Dark Wine at Dusk (A Hill Vampire Novel Book 3) by Jenna Barwin

Author:Jenna Barwin [Barwin, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hidden Depths Publishing
Published: 2019-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

New Path Church, San Diego—twenty minutes later

Cerissa took a seat in the church’s back pew. Zeke removed his black cowboy hat and motioned with it for her to scoot over, to make room for him to sit. She frowned angrily at him.

Why didn’t I rip the key fob out of his hand?

He had stood there in the hotel lobby, dangling it from his finger, refusing to relinquish the car key, leaving her with no choice but to take him along.

She was getting tired of bossy vampires. The way he’d blindsided her in the lobby ground at her. Had Henry seen them together? Probably. She had sensed anger and jealousy through their connection.

Well, she’d deal with that when she returned to the hotel. Right now, completing her mission mattered the most. She couldn’t abandon her plan—too much was at risk, and her guilt over her past delay wouldn’t let her.

Zeke waved his hat in a “shoo” motion again. She slid over to let him in and scanned the room, pointedly ignoring him.

The church was a humble rectangle with an open-beamed pitched ceiling. Dark walnut pews in two sections filled the room but were half-empty. Raised choir stands sat behind a matching pulpit.

Her lenses confirmed which parishioners were vampires by measuring their lower body temperatures and pulse rates. The few mortals sprinkled through the audience sat close to a vampire—probably their mates.

Above the entry door at the back, someone had covered the word “Methodist” with white paint, but a ghost image bled through and rust marks stained the ceiling. The roof had seen better days.

Based on the sign out front, multiple congregations, along with New Path, now shared the old building. The shabbiness jarred with Cerissa’s mental picture of the VDM. Whoever was behind the movement had a lot of money—enough to pay assassin fees. Nothing about the run-down house of worship made her think its inhabitants were wealthy, let alone that vampires determined to dominate the world ran the church.

She read the half-page program. Entitled A New Path for You, Reverend Jim Jones, Guest Speaker, it repeated the message from the lobby flyer.

A tall, lanky man—a vampire—strolled to the pulpit, wearing a crimson vestment robe. His light red hair was trimmed short and his freckles stood out on his pale white skin. He adjusted the microphone. The holder made an amplified squeak.

“Howdy, y’all, I’m Jim Jones.”

He looked like England’s Prince Harry, except Reverend Jones had a handlebar mustache and a distinct Texas drawl, stretching out each syllable as he spoke. Her lenses didn’t identify him—his dossier must not be in her database.

He turned to a cluster of vampires in the audience. “Paul, it’s great to see your group here tonight. Everything goin’ well out in your territory?”

“Good for now, reverend. But we’re having trouble getting fresh supplies. The local council won’t let us hunt, or even graze.”

“I understand, my friends.” Jones looked to another section. “And how about you folks?”

There were nods in the audience. “Same story, reverend.”

“That’s just pitiful. I’ve heard the same thing across this great country of ours.

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