Snippet #2644898

Spire craned around to look at his brother with mock concern. "Toby, did either of us get killed or permanently maimed last time we met Issac here?"

"Are you asking a d--dumb hypothetical question?" Toby returned.

"Just checking what the hell would make him think we were done hunting," Spire said, turning back to Issac. "You keep talking about 'that whole thing' like it went badly. Like I said, we appreciated you riding in to the rescue and all, but we accomplished what we set out to do. All's well that ends well."

Because a small coven of vampires lying sprawled in puddles of their borrowed blood qualified as "ends well" any day, in Spire's book. Plus, they'd had pretty concrete proof that these ones had killed a fair few people, and that always helped because Toby could feel justified and righteous and warm and fuzzy about it or whatever.

"And we've been great," Spire added, flicking a shard of glass the size of a nail clipping off of his dark jeans, before it could add another cut to his leg. "Business as usual."

His voice was casual, but his sharp eyes balanced watching Issac, watching the backseat, and watching outside for landmarks or for threats. Toby, too, kept his gaze out the small window at the back of the truck. Their curiosity had kept them here this long, yes, but these people could be taking them anywhere, and planning to do any number of atrocities.