“True. You have a point.”
“Patrick said the house belonged to a friend of his in his pre-vampire days. Guy by the name of Nathan Striker. We’re going to need to look into that but I figure it might be easier up there, where people knew both of them. Meanwhile, I’m going to do some online shopping and buy Glenda something to appease her. I have no idea what to get.” He rolled his eyes. “We had a bit of a tiff today.”
“Well, that’s the understatement of the year.” The words spilled out before I could stop them. I clamped my mouth shut and stood up.
Alex gave me an odd look. “You know what they say—no relationship’s perfect.”
I nodded and headed for the door, but inside, I wanted to shake him by the shoulders and say, Wake up! This is about as far from perfect as you can get. I glanced back. “Alex . . .”
“Yes?” He looked up, already engrossed in his Werewyx Search—the newest Supe search engine.
I paused, my hand on the doorknob, but then decided against saying anything more. Shaking my head, I gave him a gentle smile. “Nothing. Never mind.” As I closed the door behind me, I realized that I was beginning to care about Alex. Maybe a little too much.
New York Times bestselling author Yasmine Galenorn writes urban fantasy, mystery, and metaphysical nonfiction. A graduate of Evergreen State College, she majored in theater and creative writing. Yasmine has been in the Craft for more than thirty-four years and is a shamanic witch. She describes her life as a blend of teacups and tattoos, and lives in the Seattle area with her husband, Samwise, and their cats. Yasmine can be reached at her website at galenorn.com, via Twitter at twitter.com/yasminegalenorn, and via her publisher. If you send her snail mail, please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope if you want a reply.
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