It's been three months since Delilah "Del" Cross stumbled her way into the mysterious town of Whisper Valley. During that time she's grown to appreciate her new life amongst ghosts, vampires, mages, zombies, and werewolves. Yet, there's still so m...
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The day finally arrived.
Despite the weeks of lead up, where every citizen gushed with excitement over festivities, gossiped about who might be seen at the bigger parties, and ogled the many visitors from locations far and wide, it started off like a normal day. My alarm went off, I rolled out of bed with a yawn, I stood in the shower for longer than I needed to, I got dressed for work, and I headed out to breakfast.
After that it got a little less normal, but only a little.
We were still being served breakfast in the cramped corridor of human housing. For most of the Bodies, this was a change from their usual meal in the hotel's dining hall. While for me, it was simply a substitute for the decadent pile of pancakes I'd usually get at the Brew and Stew while a ruggedly handsome werewolf smiled at me from over his cup of coffee.
Pushing his face from my memories, I stashed a croissant in a napkin and slipped it into my work bag before grabbing an apple for the road. I stepped through the hallway with the ripe fruit held between my teeth, my hands busy with pulling my long hair up into a quick bun. I turned the corner and headed for the lobby, shaking my shoulders out and reaching up for my apple when Dean's crisp, enthusiastic voice cut through the low rumble of dining hall chatter that permeated the near empty lobby.
"He just wants to know so that there is no concern over his guests stumbling on to your big ritual."
I halted my breakfast mid-bite, fearful the snap of the apple's skin might interrupt the conversation happening just outside the entrance of the hall.
"This is not for the vampire lord and his blood sucking brethren to be concerned about. We will protect our own."
The voice was low and rough with a less than subtle growl rolling beneath his words. It was a voice unfamiliar to my ears, though, to my astonishment, I had spent so long in Whisper Valley that I could detect, with confidence, a distinct inflection in his tone. Dean was undoubtedly speaking with a werewolf.
I glanced over at the two, but found them partially marred by the concierge desk and its ornate posts, which stuck out into the lobby like a sore thumb. I took slow steps as I made my way around the desk, doing what I could to look casual while containing my intense need to learn more about the ritual Dean had alluded to. The ritual that had likely been of some contention between Everett and Claire in the past.
"Wouldn't it be nice to not have to worry about protecting anyone though," said Dean, his usual swagger dampened by the wolf's stern stance, though only marginally so. "Let us know where to dissuade vampires from reveling on this blessed night and you can be assured no blood drunk vamp crashes your party."
"I never said I was worried," replied the voice with more gravel in his tone. With another step, I got past the concierge's post and stepped into view of the two arguing men. It wasn't immediately apparent in the wolf's short cropped hair, but it was clear that his hackles were raised.
