiss someone I wanted so much. Someone who wanted me in return. I slid my hands under his jaw, my thumbs brushing his earlobes. 
I guess they were pretty sensitive because something seemed to shift in the kiss. The console of the car kept us apart, and that was probably for the best, considering that my instincts were commanding me to climb into his lap and test how far back his seats reclined. I could feel his teeth moving and a sharp point drew across the sensitive flesh of my bottom lip. I gasped at the sting, though it wasn’t enough to draw blood. 
“Sorry!” he exclaimed, cradling my jaw so he could examine my mouth. “Are you all right?” 
His fangs had come out, which, from what I understood from the books I’d skimmed at the shop, usually happened when vampires were thirsty, angry or…excited. My blood rushed to my cheeks and I was weirdly proud that I’d managed to get that reaction out of him. I felt…powerful. Which was probably wrong, but I was willing to go with it. 
“I can’t always control them,” he said, gesturing to his mouth and clearing his throat awkward. “Though, uh, it’s been a long time since that’s happened.” 
“I’m fine,” I promised him. “And not to be a buzzkill, but no matter how well things work between us, we may never be able to have all those nice things you mentioned.” 
“I’d still like to try,” he mumbled, kissing me again. “And a proper first date—without your contingent of vampire chaperones—is a good way to start, I think.” 
“Dick doesn’t mean half of those threatening gestures,” I swore as we settled back into our seats. 
“I would like to believe you, but somehow…” Alex shuddered. 
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie,” I said. “I figured Amadeus would be right up your alley.” 
He shrugged. “I don’t spend much time on television or movies. It’s always seemed so loud to me. Too much.” 
“That seems so outside of my experience,” I laughed, thinking of how often I would come home to not only the living room TV blasting, but my parents’ unit blasting in their room. No wonder I was so good at tuning out noise at the music school. “But I think you’ll like this. It involves Mozart…though I can’t guarantee historical accuracy…or that you won’t be insulted by the way the era’s hairstyle was portrayed.” 
“Impossible, the era’s hairstyles were horrifying,” he informed me, making me giggle. 
As the last pink fingers of sunset faded from the sky, the screen lit up with the same old WELCOME TO MARV’S slide. As usual, the classic dancing concessions commercial played, encouraging the audience to “go to the lobby.” Which didn’t exist, because we were outside. 
Alex glanced towards the concession stand, grimacing at the sight of a line that stretched all the way across the parking lot and around the corner towards the screen. “The line has barely moved since I got here. Is there service really that slow?” 
I grinned. “No, that is the magical draw of the pizza bacon dog on a stick.” 
Alex froze. “I’m sorry, what now?” 
“It’s a hot dog wrapped in bacon with cheese, pepperoni, and chopped onions sort of secured inside that porky cocoon, then dipped in corndog batter and deep fried.” 
Alex gagged and held up a finger. “Pardon me for a moment.” 
“No, I get it, if solid food tastes like garbage to you, that would basically be a nightmare on a stick.” 
Local legend had it that Marv invented the pizza bacon dog on a stick late one night when there was a rush on the concession stand and he had hot dogs, but no buns; pepperoni, but no pizza dough. He’d combined them in desperation and created a snack food that captured local tastes and imagination. (It wasn’t that hard to do, considering that Marv had used cheese food product, processed meats and deep-frying…and this was Kentucky.) Despite the increasingly mediocre movie selections, customers still showed up for the pizza bacon dogs on a stick. Sometimes, they just ate pizza bacon dogs and then left before the movie started—even after paying admission! That culinary marvel kept Marv’s open through recessions and heat waves and the IMAX craze. 
“Did you want something to eat?” he asked. “It’s considered a cornerstone of any modern date, yes?” 
“You’re sweet to offer, but I wouldn’t do that to you.” I snickered. “I ate before I left the house. I don’t want to trap you in a car with food that smells disgusting to you.” 
“Your sacrifice is very considerate,” he said, smiling at me. “Jane told me how important food is to werewolves, what with your fast metabolism.” 
I didn’t mention the devastating effects of a pizza bacon dog on a stick on one’s breath. The one natural ingredient in the pizza bacon dogs on a stick—the onions—were homegrown in Marv’s garden and were legendarily potent. I was doing us both a favor. 
