Thrown to the Wolves by Hailey Edwards

Author:Hailey Edwards [Edwards, Hailey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

After a restless few hours of failed attempts at sleep, the sun went down, and I dialed up Dad. He answered with a groan that told me I must have woken him. He was usually an up-at-dusk kind of guy, so his muzziness put me on alert.

“Everything okay?” I led with instead of hello.

“Stayed up drinking with the friend I mentioned. Feels like someone struck my head with a hammer.”

Dad was old school. Vein only. Bagged blood need not apply. Usually Mom sustained him, but when her job took her out of town, he visited DeLuca’s, a blood bar. Same for when he entertained fangy friends. Basically, vamps picked donors off the menu and sipped their meal—wrist only—at a table in a mockery of the human dining experience.

That right there was enough for me to swear off vamps and their derivatives. I couldn’t deal with my significant other getting toothy with another woman. Or man.

“No.” He snorted at the very idea. “We spend a few hours at DeLuca’s, sampling one of his newest concoctions.”

The only way to get a vamp drunk was for them to dine on inebriated humans. Though I suppose there was just as much variety in how you got them tipsy as in any of the other myriad ways Presley DeLuca kept her clients happy.

“Uh-huh.” I bet that had thrilled Mom. I made a mental note to call her and plead Dad’s case since he had been helping me out with research. “So, what did this old drinking buddy of yours have to say?”

“He mentioned an ancient from the region who went missing a hundred and fifty years ago, give or take a decade. According to lore, a plague wiped out his household, and they took the knowledge of his resting site to their graves.”

Interest piqued, I fumbled for the cheap notepad the hotel provided. “Does he have a name?”

“Captain Fenton Rawlins.” Sounding pleased with his grasp of modern lingo, he added, “You can Google him.”

“I’ll do that,” I promised, ending the call with a tried-and-true hangover recipe.

A quick Internet search provided me with the basics on Captain Rawlins. He had been a rather infamous pirate, born right here on St. Kitts. That set an electric tingle under my skin. This was it. It had to be. Many of the old vamps returned home to sleep. A pity, I had always thought, considering how much it must have changed from the time of their birth, and how much more it would be altered again by the time they rose. Still, I suppose there was comfort in that, even when modern times stripped away the familiar.

With that done, I dialed up Jones. “Hey, I’ve got a bead on our guy. Let me read you what I’ve got, and you tell me if you think it’s plausible.”

I read off my notes and a few choice passages from Wiki corroborated by other sources.

“It fits.” He yawned, making me feel guilty for rousing my second guy in as many phone calls.

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