Page 38 of The Wayward Sons & The Vampires of Fortune (The Wayward Sons #4)

T he wait was torture. Sam suggested that we rest—all of us—before the vampires came, but no one did. No, we all paced and moved around the hangar door, watching and waiting. Waiting for the inevitable arrival of vampires.

For us to fight.

For us to get our asses kicked.

It was up in the air what the hell was going to happen.

That single fact was terrifying, but the thought of freedom was enticing. Or at least as close to freedom as I could get while my father was alive.

Gray distracted himself by chain-smoking and judging Sam’s hunting gear. When I’d first told him about the costumes, he hadn’t believed me. Not that I blamed him. It sounded crazy when I said it out loud.

But when Andrea and Sam walked right back out in the same gear all over again, he lost it. Full on laughing his ass off, his joy and humor bleeding down to my very core. I soaked it up while I could. Before things got bad all over again.

About the time Gray asked Sam if his suit would protect him from being stabbed and if he’d let Gray do so, Sam stopped entertaining him. It was for the best. Gray would absolutely stab Sam if he could to satiate his curiosity.

After that, Gray latched onto figuring out the relationship dynamic between the four of them.

He had a field day realizing Andrea had dated all three of them.

When he realized that Andrea, Nash, and Cole were a married thruple, he immediately went in with all the relationship questions—some of which were probably toeing the line of inappropriate.

To everyone’s surprise, Andrea entertained all his questions.

That conversation led to Gray offering up ideas of how she could piss off their bigoted neighbors.

Nearing midnight, Winston tensed and growled, his hackles raising. The lovable beast of a dog vanished as he stalked the open entryway, tail tucked and fur ruffled.

“Right on time,” Andrea murmured. Glancing at Gray, she asked, “Can you feel them?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“They’re about a mile down the road from the gate,” she told us.

“Your range is fuckin’ impressive, darlin’,” Gray commented, sounding genuinely impressed.

Hell, it surprised me. Gray’s range with his power wasn’t horrible, but it was restricted to the more immediate area.

Considering the sheer size of the private airport, the fact that she could manipulate and feel the air a mile down from the gate was impressive.

We all fell silent. The tension of the situation wracked its way through my muscles as every single one of them felt it. Gray’s hand touched my forearm, and he gave me a small squeeze.

“It’ll be all right,” he told me softly. “Just a lil’ longer, and it’ll be you and me on a tropical island with not a fuckin’ care in the world.”

“I know,” I said. I didn’t believe it—not fully. There was still some deep part of me that wasn’t trusting enough to believe that Sam and the others had the foolproof plan they claimed they did. I’d said the words to Gray, but the longer I thought about it, the more I struggled with it.

“Tell me again why we don’t have costumes?” Gray asked. I recognized his attempt to distract me and appreciated it.

“Because there’s no way in hell that you’d get me in one of those,” I retorted. That was the God’s honest truth. I was good without the skin-tight gear and comic book masks.

“I want one.”

“Of course, you do.” No surprise there.

“Quiet now,” Nash snapped. “We ain’t got time for that shit.”

Even as he said the last words, the silent alarm triggered, the bright red warning light flashing over our heads.

We weren’t alone.