Worlds Apart (Worlds Apart Vampire Romance, Book One)

The long night was nearly over when Peter returned home. An officer stood outside the gate to the backyard. When Peter approached the cop raised his hand and shook his head.

  "You can't go in here, sir."

  Peter frowned. "But I live here."

  The officer shook his head. "Orders from Detective Mordecai. Nobody's allowed into the house until he gives the okay."

  Peter's shoulders fell. "Can I at least get some clothes?"

  The officer nodded their head in the direction of the road. "No exceptions. Now please leave before I'm forced to use force."

  Peter turned and walked away from the house. He stuck one hand in his pocket and ran the other through his messy hair. "Damn it. . ."

  Now he had to find some place to bunk for the night. He thought about the park, but he didn't want to be found with his legs sticking out of the brush like the last guy. Peter paused on the sidewalk and looked up and down the block. He didn't know anybody else in the area, but looking at a nearby green, burly shrub did remind him of someone.

  A few minutes later found Peter four blocks deeper into the residential district. He stood before a small bungalow-type house with a full basement. The numbers of the house were painted army-green. The immaculate green lawn was cut to a crew-cut length, and the low hedges in front of the house were trimmed to perfection.

  Peter took a deep breath and walked up the cement walk to the small porch. He knocked on the door and waited.

  A sound reached his ears. It was the heavy clomping of boots on bare boards. The door swung inward and Peter found himself on the bad end of a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun. The figure who held the gun stood in shadows.

  "Get 'em up."

  Peter whipped up his hands and felt his heart drop into his pelvis. "I-I'm just looking. . .for. . ." His eyes inadvertently wandered down to the floor. The shadowed figure wore military-style boots. "Marcus?"

  "Jesus, Pete! I nearly blew your head off!" Marcus scolded him as he lowered the barrels. "What the hell are you doing on my porch at this hour?"

  Peter gave him a shaky smile and a shrug. "Oh, you know, just out for a walk and thought I'd drop by unannounced and unarmed."

  Marcus snorted. "Yeah, right. So you wanna come in and tell me about it?"

  Peter wrapped his arms around his cold shoulders and nodded. "If it's not too much trouble."

  Marcus slapped his hand on Peter's back. The force sent him stumbling inside. "No trouble at all! Just lemme store ol' Bessie and I'll get us some drinks."

  The interior was furnished in 'Fifties military style complete with pictures of pinup posters on the walls and army helmets above the mantel. Peter took a seat in a camo chair that was nearly hidden by the camo-colored tile flooring.

  Marcus stored his gun among others in a locked locker inside the coat closet and walked over to the kitchen. "You want a beer?"

  "Water, and make it cold," Peter replied.

  Marcus smiled and shook his head as he gathered the drinks. "You're a crazy one, Pete. I figured you were a drunk wanting to get your hands on my girls." He walked over to the living room and held out the filled glass to Peter.

  Peter arched an eyebrow as he took the glass. "Your 'girls?'"

  Marcus took a seat in another chair and nodded at the walls of pinups. "Yeah. I've had someone try to steal the ladies every semester since I bought the place."

  Peter cradled the drink in his hands and looked down into the still surface. "To be honest, I was needing a place to stay."

  Marcus took a swig of his beer and frowned. "You get thrown out by your landlords?"

  Peter sighed and shook his head. "No, worse. Somebody attacked Rich earlier tonight. He's in the hospital."

  Marcus spit his beer over half the living room, including Peter. "Wait, what? Like beat him up?"

  Peter wiped the second-hand beer off his face. "Not exactly, but that's why I need a place to stay. The police have the placed locked down."

  Marcus crunched the can in his large hand and jumped to his feet. "Damn these stupid punks! Beating people up for no reason! And Rich! Seriously? That guy couldn't whip a fly! He had no chance! He-" He paused and looked down at Peter. "You know, Pete, you don't look so good."

  Peter ran a hand through his hair and snorted. "It's been a long night."

  His friend nodded at a short hallway at the rear of the house. "How about you lay down in my bed. The mattress is real soft. You'll get right to sleep."

  Peter stood and smiled. "Thanks. I could use it."

  He shuffled off to the bedroom and found the furniture matched the rest of the house. Peter sat on the edge of the mattress. He winced when the padding didn't give way. A quick test of his hand told him the mattress was as soft as a rock. Still, it was a bed.

  Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out the tuft of dark hair. It didn't match the gray hairs on Lysander's head, but maybe the vampire was old enough to change his hair color. Maybe he even knew Peter was a human and all these attempted murders was a way to get back at him.

  "And maybe I need to stop guessing. . ." he mumbled as he tucked the fur back into his pocket.

  He fell back against the camo sheets and closed his eyes. His exhaustion softened the mattress, and soon he was fast asleep. His dreams were full of squeaking noises and dark shadows.