Page 12 of The Vampire in the Potting Shed

Oh.

Well.

That answered that.

With the vent blowing over the stove, I hadn’t noticed part of the noise came from Sloane. She had fallen asleep with her chin resting on her plate, sucking in great snorts of air that whistled past her lips.

There was no moving an unconscious wolf, not unless I wanted a hernia for my trouble.

A yawn caught me by surprise, adrenaline fading to exhaustion, and I switched off the stove. I put up the food for tomorrow, figuring Sloane could help me eat it. I padded to the hall closet, took a blanket off the stack, and tossed it over the wolf.

Nice. This was nice. Having company.

With a bag of sweet-chili-flavored edamame and a smile, I went to bed.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

For a blurry second, as sleep evaporated, I couldn’t figure out what had woken me.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Then the events of last night rushed back to me, and I shot upright in bed, whipping my head toward the wolf at the door pounding a hole in it with the side of their fist. A wolf, it was safe to assume, because it must be a sentinel. This had to be about the vampire. I was shocked they hadn’t barged in yet.

“Sloane,” I whisper-screamed. “Are you still here?”

No answer.

I moved to throw back the covers and found red fingerprints on the duvet from the freeze-dried snack that I had decided would make a good meal. Dinner for one sometimes took a grim, and spicy, turn for the worst.

“Sloane,”I tried again, soft but urgent, sliding my legs over the edge of the mattress.

Nothing.

Had it all been one big preservative-fueled dream after a long day of work and a longer night alone?

The naked dog on my couch? The vampire in the potting shed? The wolf sleeping in my kitchen?

Had any of it been real? There was only one way to find out, and it required getting my butt in gear.

Ignoring the banging noises, I hustled into the living room, caught a whiff of urine, spotted the used pee pad, and wrinkledmy nose. I took that to mean Myrtle was real, but I didn’t stop to toss the couch for confirmation.

On socked feet, I skidded into the kitchen. There was no sign of Sloane, woman or wolf. But there was a clean dish in the sink and a folded blanket on the counter. Those two things proved last night happened as I remembered it.

Which meant there really and truly had been a vampire bleeding out in the potting shed.

And I, the poster child for daddy issues, had covered for him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Stuffing the panic down deep, I jogged to the front door and swung it open. “Morning.”

Dad stood front and center, his nostrils flaring. Fatherly visits twice in two days? Oh yeah. This was about the vampire. No other explanation fit him rearranging his schedule. Mercer was behind him. Then Zoe. And then Tai. No Bowie, so yesterday must have been an all-paws-on-deck situation.

“What took so long to answer the door?” Dad leaned in, sniffing the air. “You were bouncing around like a pinball in a machine.” He scanned the room behind me. “Do you have company?”

“Yes.” I posted up on the threshold. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Then I can’t wait to meet them.” He lifted me up and set me aside, inviting himself in. “We have to talk. There was another incident at GSG last night.”

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