The High School Reunion From Hell - Saranna DeWylde Page 0,5

now, I took off after Vlad and found him back at the body.

Or what was left of it.

The corpse had been rigged somehow. A dipshit landmine, set to explode.

Whoever had set that guy after Marcus knew he’d be killed and he’d set a trap.

Suddenly, it was too quiet. Kind of like when small children go silent and you just know they’re doing something they’re not supposed to. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Vlad’s cheeks bulged and I knew he’d put something in his mouth.

“Give it,” I demanded as I reached out for him.

He grumble-growled, and turned to face me, a hand hanging out of his chops.

“No, it’s going to give you indigestion. Only blood, Buddy.” Why was I talking to him like he could understand what I was saying? Was this the next level of spinster slayer-hood? Still, those red eyes flickered with knowing and I’d swear on some level, he could. I darted over to him and tried to snatch it out of his mouth. Every dog owner lived the struggle of keeping their beloved monsters from eating shit they shouldn’t—given my dog had fangs and massive jowls, I just had more to deal with it.

“Don’t eat the evidence. If you shit it out in the yard, his DNA will be there. Come. On.” I tugged harder.

The hand gave way like a wishbone, me flying back with four fingers and half the palm, and Vlad with the pinky and rest of the palm.

“Don’t do it!” I commanded and scrambled toward him.

Vlad’s eyes narrowed with something I’m sure was rebellion, and he opened his mouth and swallowed the pinky, ring and all, with one happy gulp.

Great, now I had to get exploded asshole off my expensive paint job, off my shirt, and watch for a reappearance of said asshole from the unplumbed depths of my dog’s ass.

Chapter Two

I didn’t manage to finish cleaning up that fuck all mess and trudge home until well past daylight—I’d even had to rinse myself and Vlad off in what I’d come to call the the murder pond where we’d gone to dump the body. When it came to my dog, I was eternally grateful sunlight didn’t hurt vampires. I kept hoping he’d poop before we made it home. Solid things didn’t last long in his guts. But the fuzzy turd spent the morning romancing my car tire.

So one of us had a grand time in the country.

When we finally got home, he’d trotted off to grab his love pillow, give it some attention, drank his blood smoothie and passed out in the big leather chair that used to be Marc’s.

I had bigger problems.

Like whoever was after Marc, and more immediately, why the Cornhole Queen was knocking on my patio door with my best friend, Lila Jean Yi in tow.

From my spot at the kitchen sink, where I’d been filling up my coffee maker to maximum-brew, I had a perfect view of the pair on my porch. Lila Jean had brought pastries, and she was always welcome, pastries or not.

Presley had brought herself.

I squinted at the clock and shuddered. Even at nine in the morning, her hair was up in a perfect blond French twist, and pink pearls graced her swan-like neck. They complemented her lemon yellow cardigan set and pink lipstick. She looked every inch a well-to-do Midwestern 1950’s wet dream.

I wanted a real shower, and a nap. It wouldn’t be long before I’d have to deal with the very real drudgery of packing up the remnants of what I thought was my happily ever after and try to put my life back together. Not to mention trying to get Vlad to poop so I ended up with DNA evidence of my crime in my backyard.

As a slayer, I could justify what I’d done, but Vlad had eaten part of him. That would be a nail in his coffin, and I couldn’t let that happen. Ever.

I just waved at the door, knowing Lila Jean would use her key.

The lock clicked open and I grabbed my pink, sparkly metallic water bottle that had the word “slayer” embossed in gold foil over the side. It definitely did not contain water.

It still had tequila in it from last night.

Which I needed for the Cornhole Queen.

Actually, I needed a lobotomy—or maybe she did. One of us did, but neither of us had been given that particular gift, so here we were in my kitchen and me considering hitting myself in the head with