The High School Reunion From Hell - Saranna DeWylde Page 0,6

a hammer.

Fuck it. I took a long, deep drink and it singed all the way down, inducing a rather lovely, warm glow that would last all of five seconds. But it was a five-second reprieve I so desperately needed.

“What’s up, Cornflake?” Which was a whole lot nicer than saying, “What’s up, Cornhole?” I mean, I was trying, right?

“Did you hear about the murder?” she said in a faux gossipy whisper.

Which murder? My murder? No, only the bastard who’d sent that guy after Marc could possibly know about that.

I took another swig. “What?”

She gave an extra dramatic sigh. “Murder. By vampires. You know, your specialty.”

Lila Jean crammed a pastry into my hand. It was a raspberry creme croissant and for a moment, it reminded me of earlier activity. Good thing I didn’t have a squeamish stomach. I stuffed it into my mouth with glee.

Yeah, tequila and croissants. Breakfast of champions.

“I swear to gawd, it’s like you’re not even paying attention,” Presley wailed.

At that, Vlad lifted his head up and looked around, his attention focusing on Presley. “Bruff?” He barked softly, sounding almost like a person pretending to be a dog.

“Oh no,” Presley whispered.

I knew she was having flashbacks to that time he cornered her at our BBQ last summer and had his way with her white quilted Chanel bag. Which hadn’t been so white after he’d finished with it. But fuck, it was just a purse.

I grit my teeth.“Lower your voice.”

“Control your animal.”

My fingers tightened on my water bottle. Animal? Oh no, she didn’t—

“Here!” Lila Jean, obviously sensing an imminent explosion shoved another pastry in my mouth. The whole thing. Just crammed it right inside with both fingers.

Good thing I loved her—and chocolate.

Focusing on the sugar, I shut the French doors before Vlad could join us. He’d break a lot of things, but even my dog knew better than to fuck with my antique doors.

My bestie shot a look at the neighborhood’s bedazzled pestilence. “Hey, Presley. You’re a guest in his house. If you don’t like it, you can go home.”

“Yeah,” I added, with my mouth full. “Go home.”

“You know very well that I can’t.” In a move worthy of the soaps she lived on, she tossed her hair and pressed a hand to her chest. “They found a dead body in the park.”

My head snapped up. “Which park?”

“Hawthorne Park. The sheriff thinks it’s vampires.”

I rolled my eyes and chewed some more, swallowing half of the pastry ball in my mouth so I had enough room to speak. “The sheriff thinks everything is vampires.” He’d been a pain in my ass since I was sixteen years old.

“He didn’t manifest this!” Presley shoved her phone under my nose.

I blinked and had to step back to see the screen clearly. I should have gotten out my readers, but I just couldn’t suffer the indignity. Yeah, I could see in the dark like an apex predator but I needed readers for a stupid cell phone screen? No, thanks.

Not that squinting at the phone screen was much better. I skimmed the text. The story was mostly unremarkable except for two things.

One, it was a murder in a small town neighborhood park. Leavenworthwasn’t like in the big cities where as soon as the sun went down, the parks became places for all manner of sketch shit. In our small town, kids snuck out and drank beers on the slides and had their first kisses in these parks. They even camped out there in the summers.

And two, the body had been drained of blood. Entirely. And there was a tattoo, or maybe a brand, on the wrist that looked like the sigil for the Leo astrological sign. It matched the design of the signet ring Vlad had unfortunately eaten just this morning.

Not good. My stomach grappled with the pastries in my stomach.

“So, of course,” Presley continued, and I realized she’d been talking the whole time I was looking at the phone. “The sheriff said I should tell you to stay out of it since you’re no longer bonded by the slayer council. But I told the neighborhood watch that when Billy Ray Meekers can hit a vamp so hard his fangs fall out, then he can tell you what to do with yourself. Seriously. As if I’d trust our safety to him. He’s at The Little Bar every night until he’s drunker than a skunk.” She huffed. “Won’t let him tell me what to do to protect my family.”

At least someone thought I was still useful as