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This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t.
This was a dream. The last two days had to have been a dream.
“And this is true.” I’d intended it as a question, but it came out as a statement. “Just like we’re real, and like Angels are real, and like Vampires are real.”
“Not really. I don’t think anyone actually believes it. It’s like Santa Claus. We told it to our kids before bed because it’s a sweet story. They usually passed out before we got to the cliffhanger though.” She grinned. I didn’t give one back, heart racing fast enough that it hurt. Mom’s eyes softened. She squeezed my hand. “Sweetie, are you sure you’re okay?”
Liquid burned up my esophagus. “I think I’m actually coming down with something. Give me a minute.”
I hurried to my feet and bolted for the bathroom.
CHAPTERTWELVE
DECLAN
After I stopped hurling, I spent a few minutes guzzling water from the sink and splashing myself in the face.
This wasn’t how I’d envisioned my week going. This wasn’t how I envisioned mylifegoing. This was utter fucking lunacy.
Yeah, I liked Brooke. She was sexy, and kind, and a million things in between. I liked her a lot. But she didn’t like me. She’d made that clear yesterday morning and afternoon.
And even if she did, we met two days ago. It hadn’t even been a full forty-eight hours. Now I was her soulmate? I could just pop into her head at any given moment? She was going to feel it every time I stubbed my toe? Had she just felt me puke my entire digestive system out?
Oh yeah, it’d be fucking great if she was in my head as I realized that I was stuck with her forever and that it sent me running to the toilet. That’d definitely change her opinion of me.
* * *
I forced myself together after ten minutes or so. I tried to push all this shit from my mind and enjoy the rest of my meal with Mom, but looking at food still made my stomach hurt.
Very carefully, I avoided the topic of my last two days. Would telling her about Brooke have been a good idea? Maybe. Would it be a good idea to tell her I was shot and had no idea by who or why? Definitely not.
Either way, she saw that I wasn’t feeling well and told me to go home. I had to wheel her back to the nursing home first, but that was a good idea.
After getting her checked in, I caught a cab to Spades. Hell of a fare, but some of us weren’t teleporters, so I had to suck it up.
It was early still, barely ten, so no one had shown yet. The parking lot was empty, and it got me thinking.
I stepped onto the stoop before the front door and glanced around.
The shot came from outside. It had to have—there was a bullet cemented to the metal stand of a table not far from the door. From the angle, it looked like it’d been fired from the left of where I’d been standing at the door.
Luckily, it hadn’t rained, so the scent of burned fireworks still lingered if I focused hard enough. Sniffing the air, I followed the trail to the gravel about a dozen feet from the door.
Sure enough. A brassy shell laid amongst the gray stones.
I bent over, picked it up, and studied the casing. A Glock 48.
I wasn’t a gun expert—wolves don’t need bullets to hunt—but I did know a thing or two. Enough people were in and out of here with them on a daily basis, and Dad had always kept a few in the house in case a fight at the bar got out of hand. One that every gunowner kept in their safe was a 48, and I was one of them. The range on a 48 was no more than fifty feet.
This casing was fresh. It hadn’t been sitting in this parking lot for weeks, or months, or years.
The bullet that’d thrashed through my body yesterday came from the shell that glistened between my thumb and pointer finger.
But I was only a few dozen steps from the door.
I’d looked into this parking lot. I’d beenstaringinto this parking lot.
No one had been here.
