Things That Go Bump in the Night IV by Ashleigh Raine, J. C. Wilder, Lorie O'Clare Page B
Tags: Anthologies
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with Mikhail and his unprecedented challenge for control of the Council, anything could happen. The vampire was determined to bring down the Council no matter how many lives he destroyed in the process. For each day that passed, the body count increased and nerves grew more frayed.
Rik seriously doubted that when the Council made a move to pursue Mikhail and his followers that everyone else would fall into line. While most preternaturals supported the Council, a surprising number had adopted a wait-and-see attitude about the whole situation.
He didn’t understand the apathy they displayed because the situation was clear to him. If Mikhail succeeded in taking control of the Council, there would only be chaos and the destruction of hundreds of lives. At least while under the control of the Council, the preternaturals could live safer, more ordinary lives. They were governed by a distinct set of laws and everyone was treated the same in the eyes of the Council.
To him the situation was a no-brainer. On one hand was anarchy and on the other was peace. Many of the Shadow Dwellers were too young to remember what life was like before the Council—himself included. He’d heard stories from the Elders of the constant power struggles and the everyday fight for survival. That was no way to live and he would do everything in his power to avoid such a bleak future for his people.
From behind his black Ray-Ban sunglasses, Rik scanned the sea of faces, always on the lookout for trouble. There were a select few who wished him ill or dead, whichever came first.
Old habits died hard.
It was an unseasonably warm Halloween and the majority of the costumed throng had been drinking heavily. A poor imitation of a vampire ran into him and Rik barely 67
J.C. Wilder
managed to conceal a snarl as he was forced to sidestep a large gorilla throwing up in the gutter.
Tourists.
The wide windows of the Chat were a welcome sight and he spotted his ex-boss, Trey, seated in the far corner of the restaurant with his back to the wall. The tall were-cat was leaning back, his chair balanced on two legs. He wore black sunglasses and Rik had no doubt he was aware of everything and everyone around him.
That was Trey; always ready for action.
Rik entered the Chat and waved at Tom, the bartender, before heading toward his friend’s table. The restaurant was nearly full with the exception of the tables nearest Trey, but that was no surprise. One look at the Welsh warrior was enough to persuade any mortal to give him a wide berth.
At six foot six, he was all legs, long black hair and attitude. With his sunglasses, a silver ring through his left nostril and a matching one through his left eyebrow, he was an intimidating presence even when sitting in a lighted restaurant drinking steaming hot café au lait . Then again, his dark purple leather coat and black leather pants with more buckles and straps than a bondage store would put anyone on edge.
Few realized that Trey was an Elder, a preternatural of unnatural age. It was this extreme age that gave him an aura which made most a little skittish. The very air around the man was charged with his energy and anyone standing close would feel the hair on the back of the neck stand on end. Rik had grown so used to the sensation he barely noticed it anymore.
“You’re late,” Trey said.
“You’re ugly but you don’t see me calling the media.” Rik grabbed the chair next to his friend then sat down with his back to the wall. He deliberately jarred the other man with his elbow forcing him to sit up. The front legs hit the floor with a thud.
“You can’t sit across from me?” Trey muttered. He shifted his chair to the right a few inches.
“Not unless you want me to leave myself open,” Rik shot back. “Do you want someone to stick a knife between my ribs?”
Trey’s lips quirked. “It has occurred to me a time or two.”
“I’ll just bet it has.” Rik pulled his sunglasses off and dropped them
Rik seriously doubted that when the Council made a move to pursue Mikhail and his followers that everyone else would fall into line. While most preternaturals supported the Council, a surprising number had adopted a wait-and-see attitude about the whole situation.
He didn’t understand the apathy they displayed because the situation was clear to him. If Mikhail succeeded in taking control of the Council, there would only be chaos and the destruction of hundreds of lives. At least while under the control of the Council, the preternaturals could live safer, more ordinary lives. They were governed by a distinct set of laws and everyone was treated the same in the eyes of the Council.
To him the situation was a no-brainer. On one hand was anarchy and on the other was peace. Many of the Shadow Dwellers were too young to remember what life was like before the Council—himself included. He’d heard stories from the Elders of the constant power struggles and the everyday fight for survival. That was no way to live and he would do everything in his power to avoid such a bleak future for his people.
From behind his black Ray-Ban sunglasses, Rik scanned the sea of faces, always on the lookout for trouble. There were a select few who wished him ill or dead, whichever came first.
Old habits died hard.
It was an unseasonably warm Halloween and the majority of the costumed throng had been drinking heavily. A poor imitation of a vampire ran into him and Rik barely 67
J.C. Wilder
managed to conceal a snarl as he was forced to sidestep a large gorilla throwing up in the gutter.
Tourists.
The wide windows of the Chat were a welcome sight and he spotted his ex-boss, Trey, seated in the far corner of the restaurant with his back to the wall. The tall were-cat was leaning back, his chair balanced on two legs. He wore black sunglasses and Rik had no doubt he was aware of everything and everyone around him.
That was Trey; always ready for action.
Rik entered the Chat and waved at Tom, the bartender, before heading toward his friend’s table. The restaurant was nearly full with the exception of the tables nearest Trey, but that was no surprise. One look at the Welsh warrior was enough to persuade any mortal to give him a wide berth.
At six foot six, he was all legs, long black hair and attitude. With his sunglasses, a silver ring through his left nostril and a matching one through his left eyebrow, he was an intimidating presence even when sitting in a lighted restaurant drinking steaming hot café au lait . Then again, his dark purple leather coat and black leather pants with more buckles and straps than a bondage store would put anyone on edge.
Few realized that Trey was an Elder, a preternatural of unnatural age. It was this extreme age that gave him an aura which made most a little skittish. The very air around the man was charged with his energy and anyone standing close would feel the hair on the back of the neck stand on end. Rik had grown so used to the sensation he barely noticed it anymore.
“You’re late,” Trey said.
“You’re ugly but you don’t see me calling the media.” Rik grabbed the chair next to his friend then sat down with his back to the wall. He deliberately jarred the other man with his elbow forcing him to sit up. The front legs hit the floor with a thud.
“You can’t sit across from me?” Trey muttered. He shifted his chair to the right a few inches.
“Not unless you want me to leave myself open,” Rik shot back. “Do you want someone to stick a knife between my ribs?”
Trey’s lips quirked. “It has occurred to me a time or two.”
“I’ll just bet it has.” Rik pulled his sunglasses off and dropped them
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