Bronson hasn’t let this place go all to hell.”
In Alaska, the government was so beholden to vampires they rarely called them to answer for anything—or maybe they just did so in private. Keeping the symbiotic relationship smooth on the public surface. Washington, D.C., had liaisons and scientists, but since vampires hadn’t infiltrated en masse anywhere but the northern states—with their low populations and lower votes—the federal government didn’t put many resources into regulating them. Chile had suffered through harsh military rule in the seventies and an economic collapse thereafter. Master Bronson had been here then and had profited from Pinochet’s regime. When the government rebuilt and reformed itself, he and his kind were allowed to stay on the condition that they met with congress often, as if they were on some endless probationary period. There were other conditions as well.
Bronson didn’t get majority ownership of the mines he discovered or expanded, and had to follow the human guidelines for punishments related to infractions involving humans. If the government found out about them. Malcolm was dealing with Vega, and most likely the vampires took care of things quietly unless the crimes became public, like the girls who’d been attacked. I’d seen just enough of the news to know that I didn’t want to hear about another attack like that.
I pulled my clothes on, thinking back to Jace’s comment about more bodies. Maybe she hadn’t just been trying to scare me. “Has it? Gone all to hell?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed with proper effort,” he said through gritted teeth. I had a feeling those were words he’d been told.
“Did you hear about the other dead feeders?” I asked, worming into my tank top. “Or, I guess they might not have been feeders, but they were found in a hive. That wasn’t part of the ripple, was it?” I surfaced from the shirt to find him staring at me, gold smoke rolling through his eyes. “One of the other shops said they’d walked in on a couple of dead people.”
“It wasn’t the same, no. Have you had unusual deliveries to the hives recently? Very large packages, or not so large, but perishable?”
I chewed on my lip, staring at the ceiling as I thought. If I had, I couldn’t come right out and tell him things I’d seen while on the job. But it was a nonissue anyway. “How do you define large? I haven’t seen anything bigger than a shoe box. And what’s perishable? Is somebody running a meals-on-wheels service for the undead?”
“Don’t laugh,” he said, the light receding from his eyes. “That concept was tried once. Everything tasted like duck blood.”
I threw a hand up. “You don’t know what duck blood tastes like.”
He stared levelly back. “Hints of webbed foot.”
“Agh!”
Shallow lines crinkled around his eyes and I couldn’t help but move toward him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned against him.
“If you see something odd, will you tell me?” There was something to the way he asked, something off in the cadence or intonation, like he’d wanted to add a dose of influence to his request. He stroked my back, his fingers tripping down my spine.
“What are you expecting?” I hedged. I didn’t want to snitch for anybody, not even him, and especially not him in that role.
A familiar feeling streamed across the base of my brain. Fear. Fear that our relationship was too complicated, too difficult. It would be easy to cut and run now, before one of us screwed up majorly, or he forgot himself. My gaze rose to his mouth, the flash of teeth as he spoke. He fought—I’d felt the strain in his body—against his desire to bite me. And if he could do that, I could try to make things work. Odd how the person I felt easiest with right now was the most different from me.
“It’s the strangest thing,” he said, squeezing my arms. “You’re right here. I can feel you, but it’s like you’ve checked
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