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As they panted, the doors on both sides of the SUV popped open. The passenger’s side spat out a well-built man in his late twenties, early thirties with dark hair and thick brows narrowed in dislike. The driver was older, at least by another thirty years, and he was so tall and so thin, he looked like he could pass for a skeleton if it weren’t for the thatch of blond hair on his balding head and the tailored suit cut to his lanky frame.
“Well, Adam…” Tabby reached out, stroking his thigh. “It was fun while it lasted.”
“What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer him. Instead, with one last look at him, she opened her door and stepped out onto the street.
No way in hell was Adam going to let her go alone. He threw open his door, flying around the front of the door so that he could stand at her side. Not in front of her, not behind, but right by her.
The younger man huffed, throwing daggers at Adam with his gaze.
The older man pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Ah, Tabitha. I had hoped that my intel was wrong. A Nightwalker. Really?”
“What’s the problem with being a Nightwalker,” Adam demanded. The irony was not lost on him that, after months of wishing he could go back to being human, as soon as he accepted he couldn’t was when he finally stood up for his new race.
Ah, well.
The man looked at Adam like he was the dirt beneath his expensive, shiny shoes. “My niece was sent here to do a job, young man. Did she tell you that, or was that one of our family’s secrets that she actually managed to keep?”
“Boone, that’s not fair—”
Adam moved in front of Tabby, using his body as a shield between her and the two men. He stored the word niece in the back of his mind to wrap around later. For now, it was all about standing up for Tabby.
“I don’t like your tone, tough guy. What’s the deal? She came to clear up the Nightwalker problem in town. Tabby didn’t tell me shit. I guessed.”
That was true. In Woodbridge, while they were passing time just talking and getting to know each other, he asked her what slayer was doing in Grayson; after Diaz planted the worries in his head, he had too.
When she tried to change the subject like she often did, he figured she was there to do exactly what hew as doing: take out man-eaters and dangerous vamps like Rafe Silverson.
He was right.
Jutting out his chin, he said, “It’s not her fault I used to be a cop. I can spot a lie a mile off, just like I can spot an asshole. Back off.”
Boone’s thin face wore an unreadable expression as he eyeballed Tabby. “You’re going to let this corpse talk to me like that?”
To their surprise, Tabby actually laughed. “Um, have you met Adam Wright yet? Do you think I can stop him?”
If he didn’t feel like his back was up against the wall all of a sudden, Adam would’ve barked out his own laugh at that. Did Tabby really feel that way? All along, she was the one he couldn’t dare try to control and she thought the same thing about him?
Ha.
Boone shook his head. “I’d hoped you would have figured this”—he said this with a wrinkle to his long, narrow nose as he gestured at Adam—“out by now. Coming here was a last resort, Tabitha, but you’ve left me no choice. It’s time.”
Her humor died. Adam could sense it like a balloon losing all of its air as she said sharply, “No.”
“It’s not just about ending the hunt anymore. I warned you not to get involved. There are consequences, Tabitha. There are rules.”
“The code,” Adam spat out through gritted teeth. A shiver jolted down his spine.
Though he knew it was probably a stupid thing to do, he took his glare off of the men, focusing on Tabby. He never would’ve expected it… but maybe that was the point.
“Diaz told me about the Slayer’s Code… I didn’t think… did you set me up?” He heard a snort come from one of the other slayers. He ignored it. “Tab?”
A stray hunk of blonde hair had fallen free from her ponytail. As she nibbled on her bottom lip, she dipped her head. The hair fell in front of her right eye. Adam had to curl his hands into fists to keep from brushing it back or gripping her chin to tilt her head up again to meet his gaze.
When Tabby stayed quiet, Adam tightened his fists. The point of his claws bit into his palms, slicing right through the calloused skin. He scented blood—his blood—and growled softly.
