Page 14

The twink didn’t notice the silent death threats Danny was sending his way. He was happily oblivious to everything but me. The kid was way, way too young—barely out of high school, fromthe looks of him—and he was clad head-to-toe in shiny black leather. Not even remotely my type. He did, however, manage to materialize seemingly out of nowhere in order to start gyrating on me. A bold move, considering this wasn’t even technically that type of bar, and we were in Ontario, right on the border between eastern Oregon and Idaho, which wasn’t exactly a gay mecca. His gaydar must have been the stuff of legends.

Good for him.

I danced with him, though.

Of course I danced with him. I would’ve danced with him if he’d been just about anyone. He was mycover.With him pressed up against me all suggestively and shit, I looked like I belonged there. Anyone watching might imagine that I was planning on taking the guy home later. Or that we’d come here together. Plus, even if no vamps zeroed in on me, they’d probably ping off him. After all, he was young, attractive, and filled with lots of yummy vitality.

But I wasn’t flirting with the guy, and I wasn’t trying to make Danny jealous, either. That would have been just plain dumb. Jealous of what, exactly? Despite the weirdly emotional hug he’d given me earlier—after my equally bizarre and out-of-character display of emotion—there was nothing sexual or romantic or whatever to be jealousof.Danny and I were friends, and nothing more.

Right.

Except for last night, when he’d gotten shit faced, yet again, and tried to make a pass at me.Again.Not exactly normal buddy behavior. Whatever Danny was feeling was dangerous for both of us. And no, we hadn’t really talked about last night. Because what was there to say?

Even if Danny swung my way, even if I could deal with the idea of ruining our friendship and losing the one thing that hadkept me sane for years, our lives didn’t exactly lend themselves to romance, did they?

Giving your heart to someone meant having that same heart ripped out if and when something happened to them. Exceedingly likely in our line of work. And I already knew that, if push came to shove, I might not always be strong enough to save the ones I loved. Which meant I wouldn’t let myself love him.

Full stop. End of story.

And anyway, what right did Danny have to be jealous now?

And what right did I have to feel so goddamn weird about it? I sure as hell wasn’t doing anything wrong now, was I? After all, this was exactly what we’d come here to do, wasn’t it?

This was literally Danny’s whole plan.

I was supposed to dance, pretend to have a good and entirely carefree time, launch myself right into the thick of the drunken, sweaty action, and hopefully get myself noticed by someone with a pair of fangs and an appetite for blood and murder. Then, eventually, I’d head out into the alleyway behind the club, like I was planning to make a call or light up a cigarette, and then we’d see who—or what—followed after me.

Simple. Easy. And all very standard in situations like this.

It was very much part of the monster hunter playbook: act like one of the oblivious everyday folks all around me, who had no idea that the monsters under their bed were real, right up until the last second. Then whatever followed me would swiftly learn a very hard lesson that I was the predator rather than the prey.

Anyway, after about twenty minutes of having this guy grinding up against me in ways that were so suggestive they were probably technically illegal in most jurisdictions, I glanced over to Danny’s table on the edge of the dance floor for help in scraping the guy off me. Or at least to see if he’d maybe spotted avampire or three, so I’d be able to excuse myself and get on with the actual agenda for the evening.

But then I froze.

The table was empty. Danny’s drink was abandoned, and he was gone.

Shit.

Shit shitshit.

Okay, this was bad. Really, really bad.

I leaned in close to the twink. “I need to go. Sorry bud. You’re a great dancer, though.”

The guy had confidence for days. He just grinned back at me, totally unfazed. “Believe me, it’s your loss.”

“It probably is,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

Then I turned and waded through the throng of people.

Where would he have gone?

Bathroom?

No. We’d entered the building five minutes apart and the first thing we always do is to take care of that sort of business if there’s even a remote chance that it’ll become a necessity later on. We don’t do bathroom breaks once the stakeout starts. Not unless we coordinate them, which looks mighty suspicious to anyone paying us any mind at all. But when you’re hunting the supernatural with someone else, you don’t ever lose line of sight on your partner unless you really have no other choice.

Maybe he hadn’t lost line of sight at all. Maybe he went to get another drink, and was watching me from the bar?