Blood Moon (Vampire Vigilante 1)

5

“That’s impossible,” Gil said, glaring at me from the passenger seat. “And frankly a little offensive that you think my people are capable of that.”

I turned up the heat in the car, which might have been a mistake considering how ornery Gil was getting. “Listen, it was just a hypothetical. And how can you say with certainty that it wasn’t werewolves, anyway? I’ve seen plenty of dead people, but I’m not going to argue with valkyrie forensics.”

He slammed his hand against the dashboard. “It’s just not done, okay? We’ve come a long way. We don’t just eat people. It’s not how we do things.”

Asher’s voice, meek and sweet, piped up from the back seat. “Sterling isn’t saying that all werewolves are violent cannibals, though, is he? We’re just examining the possibility that maybe some of them have broken protocol. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened.”

Gil glared over his shoulder at Asher, but didn’t say anything, just sulking in his seat. I knew it was deliberate, the kid gloves Asher was handling Gil’s ego with, but that was part of his brilliance. He was great with people, whether they were living or dead, and he knew it.

“Yes, raw meat is still a thing for us,” Gil said, calmer, not as rough. “Can’t help it. Great nutrition, and it’s delicious, frankly. All that protein. But the days of packs going out to hunt and feed on human flesh are long gone. We’ve worked hard at that.”

“And no one is disparaging your public image,” I said, my jaw set. I didn’t have Asher’s patience, and my charm worked differently. It wasn’t the sort that was useful for soothing werewolves. “We’re just saying. Be open to the possibility.”

The back of my seat shuddered as Asher pulled himself up between us. Our little boy. “Is there even a local pack here? We should check that out.”

You could feel the sudden chill emanating from Gil’s body. He shook his head, glowering. “No way. Absolutely not. We are not interacting in any shape or form with the Blood of Garm.”

Asher tilted his head. “What’s the Blood of Garm?”

Gil folded his arms, determined to fill the rest of the trip home with silence. I sighed, stepping on the gas, getting us back to the cabin within minutes. He was still sulking when we arrived.

“You both don’t want me smoking indoors,” I said, “so I’ll just stay out here and die of exposure while I try to enjoy a cigarette with my cold, dead lips.”

Gil said nothing, which stung a little. Even at his grumpiest he tended to give in to my sense of humor. Asher rolled his eyes as he shut the car door. “You’ll be fine. Don’t be so dramatic.”

I grunted, watching them go down the path as I flicked my lighter. An ember crackled to life at the end of my cigarette, the soft whisper of toasting tobacco. I took a long, deep drag, savoring the smoke lightly burning my insides, then blew out a perfect silver plume. Ah. My first cigarette since the other two I smoked outside the Twilight Tavern. Bliss. Not hard to develop a pack-a-day habit when you can’t die.

The door creaked open as the two headed inside, yellow light spilling down the path when they turned on the electricity. I took another puff, happy to bask in the night air and give Gil the time to cool off, when Asher let out a scream.

A cold bolt lanced through my chest. That wasn’t some playful yelp. He soun

ded genuinely surprised – maybe even a little frightened. Surely Gil wasn’t that pissed off. He knew better than to play rough like that, especially with Asher. I stubbed my cigarette out under one heel, then sped across the pathway, shoving the door open.

“Asher? Where are you? Gil, you better be playing nice in here. We’re trying to be cool about this whole potential werewolf problem, but you’re just being – oh.”

Asher was standing behind Gil, as if for protection. Gil himself looked like he’d grown another foot taller, his shoulders broadened, chest puffed up, and fists curled tightly, like he was trying to intimidate something. Or someone. A man was sitting in the same armchair Gil had slept in the night before. Both his arms and his legs were crossed, the fine red velvet of his suit shimmering, and definitely not typical for Silveropolis. His ringlets of hair brushed his shoulders as he tilted his head at me, smiling sweetly in greeting.

“Sterling,” he purred. “So good to see you again.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Vilmas. Yeah. I’m not so sure I’m as happy to see you. Stand down, boys. I know him.”

Vilmas placed his hand on his chest, long, delicate fingers pressing at his breast as he gasped in mock offense. “You ‘know’ me? Why, we’re the fastest of friends, aren’t we, Sterling? You might say as much to your companions here.” He gave Gil and Asher an appraising glance, smiling as if each of them was a tempting morsel. “Your thralls? Lucky, lucky.”

“Please,” Gil growled. “I have standards.”

I pointed at him. “Hey. That’s hurtful. Vilmas, these are my coworkers, and my friends. Skinny one’s Asher, the angry one is Gil. They’re cool. You, on the other hand – I don’t know about the fastest of friends.”

The smiled dropped from Vilmas’s face. He placed his hands on the armchair’s rests, pushing himself up, his demeanor colder. “Very well. I see that you want to treat me brusquely. Hardly a generous way to greet one of your own kind.”

You could hear a pin drop. Asher shrank farther away from us. Gil only stiffened even harder. I grabbed Vilmas by the wrist.

“We should take this outside.”

He tittered as he followed me. “Must you treat me so rough, Sterling? How cruel.”

I slammed the door after us, the cold of the woods rushing against my face. I was starting to like the forests up here. The climate helped me keep my cool, especially around jerks like Vilmas.