“That is one of the few things werewolves have over on the vampires. The ability to eat multiple pizzas in a single bound without suffering the consequences,” I conceded. “But you all get super-secret extra powers and I am very jealous.” 
“Some of those powers aren’t very useful,” he assured me. “I met a vampire in Munich whose special vampire skill was knowing when sun was about to rise.” 
“But isn’t that important information for people who burst into flames when they come into contact with the sun?” I asked. 
“Yes, but generally, the best indicator that the sun is rising is a big ball of fire in the sky.” 
“Fair enough.” I nodded. “Is it considered rude to ask about a vampire’s special power?” 
“Not at all. I can hear the true emotions in a person’s voice, which I know sounds like I’m just listening to their tone. But I can hear hidden love, I can hear hidden hate. When we met, I could tell that you weren’t just annoyed with those boys knocking into the bookshelf. I could hear your desperation to get away. I could hear how nervous you were to talk to me. I could hear that you wanted me.” 
“Well, that sounds…I really wish I had known that before I talked to you,” 
“It’s not an exact gift, like mind-reading and I try not to use it to my advantage,” he said, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “And when you think about it, it makes sense. My hearing was highly attuned in life, and music has always affected my emotions profoundly. My gift just combined the two.” 
“Well, it’s definitely more helpful than the sunrise thing.” 
The movie started and we stopped speaking, leaning towards each other as the story sprang to life on the screen. For the first time since we’d met, we managed to be alone and still, without people watching or my having to rush away. It was so nice, to sit there together in the quiet dark and just be. 
Later that night, as I settled into bed, having showered and changed into PJs and thrown my drive-in clothes in the washer while my parents dozed in their recliners, there was a knock at my window. It was so soft, it was almost unnoticeable. I cringed, wondering if one of my relatives had followed the smell of popcorn to my window from the perimeter. I’d changed into fresh clothes after I ran home, and then used the floral-scented wet wipes to clean my skin before I walked through the door. But you could only do so much to get rid of movie snack-smell. 
In my dark bedroom, I crept to my window and saw nothing but tree branches swaying, as if they’d just been swept aside. I opened the window, a narrow horizontal affair I couldn’t hope to slide out of…which in terms of parenting, was pretty diabolical. I turned the crank to vent it outward and picked up on the warm scent of cedar…and onions and pepperoni. 
Which was not a great combination. 
I sniffed, glancing down to a shiny object placed just under my window. Winking in the moonlight was a pizza bacon dog on a stick, carefully wrapped in aluminum foil. 
A silly, stupid grin broke out on my face. 
My phone pinged. Under Aunt Myrtle’s screen name, Alex had texted me, “It didn’t seem right to me, that you missed out on your favorite treat because you’re such a considerate person.” 
“Thank you, you’re very sweet,” I replied. “How did you get one? The line was still crazy when I left” 
Alex had not been thrilled about not driving me home, but his protests were minimal after I laid what I considered to be an impressive second goodnight kiss on him and then ran away. Had he really stayed behind and shelled out cash to get me a stinky processed food treat and sneak it across supernatural enemy lines? Somehow, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. 
That was sort of sad. 
“If you offer enough people bribes, they’ll let you skip ahead in the pizza-bacon-dog-on-a-stick line.” 
I laughed, typing back. “Your chivalry is very impressive. But please don’t sneak onto the compound again. It’s very dangerous. If my family caught you.” I paused, trying to think of the most appropriate and not-insulting way to phrase “werewolf ass-whooping.” But I just went with, “It would be very bad.” 
But then I added several emojis—a cursing angry face, a wolf, a fist, flames, an ambulance. He did not respond to these images, only sending, “It was worth it, to see you smile like that.” 
I gasped. If he saw me smile, did that mean he was standing in the woods, watching? It already denied logic that my family hadn’t smelled him. “You’re still here? Go!” 
The trees rustled just a bit more and I imagined him running through the woods—I hoped to get far, far away from here. I snuck through the living room, past my sleeping parents and the blaring TV and out the door. 
