Page 9 of Happily Undead in Dark River

I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him tight against me, felt the steady thud of his heart against my cheek, the warmth of his muscles pressed against mine, the smell that was just inherently Tex surrounding me like a blanket. “I promise I’ll be good. I have Judge and Walker. They’ll keep me safe. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

He stepped away, the smile on his face not quite wiping away the worry around his eyes. “You’re my mate. I don’t think you fully understand that yet, but it means I’ll always worry when I’m not here to protect you. Even if I am the least capable of your lovers.”

Brody clapped him on the back. “Don’t underestimate the ferocity of a mate-bond, Pup. I hazard to guess that if Raine was ever in danger, you would be the most dangerous of us all.” He smiled over his shoulder at me. “But we are burning moonlight, and we have a Pack meeting at an ungodly hour. All this vampire shit is messing with my sleeping patterns.”

I walked them to the door, and they hopped into Brody’s ridiculously hot car, but not before each of them kissed me like it was going to be the last time.

I watched them leave, staring into the distance until I could no longer hear the rumble of the Impala. I walked average-Joe slow to work. I finally understood what Walker had been talking about when I’d first discovered that we could run faster than the human eye could follow. When you are too focused on getting somewhere as quickly as possible, you miss out on all the small things that make life so enjoyable. Like the fact that Elsie, a vampire who owned the convenience store, had acquired a garden statue of two gnomes fucking.

I stopped and stared at the offending statue. The globes of its little butt were polished to a high pink, it’s blue gnome pants around its ankles. You know what, I probably could have missed out on that little thing without too much regret. Shaking my head, I ran the rest of the way to the police station. That was enough life for one day.

I pushed open the heavy metal door to the station. Walker was still here, I could hear him rustling around in the filing cabinet.

I put my phone in the top drawer, but not before checking the group chat. Silence. “Did Brody and Tex get off okay?” Walker yelled from the storeroom where he kept all his files.

I grinned, “Oh, I got them off just fine. We tried the screaming eagle position, dicks everywhere.”

Walker stuck his head around the door jamb to look back in the office, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline. “You did what, now?”

I waved a hand. “Nothing. I was kidding. The guys left fine ten minutes ago. I just hate it when they aren’t here. They only got back yesterday.”

Walker came out, a file tucked under his arm. He wrapped the other arm around me and pulled me close to his chest. “They are probably safer on Pack lands than they are here.”

That was a sad truth. I was exposing them both to the possibility of death just by keeping them close to me here in Dark River. And it wasn’t just the Vampire Nation and the Enforcers that could be a problem, but any one of the residents of Dark River could just snap. I could just snap, no matter how in control I felt now.

I nodded against Walker’s chest before finally pulling away and going to sit at the makeshift desk they’d created me along one wall. Nico had given me one of his cheesy nineties inspirational posters. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the iconic ‘Hang In There’ kitten. It was an empty boat in the middle of a crystal blue ocean. It read ‘Destiny: The choices we make, the chances we take, determine our destiny.’ It was all very inspiring, but it made me wonder if being here, in Dark River, was my destiny? I mean, I was happy, wasn’t I? I had some good friends and some great, uh, boyfriends, so maybe this was all preordained. But then I looked at that empty boat in the middle of the vast ocean, and wondered if it ever got lonely?

The phone pulled me out of my existential angst. It was an old rotary phone that I didn’t even think would still work on modern lines. It was some kind of magic.

“Sheriff’s office, how can I help you?”

A disgruntled male voice on the other end of the line huffed, “Well you can start by sending the Sheriff over to arrest this crazy woman.” I could hear someone screeching on the other end that they weren’t crazy, the caller was crazy, and sounding a little bit insane.

“Certainly. What seems to be the issue?”

“I busted Betty-Lou shitting on my lawn.” I blinked, pulling a face at Walker, who could hear both sides of the conversation with his enhanced hearing.

“Ooookay. The Sheriff will be right around.” I hung up as the screaming started again, and looked at Walker. “Shit, I forgot to get their address.”

Walker waved a hand. “It’s fine. Eugene lives next to Betty-Lou, and I’m almost positive that was him. Not that many voices in the town that I don’t have them memorized. Want to come and help with the poo-flinging crazies?” He leaned down and kissed me softly. I threaded my fingers in his soft, dark hair and pulled him closer. I explored his mouth like it was the first time we’d ever kissed. I ran my tongue over his lower lip, then slid it across his fangs, making him moan into my mouth. He shuddered and pulled away. “It takes every ounce of my control not to slide you onto this desk and fuck you like an animal.”

“Yes, please?”

He grinned at the hopeful note in my voice. “One day soon, I promise. First I have to go deal with Eugene and Betty-Lou, and the case of the mysterious poo.”

I shook my head furiously. “As interesting as that sounds, I better hold down the fort. I’ll hear all about it later when I type up the report.”

Walker sighed, pushing his cute little Mount-Me hat onto his head. God, he was really something in that chocolate brown uniform. We were going to have to defile it very soon. “Wish me luck,” Walker said, giving me one last kiss.

“Good luck.”

I went back to typing up seventy-year-old reports and saving them to a storage drive. I was pretty certain Walker was making work for me to do, but that was okay. At least I felt like I was doing something constructive. Finishing my report from yesterday on an argument about who got to have a prime piece of land on the corner of the Main Square, I pulled the next file down.

It was from eighty-five years ago. Walker only started as Sheriff eighty-seven years ago, so this one must have been in the first couple of years as a Sheriff. I opened the file and looking back at me was a beautiful dark-haired woman. She had big sad eyes, but there were slight wrinkles around their edges that told me she’d known laughter and happiness in her mortal life. Rosalita Fuentes. I skimmed through the details page. Turned in 1920, maker undisclosed. I skimmed down a little more. Joined Dark River in 1925, sentenced to death in 1928.

I read the notes in Walker’s strong hand. It hadn’t changed in eighty-odd years.

“Perpetrator was doing well within town limits. Exhibited good control. Felt strong enough to return home to visit family. Exsanguinated former husband and all five children. Handed self in for punishment. Highly distraught.”

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