Blood in Her Veins by Hunter Faith

Author:Hunter, Faith [Hunter, Faith]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-01-19T08:00:00+00:00

Note from Faith: I hope you liked Beneath a Bloody Moon. I fell in love with the gulf years ago, and have wondered for years about the canals. For research on this subject, I talked with John Jensen, and was given privy to some of his groundbreaking research on the area. If you are interested, search for Earth Epochs.

Black Water

Author’s note: This novella takes place (in the JY timeline) after Blood Trade and before Black Arts.

I took the long, bumpy roads south of New Orleans to the backwaters of Louisiana, in Terrebonne Parish. I had been there recently with my business partners in Yellowrock Securities, Eli and Alex Younger. With us had been PsyLED special agent Rick LaFleur and his supernat team, Brute and Pea. We had been hired to track and kill a werewolf pack, which we had done. We left the place better off than when we found it.

Or so I’d thought.

Until I’d received a text from Harold, who owned the Sandlapper Guesthouse with his wife, Clara. We’d stayed with them partly because Harold was the uncle of my sorta-boyfriend, Rick. Harold’s text was to the point: Man w gun looking for you. Come quick. On the heels of the text had been the news coming from Chauvin, Louisiana, today—video of cops at a crime scene, near the Sandlapper.

The press hadn’t said much except that a rampage had occurred in Chauvin and news vans were on the way with more to follow soon in this “breaking news report.” Harold didn’t respond to my texts back. And Rick hadn’t replied to my texts asking for details. Harold and Clara were part of Rick’s extended family. He would know what had happened. And he wasn’t saying.

So here I was, riding Bitsa (built with bitsa this and bitsa that, from two rotted, rusted Harley bikes) down the horrible Louisiana roads and into danger—a man with a gun looking for me. Lately my enemies all had fangs, and most weres and vamps didn’t use guns. Humans used guns. I had no idea what human I had ticked off in Chauvin, but I was gifted that way—ticking off people. I had cleaned house, and someone wasn’t happy about it.

• • •

I pulled into the parking lot of the Sandlapper Guesthouse, on 56, south of Chauvin, and wheeled between sheriff deputy cars, a CSI van, and video news vans. The deputies looked relaxed and at ease, so they had been there awhile and had everything under control, but the news teams were still active. Crap. I was gonna get filmed, appear on TV news, and then I’d have to explain to my business partners why I’d come back here, alone, without the team. They needed time off. They were human; I wasn’t. And the last job, here in Chauvin, had been draining. But that argument wasn’t going to fly, and I knew it. I’d deal with that later. For now, I needed to get to Harold and Clara.

I cut off Bitsa, set the kick,

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