I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed around the side of the trailer. The foil package was waiting there for me and I took it to the garden plot to sit among natural, healthy plants…and eat the most unnatural and unhealthy thing possible. I was a creature of contradictions. 
That man had risked nausea and limb to get me something he knew I would like, something I’d given up to make him more comfortable. When was the last time anyone had done that for me? Put themselves at risk? Noticed and appreciated what I’d done for them? It certainly wasn’t something I saw in my parents’ relationship. The last time my daddy had given anything for Mama, I think it involved not watching a play-off game because she’d broken her tail bone and wanted to watch Wheel of Fortune. 
I laid back on the dirt, staring up at the stars and chewing thoughtfully. I felt like I was standing with my toes over the edge of something, something special, something that could change the rest of my life. But I didn’t know if that change would be for better or for worse. I could have maybe found someone I could love. I could have found someone who could be in my life for years. And at the same time, my family could find out about Alex. I could be pushed out into the cold on my own. 
Some weird little voice in the back of my head said maybe one would be worth the other.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5 
“What you don’t know about your partner’s past can hurt you. What you don’t tell your partner about your past will hurt you in a far more dramatic (and possibly bloody) fashion.” 
—A Gentleman in Any Era: An Ancient Vampire’s Guide to Modern Relationships The next morning, I woke up to a silent house, which was never a good sign. I padded into the living room. My parents were sitting at the dinette, eating an inordinate amount of sausage and eggs. 
“Morning,” I muttered, pouring myself a cup of coffee. 
“I smell pizza bacon dogs,” Daddy said, staring at me. 
I froze in the middle of my first coffee sip. How was that even possible with the amount of sausage and coffee in this small space? But instead of making up an excuse, I just said, “Weird.” 
“Pretty weird, being able to smell them so far away from the drive-in.” 
“Mmmhmm,” I mumbled into my coffee cup. 
Daddy stared me down while he chewed. “Where did you say you went last night?” 
“Jolene’s,” I replied, careful to maintain eye contact. 
“And if I called Jolene to ask what time she sent you home, what time would she tell me?” 
“Well, I got home around 11, so 10:40?” I guessed, sipping my coffee. I was able to stay so casual because I’d already texted Jolene to tell her what time she’d sent me home. 
I wasn’t proud of lying, but life wasn’t giving me much choice lately. 
“I’ll do just that,” he said. “Keeps ya honest.” 
“All right, then.” I shrugged, even while I mentally apologized to Jolene. 
The front door swung open and Aunt Lurlene walked in without even knocking. Because why would she? It was just our kitchen, where we were sitting, in our pajamas, having a private conversation. I hated it. Almost as much as I hated the way my mother hopped up from her breakfast to plate some sausage and eggs. 
The many benefits of living in my own space seemed to scroll through my brain, like a devious voice whispering in my ear. Privacy. Control over who walked in my door first thing in the morning. Meals in blessed silence. But Lurlene was teetering with purpose on her cork wedge shoes, so I didn’t have time for that voice or its seductive promises. 
“Morning.” My daddy just kept chewing as Lurlene kissed his cheek. She didn’t say ‘thank you’ when Mama served her breakfast, which was not helping my mood. 
“What brings you by?” Mama asked, pouring Lurlene coffee. 
“Oh, just checking in on Tylene,” Lurlene said breezily, as if that was a normal thing to say about a grown ass woman, who was standing right there. “I hear you stayed out late last night.” 
“Yes, as I mentioned before to my parents,” I said, even while Daddy glared at me. “I was babysitting for Jolene.” 
“Well, I just think it’s weird that you would stay out so late to babysit,” she said, giving me the stink-eye. 
“Okay.” 
“It would be a shame,” she said, chewing on a strip of bacon. “If you were to break the trust of your parents, and your whole family, your pack, the people who have sheltered you and fed you for your entire life, by lying to them.” 
I tried not to respond, with facial expressions or words. What did she know? Had she seen Alex running through the woods, pizza bacon dog in hand? Had she smelled him on the property? On me? 
“That would be a shame,” I said, sipping my coffee. Daddy was watching the conversation bounce between us like a very angry tennis fan. 
