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“Tonight? What? No, I’m already in bed. Can’t it wait until the morning?”
“I… uh… no. It really can’t. I might’ve talked your skills up a little too well. This friend of mine… he’s not the type of man who likes to be told to wait. He wants the healing tonight. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem. You’re not gonna make me a liar, are you, Shea?”
She sighed. “I don’t want to stay out too late.”
Hudson perked up when he recognized that she was giving in. “You won’t have to. Listen, I’m gonna swing by your place in about twenty minutes. We’ll go see my friend, you’ll do your thing, and I’ll have you back in bed in no time. Promise.”
To Hudson, promise meant something along the lines of I’ll try.
It was the best she could expect from him.
“Alright. Fine. Let’s just make this quick, okay?”
“Absolutely. Thanks, Shea. You’re awesome. Now, before I hang up, there’s a couple of things you should know…”
Shea threw a longing look over at her rumpled bed, listening with half an ear as Hudson told her that she needed to be respectful to his “friend” when she met him. And that he vouched for her so she represented him.
When he got to the part about what kind of clothes she needed to wear—something upscale, yet fun, fancy but not too uptight, the kind of outfit she’d put on if she was going to a Para nightclub—Shea finally had enough.
“Hudson,” she said, interrupting him. “I’ve never had to follow some kind of dress code to heal someone. What exactly is going on?”
“It’s just one night,” he said, a wheedling note in his voice. “Come on. How often do I ask you to help me out like this?”
All the freaking time.
Still, he was her brother. Except for her grandmother, he was the only family she had left. And it was just a healing. She might be super tired tomorrow, but Hudson needed her.
What harm could it do?
“Okay. I… I think I have something that’ll work. Is purple okay?”
“It’s perfect. Believe me, you’ll be the only one wearing that color when we get there.”
Translation: you’ll be the only witch.
Great.
* * *
Once they were a few miles out from their mysterious destination, Wright finally opened up to Colt about where exactly they were going.
Courtesy of a tip from a Para informant, the cop was leading them to a place where—between the two of them—he was hoping they might learn more about the Nightwalker crew that had moved into town.
Because, if the informant was credible enough to be believed, they finally had confirmation that: a) it was more than one or two Nightwalkers who were purposely draining their donors and leaving the bodies out in the open defiantly; and b) the murderous vamps were actually organized which meant that there was a Nightwalker leader out there somewhere who was behind all of this.
Colt spent the next few minutes wrapping his head around that.
Shifters had their pack. Witches had their coven. Sure, there were lone wolves and solitary witches, but they were very much social creatures.
Vampires, on the other hand, rarely socialized.
Especially Nightwalkers.
So to hear that it wasn’t just one or two, but a gang? And that they were organizing themselves as if they were their own corpse-y pack?
Wait until his Alpha found out about that.
Colt had to double-check, make sure that Wright wasn’t pulling his leg. “How did you get a vamp to tell you all this?”
