Read Online Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply by Michele Bardsley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michele Bardsley
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limitation we’d been as meticulous as we could have been in collecting information.
I glanced at the clock and cursed.
I’d spent a few minutes too long with the book and my thoughts. I grabbed the copy of
Vampires Are Real!
and my tote and left the office. I locked the door behind me and headed out to my car.
All the while I wondered . . . what if there was a pharaoh known as a vampire king? What if he had begun the traditions of modern-day mythology about the undead? Had my grandfather been wrong about Set’s temple? He’d done so much research, and gone to the Sudan every year since forever for the chance to find something wonderful. Something that could rewrite history.
Ancient Egyptian vampires could rewrite everyone’s history
In one teeny tiny corner of my mind, I wondered, too . . . were vampires real?
I grinned. What a ridiculous thought. Vampires.
Real.
Ha! Stupid Dove and her stupid book. I didn’t believe in the undead.
I had a front parking spot, so it wasn’t too much of a walk to my car. But it was dark out, and the wind had kicked up, rattling the dying leaves on the plentiful trees. August was sliding toward September, and students who’d spent the summer partying or working were still in serious mode. The later it got in the semester, the less attentive the classes and the more plentiful the on-campus parties.
I put the key into the door of my 1956 Mercedes 190SL. It had belonged to my grandfather, who’d purchased it as an anniversary gift for my grandmother in 1956. Mint condition, baby. It was silver with a red leather interior and a stick shift, and it drove like a dream. It was one of the many items I inherited when Grandfather died. But I would’ve given the car, and everything else, for just one more day with him.
I started to open the door . . . then paused, my fingers resting underneath the handle.
I couldn’t quite figure out what made me hesitate. Then I realized the wind had abruptly stopped.
I heard an electric crackle, and felt my heart skip a beat.
The parking lot lights nearest to my car went out.
And in the sudden, awful darkness . . . something waited for me.
Chapter 7
Drake
I hid in the shadows of the building, waiting. Moira hadn’t left her office yet. As soon as she did, I would follow her home and ensure that she arrived safely. For close to a week I had slept near wherever she was, in case she needed me at a moment’s notice. When she left the university, getting into her beautiful vintage Mercedes, I would turn into wolf form and run through the forest that bordered the road to her home.
After a week of this, I felt like her stalker instead of her protector. I found myself doing foolish things, like wandering past her table in the coffee shop just to get a whiff of her perfume. I was capable of tracking scents for miles, but the werewolf in me was not satisfied with drawing out that faint scent of dewed flowers from among all the others worn by humans.
The man in me wanted to be closer, too.
Much closer.
The naked kind of closer.
Just yesterday, I stood behind her in the line to get a very expensive latte, and couldn’t resist a swipe of my fingers against her hair. She’d worn it loose, and it was a curtain of silky red. She smelled like she’d bathed in flower petals—a light, crisp scent that made me think of sheets and sighs and . . . well, enough of that.
She did not turn around, and I left right then before I could do something else that would draw her attention to me. Like kiss her until those cherry lips were swollen and those green, green eyes were glazed, and that . . . Down, boy.
This was my last night of keeping an eye on Moira Jameson.
Patsy, queen of the vampires—those who recognized her authority, at least—had called me earlier and said that with Karn apparently in hiding, it was probably best to withdraw our resources to Broken Heart, Oklahoma, our headquarters, and figure out our next strategies for
I glanced at the clock and cursed.
I’d spent a few minutes too long with the book and my thoughts. I grabbed the copy of
Vampires Are Real!
and my tote and left the office. I locked the door behind me and headed out to my car.
All the while I wondered . . . what if there was a pharaoh known as a vampire king? What if he had begun the traditions of modern-day mythology about the undead? Had my grandfather been wrong about Set’s temple? He’d done so much research, and gone to the Sudan every year since forever for the chance to find something wonderful. Something that could rewrite history.
Ancient Egyptian vampires could rewrite everyone’s history
In one teeny tiny corner of my mind, I wondered, too . . . were vampires real?
I grinned. What a ridiculous thought. Vampires.
Real.
Ha! Stupid Dove and her stupid book. I didn’t believe in the undead.
I had a front parking spot, so it wasn’t too much of a walk to my car. But it was dark out, and the wind had kicked up, rattling the dying leaves on the plentiful trees. August was sliding toward September, and students who’d spent the summer partying or working were still in serious mode. The later it got in the semester, the less attentive the classes and the more plentiful the on-campus parties.
I put the key into the door of my 1956 Mercedes 190SL. It had belonged to my grandfather, who’d purchased it as an anniversary gift for my grandmother in 1956. Mint condition, baby. It was silver with a red leather interior and a stick shift, and it drove like a dream. It was one of the many items I inherited when Grandfather died. But I would’ve given the car, and everything else, for just one more day with him.
I started to open the door . . . then paused, my fingers resting underneath the handle.
I couldn’t quite figure out what made me hesitate. Then I realized the wind had abruptly stopped.
I heard an electric crackle, and felt my heart skip a beat.
The parking lot lights nearest to my car went out.
And in the sudden, awful darkness . . . something waited for me.
Chapter 7
Drake
I hid in the shadows of the building, waiting. Moira hadn’t left her office yet. As soon as she did, I would follow her home and ensure that she arrived safely. For close to a week I had slept near wherever she was, in case she needed me at a moment’s notice. When she left the university, getting into her beautiful vintage Mercedes, I would turn into wolf form and run through the forest that bordered the road to her home.
After a week of this, I felt like her stalker instead of her protector. I found myself doing foolish things, like wandering past her table in the coffee shop just to get a whiff of her perfume. I was capable of tracking scents for miles, but the werewolf in me was not satisfied with drawing out that faint scent of dewed flowers from among all the others worn by humans.
The man in me wanted to be closer, too.
Much closer.
The naked kind of closer.
Just yesterday, I stood behind her in the line to get a very expensive latte, and couldn’t resist a swipe of my fingers against her hair. She’d worn it loose, and it was a curtain of silky red. She smelled like she’d bathed in flower petals—a light, crisp scent that made me think of sheets and sighs and . . . well, enough of that.
She did not turn around, and I left right then before I could do something else that would draw her attention to me. Like kiss her until those cherry lips were swollen and those green, green eyes were glazed, and that . . . Down, boy.
This was my last night of keeping an eye on Moira Jameson.
Patsy, queen of the vampires—those who recognized her authority, at least—had called me earlier and said that with Karn apparently in hiding, it was probably best to withdraw our resources to Broken Heart, Oklahoma, our headquarters, and figure out our next strategies for
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