“If you want to go on a date with a boy, he needs to come seek your family’s approval,” Lurlene said. “He needs to talk to your daddy. If he’s not willing to do that, he’s not worth having.” 
“Tylene knows that,” Mama said quietly. 
“She damn well better,” Daddy muttered. 
Indignation burned through me—far more indignation than probably deserved by someone who was actually lying to her family and dating someone who would not be approved by her family. Even if Lurlene did know something, what right did she have to walk into my home, and question me in front of my parents? For the first time in a long time, the anger I felt being treated this way far outweighed the fear of getting into trouble. 
“I promise not to date any boys you haven’t met yet,” I said through an insincere smile. 
Six hundred year old vampires didn’t count as boys, right? 
Lurlene must have picked up on my very specific wording because she seemed unconvinced. 
“You just need to be careful who you throw your lot in with, Tylene.” She wiped her mouth and stood, leaving her plate for Mama to clear. “Tyler, we need to talk sometime soon.” 
With that last comment hanging in the air, she swanned out of the trailer, leaving me to deal with the fallout. 
“What did you do?” Daddy demanded. 
I scoffed. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.” 
Which was true. I had no idea what she was referring to. She could have gotten a phone call from someone who saw me at the drive-in. She could have seen me sitting out in the field and eating ill-gotten deep-fried food. She could have inferred some random scenario that had no connection with reality as I knew it. The worst part was I didn’t know what she planned to do with that information or how to get ahead of it. 
Daddy sneered at me. 
“Look, last year, Lurlene was convinced cousin Shaylene was pregnant by that cook from the Coffee Spot. Remember? Shaylene was keeping ‘odd hours’ and Lurlene ‘thought maybe’ she saw Shaylene’s car in the parking lot of the diner once or twice? Lurlene got all the aunties riled up about the new baby and planned a baby shower? But it turned out Shaylene was keeping ‘odd hours’ because she got her mechanic’s certification and was working at a garage in Monkey’s Eyebrow.” 
“And why did she feel like she couldn’t tell her family about her new job?” Daddy snorted. “Working for some stranger instead of your cousin Nate’s towing business?” 
“Because she didn’t want to work for her brother, who drives her crazy?” I guessed. “My point is Aunt Lurlene sometimes—” 
I paused while Daddy glared at me again. “Misinterprets information.” 
“You need to watch yourself,” he warned me. He stood up from the table and threw himself into his recliner. He picked up the remote and began flipping through channels. I watched Mama clear the table, knowing that I would get no help from her. 
Just last night, I’d been lying under the stars, eating my favorite food, obtained at great peril by my gentleman caller—only to come crashing back to reality this morning. And all I could think of was getting back to Alex. 
And possibly getting more pizza bacon dogs. 
With the specter of Lurlene’s “dangerous information” hanging over my head, I was only too happy to take the kids to music class the next week. Alex’s intermediate class was a demonstration their musical skills for the local Junior League. And the Junior League was delighted to host them at the fancy old house where they held their meetings, sipping tea from painted china cups in an honest-to-God parlor while the twins and their classmates played simple chamber music pieces. The ladies who lunched—sure, they lunched at the Coffee Spot, but it still counted—were not only impressed by the kids’ playing, but the idea that the Hollow had attracted something as sophisticated as a “youth orchestra.” We were a small town on the rise. 
And Alex being dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and tie certainly didn’t hurt. 
Because damn. 
By the end of the evening, the twins were asked to play a duet by Bach, something in G major. I was still pretty much a classical music novice. I had tried listening to it on my phone over the past few days and while I knew what I liked, I couldn’t discuss the merits of one composer versus another. But the music was smooth and bright and reminded me of water falling over stones. 
Joe and Janelyn definitely made some errors, but they were savvy enough to act like it was all part of the performance. And that was how Zeb Lavelle found his children, as he entered the meeting room. 
Lanky and blond and utterly human, Zeb didn’t move with the authority of Alex or Gabriel or even Dick. But I could see the moment that it dawned on him that his children were given the big finale spot in the meeting. And the pride in his smile was enough that I had to blink away a strange warm moisture that seemed to be gathering in my eyes. He loved those kids. He didn’t care that their hobby was a little out of the ordinary or worry that they were making a spectacle of themselves in front of what passed for the Hollow’s upper echelons. He was just happy to see them, pleased that they were excelling at something. That same distant envy I’d felt for Jolene, finding that life outside the pack, pricked at my heart. The twins were very lucky to have this human father—I didn’t care what my parents or anyone else said. 
