Dying Bites: The Bloodhound Files by DD Barant

Author:DD Barant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Criminal profilers, Vampires, Serial murders, Mystery & Detective, Fantasy fiction, Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, Werewolves, Fantasy, Suspense, Women Sleuths, Occult fiction, Serial murder investigation, General
ISBN: 9780312942588
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2009-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

He laughs. “Not a big people person, huh? Well, there are other alternatives—the main thing is to put down some roots, some links to the world around you. You can even take that literally by planting a garden—”

“My thumb is so far from green it’s not even a color. If it and something actually green came into physical contact, there would be an explosion.”

He laughs again. It’s a nice sound, one I haven’t heard often enough lately. “Okay, I get the point. I’m going to suggest something. It’s a little radical—even dangerous—but it might be just what you need.” Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“Bring it on.”

“How’d you like to meet my family?”

I blink. “What?”

“You need some localized, earthy experience—and there’s nothing more earthy than my family. Of course, if that prospect scares you—”

“Cut out the cheap psychology, Doc—remember what I do for a living. Anyway, your family couldn’t be any scarier than mine, and that includes factoring in the whole were thing. My aunt Cynthia alone would probably send half your relatives howling for the hills.”

“All right, then. I’m going over there tomorrow afternoon for lunch—I’ll tell them I’m bringing someone along.”

“This isn’t about shocking your parents, is it? Bringing home a human?”

“Oh, it takes more than that to shock my parents. You’ll see.” He hangs up, leaving me to wonder just what I’ve got myself into now.

EIGHT

Dr. Pete picks me up at eleven in a white minivan. It occurs to me that I don’t even know if he’s married; thropes don’t wear rings, for obvious reasons. I take a quick look in the back as I’m getting in, and notice a definite absence of toys, fast-food wrappers, and car seats. Not definitive, but indicative.

“Morning,” Dr. Pete says. He’s dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, and loafers. I’m wearing an oversize blue sweatshirt, track pants, and sneakers; on my days off I like to go for comfort over style.

“Morning. Where are we headed?”

“The depths of suburbia,” he says with a grin. “Bellevue, to be exact.”

“Where I come from, that’s not only a suburb but the name of a famous mental hospital.”

“From what I understand of the term,” he says as he pulls into traffic, “that’s a pretty fair description of what you’re about to experience.”

He fills me in as we drive. I can’t really keep track of all the aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews, but I try to remember the major players. The sheer size of his family answers the age-old question of what you get when you cross a Catholic with a werewolf: a small country.

He also gives me the rundown on the difference between a thrope’s family and his pack, which is not Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

always the same thing. You’re born into your family, which is also your pack until you come of age. Then you can choose to join another pack—based on profession or lifestyle, usually—or can marry into one. If you don’t want to choose right away, you can be an independent until you make up your mind.

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