Blood Hunt Read Free

clothes. Thanks to the Gray Sisters and a runic tattoo, I could now fold my wings right into my body, magically absorbing them into their permanently inked likenesses on my back. My clothes would fit again. Which was a good thing, because clients tended to be put off when you showed up au naturel…with gargoyle wings besides.
    Apollo followed me to the closet, but didn’t loom in the entrance. Didn’t block my path.
    â€œTori?” he said, his voice low and intense. “You went away from me just now.”
    â€œNo,” I said, knowing he’d sense the lie. “I just have to get to the office. We’ll pick this up later.”
    â€œWant company? I’m free until lunch.”
    â€œNo,” I lied again. I did want it, and that was exactly why I had to do without. Unless…unless I was overthinking things. Wasn’t it always this way at the start of a relationship? All hot and heavy, painful to be apart. Maybe.
    I had to stay strong.
    â€œO…kay,” Apollo said. He didn’t understand. Hell, I didn’t understand. Maybe I was just too ornery to be in a relationship. Any relationship. Maybe I should just… Stop thinking.
    I grabbed an amber silk-blend cami, black pants and a blazer that wouldn’t last through the client interview—not in the L.A. heat. Then I pulled on my black low-heeled boots from yesterday and was off before I could change my mind. Leaving Apollo felt like leaving behind a part of myself.
    I squashed the feeling mercilessly. I couldn’t think about any of that now. I had a client, one I hoped came with a big, juicy case rife with distraction. No cheating spouse or missing money, but something I could sink my teeth into. Like a chocolate croissant.
    Speaking of which…my favorite coffee shop was on the way, and after my earlier aerobics with Apollo, some sustenance was definitely in order. I’d probably earned myself a cheesy omelet, an entire side of bacon and whatever else I could carry back from an all-you-can-eat buffet, but I didn’t have time. Carbohydrates and caffeine would have to do the trick.
    I was already late. It wouldn’t do to arrive faint with hunger as well. Better to take the five-minute detour and show up with pastry-shaped peace offerings.
    I pushed through the door of the coffee-shop/art house I frequented to find, mercifully, only one man ahead of me, already paying for his cuppa.
    Barry-the-barista greeted me by name and asked, “The usual?”
    â€œYeah, but make it three. Wait, four. Make one soy just in case and hold the sugar on two. Three chocolate croissants and three regular.”
    â€œOh, so it’s a party,” he said, drinks already in progress.
    I smiled. “Don’t know what everyone else is going to eat.”
    â€œIsn’t that why you ordered the plain?”
    â€œYou know me so well.”
    And all I knew was his name. Well, and the fact that he’d proposed to his girlfriend last month and been accepted. And that the wedding was next spring. And…okay, so I knew quite a bit. Probably, I’d even financed a good part of the big day.
    While I waited, I looked up at the ever-present TV screen tucked away in a corner of the cafe, practically a necessity out here between weird weather, riots, and all-important air quality updates. The sound was down or off, but the subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen—all about a murder in the upscale Hollywood Hills. As I watched the external footage of a body being loaded into the back of an ambulance, I caught the flash of a familiar figure—Detective Nick Armani. My ex. He looked…well, as amazing as always, all dark hair and midnight blue eyes. I knew those eyes in all of their moods; right then they were troubled, his usual poker face nowhere in evidence.
    A zing went through me and I froze. It could not be about Nick’s eyes. It couldn’t, but… It happened again and I