If anything, Alex was just as proud of my cousins, leading the audience in enthusiastic applause that eventually spread out to the other students as well. All of them stood, wearing their little performance uniforms of black pants and a green Half-Moon Hollow Music Academy polo shirt. The ladies who lunched increased their clapping, because frankly, the kids were just adorable. 
Alex said, “Ladies, if you have questions, please feel free to contact me at the school. Thank you for inviting us this evening. Students?” 
The whole class bowed and the ladies gave them one last ovation. Dismissed, the twins launched themselves at their father, who somehow managed to catch them without hurting himself or their instruments. 
I watched from the refreshment table as Alex distributed business cards to ladies who were suddenly very interested in his “Strings for adults” classes. (I tried to keep my sarcastic muttering on the inside, but it was a near thing.) Zeb sidled up to me, grinning as the kids hung off of his arms. 
“Thanks for driving the monsters, Tylene. It’s made our schedules so much easier,” he said. “I know it’s a lot. Kids, go pack up your very expensive instruments.” 
“I don’t mind,” I promised as the twins scampered off. “I’ve learned more than I ever expected to about fancy-schmancy music.” 
“Yeah, don’t call it that around the kids,” he sighed. “They get irritated and they try to explain things with an ear-splitting amount of detail.” 
“That sounds about right,” I said, laughing. 
“How are things back on the compound?” he asked, studying me carefully. “Are you doing okay?” 
“It’s the compound,” I told him, shrugging. 
“Yeah, that doesn’t tell me a lot,” he said, patting my shoulder. “I don’t know what Jolene has told you, but I know what it’s like coming from a family that’s…I’m trying to find a nice way to say ‘weird as all hell’ but nothing comes to mind. But I’ve been there, and I get it.” 
I remembered a story when I was a kid, something about Zeb’s mother hiring a hypnotist to get Zeb to dump Jolene at the altar. But it seemed like the wrong time to bring it up. 
“If you ever need anything, you call me or Jolene, okay? Even if you think it’s silly or a bother, we won’t see it that way,” he promised. 
I smiled at him, hoping that he couldn’t see how shiny my eyes were getting. “Thanks, Zeb.” 
“Well, we better get these two home and fed,” Zeb said. “Ty, what time are your folks expecting you?” 
Suddenly, Alex was at my side. “I can drive her home, Zeb.” 
Despite being accustomed to vampire movements, Zeb seemed startled with how fast Alex appeared. “Um…is that okay?” Zeb glanced at me. “Is there something I should know…what is happening right now?” 
“It’s fine,” I told my cousin-in-law as his eyebrows winged up to his hairline. “Alex and I are acquainted.” 
“Is that what the young people are calling it now?” he asked, his eyes tracking between us. 
“I’m very safe with Alex, I promise. He’ll probably have to drop me off a half-mile from the gate, but I’ll be safe.” 
“I don’t love that,” Zeb muttered. 
“I don’t either,” Alex told him. “But Ty promises me that it’s better that way.” 
“Just so you know, I’ll be calling Jane to ask her to run a background check on you,” Zeb said, shaking his hand. “It’s nothing personal, you would understand if you’d been around the last couple of years – with all of the various serial killer types and general mischief makers we’ve dealt with. And Ty is family, so it’s even more important.” 
“You trust Alex with your children,” I noted. 
“Dick and Jane already ran a background check on me,” Alex said. “Well, they ran two. One when I moved into town and then another much deeper check, when Dick found out I was seeing Ty.” 
“He what?” I gasped. 
Alex put his arm around me. “I respect his protective nature, especially when it comes to you.” 
“This is all pretty normal procedure for Dick,” Zeb assured me. 
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the stories,” I muttered. “Getaway cars, incorrect German speeches.” 
