Max shrugged. “They had people in Houston already trained and available. I had to be moved off active duty, plus we have all that vampire political shit to deal with. Vamps can’t train during the day, and I think most of that Houston team were shape-shifters, so it was easier.”
He groaned and flopped on his back, pouring the rest of the bottle of water on his face. “Who even knew there were such things as fucking shape-shifters? How does that work? If one bites me, will I turn into a duck or a weasel or something?”
“Hell if I know.” Mark hoped at least one of the new Omega Force members was human. Being a feeder for three vampires sucked—pun intended. Aidan fed first thing after sunset; his mate, Krys, fed before Mark went to bed; Britta Eriksen, a woman who’d moved to Penton a few weeks after the big showdown with Matthias, fed before sunrise, as soon as Mark woke in the morning. He’d filled the top of his dresser with bottles of iron supplements purchased on his last supply run to Opelika.
Penton needed fresh blood, literally. “Reckon shape-shifters can feed vampires?” He thought about Max’s “duck or weasel” comment. “What kind of shape-shifters are they?”
“One is a human, a Ranger. The other is . . . Hell, I don’t know what he is except a shifter of some kind. I guess it could be any kind of animal. Mirren just read us the memo up to a certain point and stomped off, cussing.” Max laughed. “Hard to believe that of Mirren, I know.”
They sat in silence a few moments before Max sat up. “You know, I’ve been thinking. What other monsters are living out there that we don’t know about? The more I think about it, the freakier it is.”
Mark shook his head. “Nothing would surprise me anymore.”
If vampires and shape-shifters were real, other myths and legends could be real as well. After all, Glory was telekinetic, and Hannah, the Penton lieutenant who’d been turned vampire at age eleven or twelve, had visions. Premonitions, he guessed they’d be called. “Well, whatever the other guy is, I hope he can feed vampires. After a while, even orgasmic sensations get old.”
“I hear you. I have to feed Cage Fucking Reynolds, and if ever I didn’t want anybody giving me a happy hard-on, it’s that British asshat. My only consolation is that he hates it as much as I do.”
Mark’s laugh sounded bitter, even to himself. “Better you than me.”
“Ah, yeah. Sorry.”
How much did Max know? He was Hannah’s feeder, too, and Aidan did his best to keep Hannah away from the uglier sides of life in Penton—like when a man’s wife got turned vampire by a sociopath and decided she no longer wanted her human husband. Judging by the apology, Max knew plenty.
Great. Everyone probably considered him a pathetic loser. Or maybe they blamed Melissa, which would be appropriate. And he felt like a pathetic loser, which pissed him off even more. Thank God Aidan had the good sense not to ask him to be a feeder for Cage Reynolds. He’d have to just drain his own blood into a glass and let the man drink the old-fashioned way.
Mark sighed. This line of thought was depressing. He climbed to his feet and set the half-empty water bottle aside. “Let’s finish off that wall. You want top of the ladder or bottom?”
“Better give me bottom.” Max looked up at the wall, which had grown to about ten feet in height; Mirren wanted twelve. “I have longer arms to hand stuff up.”
“Yeah, make the shorter guy do the dangerous work.” Mark headed around the wall and positioned the ladder and makeshift scaffolding at the corner. Last night they’d checked all the places where the brick veneer was anchored to the building’s frame, so it should be quick work to finish off the wall.
He might even have time for a shower before Aidan got up and wanted his dinner, so to speak.
Rob’s voice sounded from down the hill. “I think it’s a rule for short guys to take the worst jobs.” He crested the rise and walked across the leveled-off construction site, waving the clipboard with one hand and holding a six-pack of Coors and a white paper bag in the other. “I got Glory’s interpretation of the specs. We can go over them tonight—we’ll need more supplies. Let’s get that wall finished and help Max drink his beer and eat a sandwich before Mirren gets up and bitches about what all we did wrong.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Mark climbed to the top of the extension ladder while Rob and Max piled bricks on a pallet and raised them via a pulley system—something Will had rigged up when constructing the Chow House and the living spaces. Digging a trowel into the concrete mix, Mark plopped a pile on the top layer of the wall, spread it evenly, and wedged a brick into place.