Charlie stared at his customer, but he couldn't respond.
Red liquid dripped down his chest, and his body reacted before his mind could intervene—heart pounding, senses heightening, fangs descending partially from his gums. His vision tunneled, focusing on the red splatter across his hands.
Not blood.
Notblood.
Get a grip, Charlie. If you bite a dude covered in cherry syrup, you'll never live it down.
The room tilted. Charlie grabbed the edge of the slushie machine, fighting the instinct surging through him. His stomach twisted with bloodlust despite the chemical cherry scent telling his brain this wasn't what he needed.
From the front of the store, someone yelled, “Helloooo? I’ve been in line for, like, ten minutes!”
Charlie closed his eyes and counted to three.
Then five.
Then twelve.
This is fine. You’re fine. Nothing’s on fire.
He turned, sticky shoes squeaking against the tile, and trudged back toward the register.
Mr. Denton was already standing there. The night manager’s arms were crossed in front of his chest, eyes tracking the syrup dripping off Charlie’s sleeves and onto the floor.
Before him, the line of customers looked equally unimpressed.
Charlie attempted a reassuring smile. It came out wobbly.
Mr. Denton slowly reached into his pocket and produced a roll of quarters.
“Laundromat’s still open," he said, pressing the quarters into Charlie's hand. "Take care of it.”
“Do I—uh, should I clock out first, or?—?”
“You’re not getting paid to bathe in cherry juice, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you know what to do." Mr. Denton blew out a breath. "You don't have a working head on your shoulders tonight, and I don't have the time to deal with you. Go and get your shit figured out."
Charlie gulped, fingers closing around the coins he'd been given.
He'dloveto figure his shit out.
The problem was that he had no idea where to start.
Chapter
Two
Simon stood at the kitchen counter of his studio apartment, drinking protein shake number two of the day.
It was nearing midnight. Prime hunting time. Simon had slept until noon, trained for three hours, researched potential leads for another four, and completed his weapons maintenance routine by sunset.
Now he waited.
His phone vibrated against the counter. Turner's name flashed on the screen.
