Page 35 of Hell’s Half Acre

As Luke walked deeper into the garage, closer to his car, Sorcha saw a shadow move in the corner to her left.

Once upon a time, it was something she wouldn’t have paid attention to. That was before she’d met Luke and started working for IA.

Now…

Even the most innocuous things could be lethal.

“Luke?”

He turned back to face her with an arched brow.

She jerked her chin in the direction of her mysterious shadow. “Am I imagining that?”

Like a phantom, he moved closer to it. At first, she thought he’d tell her she was hallucinating.

Until he knelt down and held his hand out, then whistled for it as if it were a lost pet.

“What are you doing?” she asked, clutching the doorframe.

Don’t move. He sent his thoughts to her.

Great. Last time she’d heard those words, there had been an ancient god behind her. What now?

She froze instantly as a wave of fear swept through her entire body. She’d learned not to question him whenever he gave such orders. He wasn’t being a macho asshole when he took that tone.

He was protecting her.

Given the things they dealt with, she knew better than to say a word until she found out what had caused him to warn her.

The shadow launched itself at Luke.

Sorcha yelped, then cursed herself for being such a skittish idiot.

Luke gave her an irritated glare as he caught whatever it was and held it to his chest. “Mircea? What are you doing here?”

Sorcha was even more confused. “Mercy?”

He sighed. “Meer-chuh. Same as a Romanian ruler I once knew. But he prefers to go by Trinket.”

Oh…this was the hellcat Helly had locked in the closet. She couldn’t wait to see what it looked like. She imagined something beautiful and sweet.

“Mircea’s such a pretty name. I’ve never heard it before.”

Luke flashed that adorable grin. “You would think that, but I’m betting you know the Romanian ruler’s grandkid.”

“I don’t take bets with you, buddy.” Because there was no winning with a creature who’d lived thousands of years.

Not to mention the fact that he was born of all evil.

But curiosity got the better of her. “Who’s his grandson?”

“Vlad Tepes.”

She could listen to his perfect Romanian all day long. “And that is?”

“Vlad the Impaler…son of Vlad Dracul…the dragon.”

Why was she even surprised? Of course he’d know all the famous evil, and probably all the evil ever born. “You mean Dracula?”