“That one time he helped Cal give Ben Overby an illegal lie detector test,” Zeb added. “He was dating Gigi at the time. And he was human. In his current state, the test would be pretty ineffective.” 
“Dad! It’s time to go!” Janelyn called, snapping Zeb out of his thoughts. 
He turned to me. “Text Jolene when you get home, okay?” 
“I will,” I promised. “Night, kids.” 
The twins hugged me around the waist. Then they gave Alex high fives and ran out the door. 
I patted Zeb’s back. “Good luck with your assault on the Burger Shed.” 
“This is going to be so expensive,” Zeb grumbled. 
The twins were the last to be taken home by their parents. Somehow, we waded through the crowd of Junior Leaguers, some of whom were giving me hard stares. Alex’s hand at the small of my back seemed to make a statement. The fancy ladies didn’t like what he was saying. 
Alex led me outside to his sedate black SUV with Half-Moon Hollow Music Academy written in vinyl on the doors. It seemed like such a dad car, but I guessed it made sense. He spent so much energy and time on his students. 
“What’s the matter?” he asked, loading bags of extra instruments and equipment through the back hatch. 
“I don’t know, it’s just a shame that you won’t have kids of your own. You’re so good with them,” I said. “Unless, you don’t want them, which is also a valid choice. This sentence is not turning out as planned. I want you to have whatever you want.” 
“Well, it’s not so much a choice, but a biological impossibility,” he said. “And as much as I enjoy working with my students, I think I’m better off as a ‘role model’ instead of a father. You’re also very good with children. Do you want little werewolves running around?” 
“I kind of like the ‘fun Cousin Ty’ thing. I’m there for the holidays and the concerts and the special stuff and then I can just hand them back to Jolene and Zeb before the uncomfortable parent-teacher conferences and the discussions about student loan debt and puberty,” I said, shaking my head. 
“You know, I’ve never heard parenthood described like that.” 
I snorted. “I’ll bet.” 
My phone screen showed a message from Zeb. “This is Janelyn, using Dad’s phone. Dad’s driving. He’s making me type everything out with punctuation and good spelling because he’s a teacher and text speak makes him sick to his stomach. Anyway, Joe left his math textbook in his locker at the music school. He was doing homework before we left. Dad asked if you can pick it up. We’re already on the other side of town.” 
“Everything all right?” he asked, as I buckled the passenger seat belt. 
“Do you mind if we go by the school? Joe left a book in his locker and it contained homework. The consequences could be dire.” 
“No problem,” he said. “I need to drop this off anyway. And it means I have more time in the car with you.” 
“You’re gonna end up doing so many of their errands if they get wind of this,” I warned him. 
We chatted about innocent nothings as we drove through town. It was nice to be so comfortable with him, compared to how nervous I’d been just a few weeks ago. We could almost be confused with a normal, human couple doing couple errands, instead of two creatures of the night, carrying bags full of expensive noisemakers. I liked this mundane normalcy. No tension. No watching every word and gesture. No fending off aunties. 
Though I’d only been there a few times, even I could see that there was something “off” about the music building. Light from the streetlamp glittered against something on the pavement and the pristine pale surface of the building was scarred by red markings. 
Beside me, Alex cursed in French under his breath. I didn’t speak French, but I knew the sound of heartfelt profanity when I heard it. 
“What the?” I whispered as he slowed to a stop. I took in the hateful messages spray painted on the building in a careless hand. “LEAVE TOWN, VAMPIRE!” and “LEAVE OUR LOCAL GIRLS ALONE!” were among the kinder sentiments. The window had been smashed and the glass scattered all over the parking lot was catching the light. 
“Oh, no.” My heart sank as we opened our doors. 
Maybe this was what Lurlene knew? Maybe she had seen Alex when he visited the compound, then followed his scent to the school? My cousins had done this sort of thing before, petty vandalism and pointed spray paint messages, but never to someone outside of the werewolf community. What if she’d sent pack members here to harass Alex into breaking up with me? I inhaled deeply, trying to pick up on any familiar scents, but all I smelled was the dry, chemical scent of the paint. That was unusual, but not unheard of. My relatives knew that vampires’ senses were just as keen as ours, and they knew how to mask their scents. 
