Zephan Amon is a psychic on the run. He comes from a powerful family famous for their wealth, but he cut ties with them over a decade ago. He’s not nearly as powerful as they are, and they want him to either hide his existence or change his name, so he doesn’t sully their reputation.
Zephan refuses, and he’s been perfectly happy living as a human far away from his family, but a series of events have left him jobless and homeless. He’s about to work up the courage to ask his sister for help when he’s kidnapped by werewolves.
A stroke of luck allows him to escape, but he runs straight into a vampire’s garden. The vampire is far more concerned about Zephan trampling on his lawn than he is about kidnappings and werewolves. He demands Zephan pay a toll of blood for the state of his poor, abused grass. A few swallows of blood can’t be worse than being recaptured by werewolves, can it?
A snarl sounded a little too close to comfort, and it was followed by a loud whine. Were they fighting? Zephan ran in the opposite direction.
He ran and ran and ran. His lungs burned, and he tasted blood at the back of his throat.
The trees grew sparser and hope woke in his chest. He’d seen a sign hours ago pointing toward Foolshope. He hadn’t dared stay on the road where he was easily visible, so he’d dipped into the forest, but he had to be in Foolshope now.
He tumbled out between the tall beech trees and almost crashed into a white picket fence. He dropped his shield in surprise.
In front of him was the cutest little square whitewashed brick house he’d seen outside a fairy tale.
Another snarl came from inside the forest, and he rushed toward the gate.
“Keep off my lawn!”
Zephan ground to a halt. On the doorstep was a huge man, tall and broad, and fangs dented his lower lip. Holy shit, was he a vampire? Zephan had never met one. They were rare, myths almost.
“I need help.”
The door was open behind the man, but it didn’t look as if he would step aside to invite Zephan inside.
“Get off the grass!”
Zephan looked at his feet. He was on the gravel walkway, not on any grass, and this time of year, there wasn’t much grass to speak of anyway. It was coming, the spring green was about to take over.
“Please. I was kidnapped, and then I --”
“Get off my property!”
A branch snapped behind him, and Zephan cursed. He erected his invisibility shield and waited. When the man on the doorstep didn’t say anything and didn’t move, he carefully stepped to the side, and swung his leg over the picket fence, praying he wouldn’t impale himself as he tried to find traction on the bottom rail. He was too short to reach the lawn without castrating himself, and it wasn’t something he wanted to try when he had to be quiet -- or any time, if he was being honest.
His damp sneaker slipped a few times, and he winced at the dirty smear he left on the white fence, but finally he managed to get over it. Walking a few steps, he grimaced as his feet left indents on the muddy grass.
He stopped and did his best not to breathe as he waited.
It didn’t take many seconds before three massive men scrambled out of the woods. Claws adorned their fingers, and there was a wild look in their amber eyes. Zephan shuddered.
“Get off my lawn!”
He looked back at the vampire. Was he talking to him?
“We’re looking for a guy --” One of the wolves held out a hand indicating a small person, and Zephan almost snorted. He might not be related to giants as the shifters appeared to be, but he wasn’t small. He was average. Average all over. “-- lean, dark hair, flamethrower.”
The last bit had Zephan widen his eyes. He had no fire skills, none.
“Leave my property!” The vampire was glaring at them.
“Have you seen him?”
The vampire didn’t answer.
“Have you? We won’t bother you if you tell us where he went.”
Fuck. Zephan took a step closer to the house. He didn’t think the vampire would protect him, but he believed he was safer near him. Or not. What did vampires eat? Did they eat psychics?
Most likely.
