Page 30 of Blood Lovers

“What witch?” For a moment I think he’s talking about the one I’m hunting.

“The feeder who just died. Do you know what she said?”

I blow out a breath. “‘Curse you and all your offspring for seventeen generations?’”

“You think it’s funny, don’t you?”

“Which part? Because some of this is, Paul. You’re being an asshole. I’m hunting down your fucking feeder, OK? Just leave me alone.”

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through in the past week?”

I pause here. Because his tone has changed. Is he angry?

“I asked you a question.”

“How could I know what you’ve been through. We haven’t spoken.”

“Because you won’t answer my calls. Did it ever occur to you that I have important things to say?”

I almost laugh here. He sounds… needy. And he’s always been that way with me, but it’s a little bit desperate this time. So I don’t laugh. “OK. Then tell me what you have to say.”

“The witch did a number on me.”

“A number?”

“She… the… the blood.” He takes a breath and lets it out. “I’ve had a very bad week and I would like you here at home.”

“No! How many times do I have to fucking tell you, that place is not my home?”

He hangs up on me.

I slump back into my beach chair and tilt my head up towards the sun, enjoying the heat. I love the sun. Especially after trekking around the Rocky Mountains for three weeks.

My phone buzzes again and I rip my sunglasses off, ready to chew him out, but when I look at the screen it says ‘Echo.’

I accept the call. “What is it now, Echo?”

“He did it again.”

Now I have a full-on headache. I might actually have to go west just to get a drink from Paul if this keeps up. “Who was it this time?”

“Willie!”

I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Well, I mean… it’s Willie, Echo. He’s a meth-addicted fiend who steals anything not nailed down. What did you expect?”

“He was getting clean.”

“Sure he was. Is that all? Because I’m busy here.”

“He ripped his head off, Ryet. His head! People are traumatized.”

“They live on a vampire’s compound in the middle of the wilderness. What do they think is gonna happen?”

“His head, Ryet.”

“I get it. It’s gross. But what do you want me to do about it?”

“Come home. Come home and—”