Death's Servant (The V V Inn, First Prequel Book) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Nothing.
    When I finally see her battered Honda late on Sunday relief sweeps through me. Should I approach her inside at work, wait out here for the end of her shift, or just follow her home? My attempt to talk to her in the parking lot a few days ago didn’t go well and I’m acutely aware the second option of following her home skirts perilously close to stalker behavior. Well, my actions of driving by several times a day were stalkerish, too, and that didn’t stop me.
    Before I decide on a suitable plan, the back door swings open and Raine walks down the steps. Her shoulders hunch forward and her thin arms wrap around her middle like she’s cold despite the high temperatures hitting on the first day of June. She’s not dressed for work and heads directly to her car, not sparing a glance around the lot in her haste.
    Looks like my only option is the scary stalker following her home.
    My jeep idles on the side of the road with the windows up. With any luck she won’t smell I’m here and I’ll be able to follow her. I slide down in the seat when she turns onto the road, waiting a few seconds before straightening and following. I ease off the shoulder and tail her car at a discrete distance. She continues on 15 South toward Purcellville. After a dozen or so miles, Raine takes the exit for town. I follow a hundred yards behind, glad it’s not full dark yet when headlights could give away my position.
    She takes a lot of turns, leading me deeper into undeveloped farm land and away from the construction sites mushrooming all over Loudoun County. She turns onto a long gravel drive. Thick trees and deep underbrush hide any glimpse of a house, and her bumper disappears beyond a bend as I pass the mouth of the driveway. Unwilling to risk discovery, I pull over a quarter of a mile past the entrance and shut off the jeep.
    No other homes are close by. I roll down the window to sample the air. Scents of fertile dirt, new plant growth, and fresh horse manure stream in. Man, we are out here—about three turns back we crossed into what I call the boonies . This is what I’ve heard the locals affectionately refer to as “horse country.” Living most of my life in southern Virginia, I’m no stranger to desolate farmland, but to find it close to an area with one of the biggest construction booms in the state feels surreal.
    The wind shifts and the pungent odor of wolves drifts over the lowered glass. My gut tightens in response. Lone wolf , my ass. There’s a pack in this area and I’ve just stumbled onto their den. Why in the hell did she lie to me?
    I quietly exit the jeep, keenly aware that walking uninvited onto their property could be the stupidest thing I’ve done in my life to date.
    Is this the place she invited me to last week? Her being part of a pack changes the meaning of why she acted the way she did.
    She’s hiding something.
    And as I slip into the dense greenery next to the driveway, my heart hardens with resolve—I aim to discover it.
    Recent rain has left the ground spongy, making my every step absorbed by plump soil and new plants. The sun set while I trailed Raine to this isolated location, and the long twilight of late spring creates deep shadows between the thin trunks and undergrowth.
    In a third of a mile or so, glimpses of red brick and a metal roof wink through the dense vegetation. Within a few minutes a huge structure and several smaller outbuildings come into view. Three stories high with a gabled roof and arched windows, the main house resembles a McMansion on steroids.
    The new homes where I’ve been working don’t even compare, and I thought those houses were huge. Either her pack is doing much better than Romeo’s in Manitoba or this isn’t their home.
    The breeze shifts and the strong stink of werewolf lifts to reveal a fainter scent underneath. Blood cools in my veins as I realize I’ve encountered the odor before. It’s the unmistakable stench of vampire.
    Is this a vampire house and