Demon Night by Meljean Brook Page B

Drifter—Vladimir and Katya never had to deal with everyone wanting to know what you Guardians are planning to do, what you are, what all of us are. And then comes that fancy vampire up from San Francisco, talking about changing the way things are done, telling us we should align ourselves with you Guardians—though you’ve never given me anything but shit.”
    Ethan didn’t figure Manny had earned anything but shit. “Maybe you ought to talk to that fancy vampire.”
    â€œVladimir and Katya did. No one got anywhere, except they got dead. So I don’t think I’ll be rushing into that, Drifter.” Manny looked away from him. “Was that fancy boy the same one that girl was talking about?”
    Ethan stiffened. “What girl?”
    Manny grinned. “I thought I could hear you coming, so I went on over to take a look. Fine bit of ass there. You should get a piece of that.”
    Manny’s grin slowly faded under Ethan’s stare.
    Ethan didn’t disguise the menace in his voice. “You get back on your side of town right quick.”
    He didn’t wait for Manny to slink away, but Manny was fast enough that Ethan had just turned from him when the squeal of tires split the night.
    Halfway back to Cole’s, Ethan caught the presence of another vampire. And another. They were mostly shielded—he couldn’t get a strong fix on their location.
    He’d have to wait for them to come for Charlie. Going out and hunting them would only leave her vulnerable to any he hadn’t sensed.
    And he’d gone off half-cocked once in his life, hunting down men who’d transgressed against those Ethan considered his. But although Ethan had handed some of them what they’d deserved, he wasn’t certain it had been worth it in the end, and he’d lost more than his life.
    Now he knew that Caleb had lost, too.
    Hell and damnation, he could have done without reading that newsletter. Over a hundred and twenty years had passed since that hellish week in an Eden jail cell; he’d known his brother couldn’t have been alive. His grief had settled down—but discovering Caleb hadn’t made it out west was still tearing at his gut.
    But Ethan would be damned if his brother’s death meant his sacrifice was nothing, if it meant the demon had won.
    Caleb had always claimed there were two things worth living for: good drink and a pretty woman. Ethan figured he could have one for his brother, and keep on protecting the other.
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    â€œSo they must have used a crowbar on that gate, huh?”
    Charlie nodded without glancing up. She didn’t need to see Vin to know he’d be leaning against the bar, the cork-bottomed drink tray balanced on his splayed hand. That stance had accompanied every question he’d tossed her way that evening.
    â€œYeah, must have,” she agreed. And she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “What do you need?”
    â€œG&T and a Riesling. Table ten—take a guess.”
    Charlie glanced over his shoulder. Table ten was in the restaurant, but she had a clear view through the lounge’s entryway. Two men faced each other across the red vinyl booth. Both well fed and groomed. One sported silvering auburn hair, the other lighter with just a touch of red—a father and son, maybe. Surrounded by Cole’s rock-and-roll memorabilia, with the Stones trolling about a little yellow pill, their conservative suits, spit-shiny shoes, and dark overcoats looked wildly out of place.
    She guessed, “The gin and tonic for the uptight blond.” And he apparently needed it. The younger sat with his feet placed firmly together, his back rigid.
    Vin shook his head, his choppy blue bangs brushing his eyebrows, the diamond studs in his ears winking. “That’s zero for three tonight, Char. Junior wanted the wine—and your number.”
    Charlie sighed and returned the Riesling bottle to the small