Alex yanked the unlocked door open and rushed inside. I followed, my heart in my throat. He rattled the still-locked office door, sighing a bit in relief as I flipped on the lights. The studio was trashed. Mirror glass glittered on the floor, providing a sort of perverse frame for more choice phrases painted on the wall. Chairs and stands were thrown about the floor. It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the acoustic panels. 
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. 
He shook his head and rubbed his hands on my arms. 
“You think I haven’t dealt with something like this before? I had most of the spare instruments and equipment with me. This is just a little paint thinner and cleanup. And I’ve been meaning to upgrade the acoustic panels anyway.” 
“What about your house?” I asked. “Jane took a report from another vampire in town a week or so ago. Iris something. Her windows were smashed and her porch was spray painted.” 
He scoffed. “I’m sure it’s fine. No one knows where I live. I bought the place under a corporate shell. Besides, I have alarms that communicate to my phone if there’s any motion near my property lines.” 
I nodded. “But not near your school?” 
“I didn’t want to be driven nuts with the alarms going off every time a truck drove by.” He shrugged. “I work at the school. I sleep in my house. I see the error of my ways now.” 
“This could get worse,” I told him. “If we keep spending time together. It could get a lot worse.” 
“What are you talking about?” he asked. 
“I’m worried my family could have done this. They know the kids take classes here, and that you’re a vampire. They could be lashing out at whatever vampires they think are ‘influencing me,’” I gasped. “Oh, no. Jane’s shop!” 
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for Specialty Books. 
“Why do you think Jane would be targeted?” he asked as the phone rang. 
“My family really dislikes Jane. They blame her for Jolene being pulled away from the family and I’m sure they’ll blame her eventually if they figure out how far I’ve ‘gone astray.’ If they went after you, they’d go after Jane, too.” 
Dick picked up on the third ring. “Dick! Are you all right? Is the shop okay? Where is Jane?” 
“Slow down, Ty, slow down. What’s going on?” 
I explained about the vandalism and the similarities to what happened at Iris’s house. After assuring me that the shop was un-burgled, Dick promised he and Jane were on their way over that moment, “with reinforcements.” I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded very official. I hung up the phone as Alex collected the laptop and some files from his office. I guessed he didn’t feel leaving them in the building was a good idea, given the smashed windows. 
“Well, you saved me the step of calling authorities, so thank you,” he said. “We don’t know that it’s your family.” 
“We don’t know that it’s not my family,” I replied. He paused and stared at me. “Yes, I heard the double negative, too!” 
Alex stopped what he was doing, crossed the parking lot and kissed me hard. My knees went a little wobbly and I clutched at his tie. His hands slipped around my waist and pulled me tight against him. 
“Take a breath,” he told me. I obeyed. “And another.” 
“That’s playing dirty,” I murmured against his lips. 
“Not as dirty as I could.” He waggled his brows. I gasped and he chuckled. “See? Now, you’re breathing normally.” 
“So wrong,” I sighed, shaking my head. “I don’t know which is weirder, ‘persistently genteel’ you or ‘occasional subtle pervert’ you.” 
“I think we both have our merits,” he informed me. “Now, does your family know anything about me, specifically?” 
I paused. “No. 
“Do they know Iris at all?” he asked as I shook my head. 
“Maybe they saw her photo in the newspaper the other day, with Jolene involved in her big group hug on the front page. My mama pointed it out to me, maybe she showed it to them, too,” I said, pinching my nose. “Or maybe I’m just panicking. And I’m making it about me, which is wrong, given the situation. I’m sorry.” 
“Stop saying you’re sorry. This is very clearly not your fault.” He rubbed my arms again. “It’s nothing I can’t fix. I’m unhurt. You’re unhurt, so everything’s fine.” 
I grumbled as he hugged me close to him. A few minutes later, several vehicles arrived, and the parking lot was full of vampires. Jane and Dick jumped out of a black SUV and I threw myself at Jane. 
“Oh, thank goodness.” I wrapped my arms around Jane and squeezed her tight. Behind her, two figures rushed toward Alex—men I didn’t recognize. One was dark and lithe where the other was broad and blond. However, both of them looked extremely irritated at the situation at hand. 
