Mirren cleared the back corner of the church and kept going, slowing only when two guys stepped out of the shadow of the hardware-store alley. They weren’t thin. In fact, she couldn’t be positive, but she didn’t think they were even vampires.
“You assholes better head north and keep going.”
Nice, Mirren. Make friends first. “You’re shifters,” she said. “What kind?”
The one nearest her frowned, but the other guy—a tall blond—looked surprised. “What are you?”
His shorter, darker companion gave her an uncomfortably thorough once-over. “Gotta be a shrimp. Popcorn shrimp at that.”
“Funny.” She’d claw their eyes out with her shrimplike talons. “Who’re you working for?”
“That would be me, love.”
She got only half-turned before the heat of a silver blade pressed against her throat. “Hiya, Fen Patrick. Funny, we’ve been looking for you.”
She hoped Mirren was in a fighting mood, because she couldn’t do a lot unless she got free of the silver blade.
Mirren seemed to have his hands full, though. He’d broken Blondie’s arm with one good crack; he was wailing and rolling around on the ground like a baby. Brownie had a gun.
She was on her own. “So, Fen. How does it feel being one of the vampire science experiments? How’s that walking in sunlight thing working out for you?” The knife pressed harder, but she’d heard his intake of breath, felt his heart jackhammer up. “Eaten any good meals lately, big cat?”
“Who the fuck talked?” He released his grasp just enough for her to drop down and wriggle free.
“Your partner.” An image of Britta Eriksen flashed through her mind. She hadn’t seen her hanging, but she’d seen that bloody wooden X, and it still pissed her off. “Tell me this—why did you kill Britta?”
She wasn’t dead, of course, but it might surprise him enough to talk. “The bitch followed me and saw me shift.” He took a step closer. “I might not be able to eat like a human anymore, but I do still enjoy the taste of raw meat. You’re scrawny, but it might be fun to gnaw on Cage Reynolds’s leftovers.”
Okay, that was it. She’d had enough of fun banter with the frankendouche.
“Well, you might as well start here.” She monitored Mirren’s standoff with Brownie, who’d lost his gun and shifted into some kind of smaller cat with tufted ears. The big guy was having trouble shooting him while he was riding around on Mirren’s back, hanging on by his claws. That looked well in hand.
Robin grasped the hem of her sweater and tugged it off, shivering slightly as the cool air hit her bare breasts and pebbled her nipples.
Fen’s gaze dropped, and his grip on the knife loosened. Stupid, predictable boy.
She moved slowly to unbutton her borrowed, rolled-up jeans, sensing his skin heating. He licked his lips, which was totally gross. And now the coup de grace—her shaved surprise.
His intake of breath was audible. “I always said Reynolds had good taste.”
Yeah, well, Fen would never taste anything of hers. He moved closer but not fast enough.
“Let me give you a better view,” she said, putting a little purr in her voice as she climbed atop a Dumpster at the edge of the alley. She could shift from the ground, but this would be easier.
She spread her legs for his approving view. Arms raised, she closed her eyes, felt the breeze, and leapt, shifting midair.
“Fucking bird.”
She sank long, golden talons into his shoulder, and before he could shake her off, used the sharp, downward-curved end of her beak to tear open a gash in his head. When he stabbed at her with the silver, she had to fly, soaring into the colder air above, circling, watching to see where she was most needed.
Mirren’s big-ass gun echoed through downtown, and Robin circled again. The little kitty was down, and if she knew her vampire, he had silver bullets.
Blondie had crawled off somewhere to mend his broken arm, and Fen seemed to have come to the same conclusion about the bullets. He shifted, and his big cat was a dark blur that raced out the back of the alley and toward the woods north of town.
She circled again and prepared to follow, but Mirren had sat down on the pavement, clutching his head. What was up with that?
Robin settled to the ground and took a few steps toward him. She’d make sure he was all right, then she’d hunt down Fen like the prey he was.
Mirren rolled to his side, gasping for breath, so Robin shifted back. “What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”
She slipped back into her sweater and pants and ran to him, looking for any sign of injury. Damn it, she didn’t see anything.