local enforcement tended to believe there was a big-ass marijuana grow happening when there was an order of that size. Lark’s generator lit up the growing dark. Problem was, the generator couldn’t cover the entire farm in light. The damn vamps would slip right through the dark spots where the light didn’t reach—and it would only take one vamp to find and kill the generator.
The skin hunters were vamps, six-foot-plus males with trademark pale skin, white hair and the black eyes. Preternaturally fast, the hunters could clear a twelve-foot jump without breaking a sweat, but photosensitivity would fry their asses almost as soon as the sun crept over the horizon. The vamps couldn’t tolerate any light, artificial or natural.
Rafer kept one eye on the yard while he unloaded an arsenal of flashlights and knives on Lark’s kitchen table.
She watched him carefully. “The generator kicked on. You know why we’ve lost power?”
She sensed something, all right.
Talking quickly, because time was up for them, he gave her the 4-1-1 on the skin hunters and their photosensitivity. When he figured she understood exactly who had killed her power and why, he wrapped her fingers around a flashlight. “You do what I tell you. Whatever the Pack says, you do it.”
She didn’t like orders, he got that, but this was her life on the line, so he’d make damned sure she did what she needed to. He wasn’t losing her tonight.
She looked at him. Nodded. “Got it. You want to tell me why?”
He’d tried, but she hadn’t wanted to believe him. Not the first time.
So he said it again, because she was still human and his world was new to her. “We’re surrounded by vamps. As soon as that sun is down, they’re goin’ to storm the place.”
She shook her head. “I’ll hold on to my farm as long as I can. I’m sure as hell not letting a bunch of vamps take it from me.”
His wolf approved wholeheartedly of her protective attitude. This was her den, her lair. The vamps had no business dragging her into one of their hunts.
“Are they…” she waved a hand, “…bloodsuckers? Like in the movies?”
Human imaginations never failed to amaze him. “Sure.” Although more like predatory carnivores. When a vamp got his hands and teeth on fresh meat, he tore said meat to shreds. Nothing left but a bleeding pulp, but his mate didn’t need that visual. “You don’t let them close. They move fast, faster than you’re used to, and they can jump. Vamp will clear the yard in one, maybe two leaps, and then he’ll be up here on your front porch and there won’t be anythin’ between the two of you.” He wasn’t letting that happen, none of the Pack would, but it wouldn’t hurt her to be prepared.
“Why do they want the skins?” Her fingers wrapped around the flashlight he’d armed her with. With her other hand she palmed a gun and set it close beside her on the table. Unfortunately, the only way to kill the bastards was the old-fashioned way. Stake them right through the heart. Bullets were no more than a tickle.
“Skins let them walk in the daylight.” When she looked at him in a silent demand for more words, he gave her what he could. The vamps were a perversion that defied description. “They can’t take the light otherwise.”
“So, they wear the skins like a jacket?”
“Literally.” His hands smoothed the air, miming a body. “They cover themselves, every inch they can, in wolven skin. Jacket, pants, shirt—whatever. The more skin a vamp wears, the better he hunts in the daylight.”
“They want to make a coat out of you?” She gaped at him.
“Yeah, but it’s not happening,” he promised her, palming a pair of blades. “All I need is for you to keep safe inside, okay? You let me and mine do our thing outside, and you stay put here.”
She leaned into him, rubbing his shoulder with her cheek. “I can do that.”
He left her inside and went out where the Pack was moving into position. This drill
The skin hunters were vamps, six-foot-plus males with trademark pale skin, white hair and the black eyes. Preternaturally fast, the hunters could clear a twelve-foot jump without breaking a sweat, but photosensitivity would fry their asses almost as soon as the sun crept over the horizon. The vamps couldn’t tolerate any light, artificial or natural.
Rafer kept one eye on the yard while he unloaded an arsenal of flashlights and knives on Lark’s kitchen table.
She watched him carefully. “The generator kicked on. You know why we’ve lost power?”
She sensed something, all right.
Talking quickly, because time was up for them, he gave her the 4-1-1 on the skin hunters and their photosensitivity. When he figured she understood exactly who had killed her power and why, he wrapped her fingers around a flashlight. “You do what I tell you. Whatever the Pack says, you do it.”
She didn’t like orders, he got that, but this was her life on the line, so he’d make damned sure she did what she needed to. He wasn’t losing her tonight.
She looked at him. Nodded. “Got it. You want to tell me why?”
He’d tried, but she hadn’t wanted to believe him. Not the first time.
So he said it again, because she was still human and his world was new to her. “We’re surrounded by vamps. As soon as that sun is down, they’re goin’ to storm the place.”
She shook her head. “I’ll hold on to my farm as long as I can. I’m sure as hell not letting a bunch of vamps take it from me.”
His wolf approved wholeheartedly of her protective attitude. This was her den, her lair. The vamps had no business dragging her into one of their hunts.
“Are they…” she waved a hand, “…bloodsuckers? Like in the movies?”
Human imaginations never failed to amaze him. “Sure.” Although more like predatory carnivores. When a vamp got his hands and teeth on fresh meat, he tore said meat to shreds. Nothing left but a bleeding pulp, but his mate didn’t need that visual. “You don’t let them close. They move fast, faster than you’re used to, and they can jump. Vamp will clear the yard in one, maybe two leaps, and then he’ll be up here on your front porch and there won’t be anythin’ between the two of you.” He wasn’t letting that happen, none of the Pack would, but it wouldn’t hurt her to be prepared.
“Why do they want the skins?” Her fingers wrapped around the flashlight he’d armed her with. With her other hand she palmed a gun and set it close beside her on the table. Unfortunately, the only way to kill the bastards was the old-fashioned way. Stake them right through the heart. Bullets were no more than a tickle.
“Skins let them walk in the daylight.” When she looked at him in a silent demand for more words, he gave her what he could. The vamps were a perversion that defied description. “They can’t take the light otherwise.”
“So, they wear the skins like a jacket?”
“Literally.” His hands smoothed the air, miming a body. “They cover themselves, every inch they can, in wolven skin. Jacket, pants, shirt—whatever. The more skin a vamp wears, the better he hunts in the daylight.”
“They want to make a coat out of you?” She gaped at him.
“Yeah, but it’s not happening,” he promised her, palming a pair of blades. “All I need is for you to keep safe inside, okay? You let me and mine do our thing outside, and you stay put here.”
She leaned into him, rubbing his shoulder with her cheek. “I can do that.”
He left her inside and went out where the Pack was moving into position. This drill
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