“Not that I mind the public display of affection, but are you all right?” she asked. 
“I’m fine, just unnerved by the whole thing,” I told her. “I still think it could be my family, but Alex thinks they don’t have a reason to hurt him or Iris. I tried to explain the crazy factor, but he’s not convinced.” 
“It’s something to consider and we’ll keep an eye out,” Jane promised me. “But from what we saw at Iris’s house, well, not to be rude, but they didn’t leave a lot of evidence behind. No prints, no hair, not even strong smells. And unless your relatives spend a lot of time watching ID Discovery, I don’t think they’re capable of that level of forensic countermeasure.” 
I nodded. “No, that’s fair. So where does that leave us?” 
“It leaves me and Dick taking reports and handling this just like we would any other vandalism case. And you, take a deep breath and stop assuming the worst. That’s my job.” 
“Just the idea that I could cause Alex this kind of trouble,” I said, shaking my head. 
“Even if it was your family, you wouldn’t be causing anybody any trouble. It would be your family,” she said. “Don’t take that weight on yourself.” 
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes and waved to all the extra vampires in the parking lot. “So, if you’re going to handle this like any other vandalism case, why did you need reinforcements?” 
Jane waved over two dark-haired vampire ladies who looked a lot alike with their high foreheads and delicate jawlines. The younger of them looked familiar in that “we went to school together but weren’t friends” kind of way. I remembered her name was sort of fancy and French, and that she seemed nice. But she definitely ran with a more popular crowd than I did. 
“This is Iris Scanlon-Calix and her sister, Gigi.” 
Gigi. That was her name, Gigi. Like most important information, it arrived in my brain just a few seconds too late. 
“Oh, it was your house that was vandalized,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” 
I took a cue from Alex’s book and didn’t reach for Iris or Gigi’s hands. What if they didn’t feel as friendly toward werewolves as Jane and Dick did? Gigi seemed to sense my reluctance and grabbed my hand, pumping up and down. 
“Nice to meet you,” she said. 
“The house is already cleaned up,” Iris said. “Cal called in some people who took care of it the next day. I know I had a strong reaction.” 
“There were very specific threats made to the vandal’s person and property, should you ever find them,” Gigi observed placidly. 
“I used the word ‘strong!’” Iris reminded her. “I know it’s kind of silly, considering the damage was fairly minimal, but I just feel so violated. They messed with my flower beds! Do you know how long it took Mom to cultivate those rose hybrids?” 
“Years,” Gigi agreed. “But you still have some intact specimens. And Cal can’t worship the very ground you walk on if that ground is under a jail.” 
“Damn your wisdom beyond your years,” Iris muttered. 
Behind the bickering sisters, I could see the men who had rushed to Alex talking quietly with him. The tall blond stepped toward the building and started randomly touching objects, which seemed like a poor strategy in terms of investigation. Jane excused herself to go take pictures of the damages. Alex lifted his head and nodded to me, waving me over. Gigi and Iris looped their arms through mine and walked me over. 
Alex put an arm around my shoulders. “Tylene McClaine, these are two of my oldest friends, Nik Dragomirov and Cal Calix. Iris and Gigi are their mates.” 
“‘Oldest friends’ takes on a whole new meaning around this crowd,” I said. 
“It’s true,” the dark-haired man, Cal, told me. He jerked his head toward Alex. “But think of all the dirt we can give you on this one.” 
“So you’re the girl that’s turned Alex’s head,” Nik said, shaking my hand. His voice was faintly accented. “My Gigi says you went to school together.” 
“We’ve talked about inappropriate possessive pronouns, but he is awfully set in his ways. Claims it’s a language barrier,” Gigi said, smirking. 
He kissed her neck. “I speak the language of love, my dearest.” 
“You’ve spoken English for several hundred years,” she noted. 
Dick and Jane joined us in our little standing group, both looking tired. 
“I think we’ve documented everything,” Jane said. 
“Maybe I should head home?” I asked Jane. “This seems like vampire business.” 
“You’re involved in this vampire business,” she told me. “And it affects you directly. You should stay.” 
The circle closed around me and I felt more at home in this pack, than I had in my own since before I could howl.

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