CREAM (On the Hunt) by Zenobia Renquist Page A

the fucker wasn’t already dead, I would strap him to my bumper and drag him down the highway doing ninety.” He peeled out of the parking lot and headed for the club.
    “Why did he do it?”
    “Shoot up my car? Because he was an evil fucker. Why else?”
    “Would you forget about your damn car for five seconds? You have enough money after turning in his head—even after giving me half—to get it fixed or junk it and get a new one. I’m talking about why Dumas went rogue. Enforcers have infighting, I get that. What I don’t get is going ‘kill-all-humans’ after a missed hunt. What set him off?”
    “Fuck all if I know. The twins were crazy long before they went rogue. They tortured small animals when they were kids, I’m sure. It shouldn’t have taken them that long to kill that rogue from our first hunt. They were probably playing with him.”
    “So you show up, steal the toy prize and they suddenly decide to kill one necromancer and then try to kill me? That makes no sense.”
    “I told you already. Sense and the twins weren’t friends. They’re dead. You aren’t. Leave it at that, necromancer.”
    Jeliyah decided to drop the subject but it still bothered her.
    “What should be bothering you is that outfit.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with my outfit.” Jeans and a cotton shirt might be a little too casual for the club but it was all she had. She wasn’t wearing that micro-mini dress again. First, it was too short. Second, it smelled like sex and sweat. Third, the people at the club had already seen her in it once.
    “Never took you for the superficial type.”
    “Stop doing that, damn it. Someone’s going to catch on that we’ve shared blood if you keep responding to me and I haven’t said anything.”
    Spotting blood partners—what people called a human and a vampire who had shared blood—was easy when someone knew the signs. The biggest tip-off was the one-sided conversations. It was like someone talking on a cellphone, except the conversation partner was right there.
    “My bad. That doesn’t change the travesty of what you’re wearing. Don’t worry though. One of the girls should have another outfit for you.”
    “I don’t need a different outfit. This one is fine.” She didn’t relish the thought of yet another micro-mini or any of the other outfits Nessa had trotted out the night before.
    “No, it’s not and we’re doing some shopping after this is over. You’re not going to keep embarrassing me each night.”
    “So let me stay at the hotel.”
    “No.”
    “I don’t want to waste money on clothes I don’t want.”
    “So I’ll waste my money. Give in, necromancer. The club is going to happen along with your wardrobe change. Your body is on. Show it off. You won’t have to pay for your drinks or food the whole night.”
    “I don’t need someone else to pay my way.”
    “Oh? I thought you were saving for retirement.”
    “A few drinks and a snack aren’t going to set back my retirement plans that much.”
    “Every little bit helps.”
    “No.” She refused and would keep refusing. She was moving at Teaghan’s pace again. It annoyed her how easily he led her, as though she couldn’t think for herself when she’d been doing it for a while now. They should be in separate hotel rooms and only mingling when on a hunt. He had his life and she had hers.
    “Don’t kid yourself, necromancer. You have no life.”
    “I said stop it,” she yelled.
    “Sorry. Damn.”
    She hated someone having free access to her thoughts without her having a say in what they heard and what they saw. Teaghan had control of it. She’d seen evidence of that already. She didn’t hear every thought he had, while some came through as though she’d thought them herself.
    The connection would wear off soon. She hoped. She hadn’t taken that much of his blood and he’d only fed on her that once. The invitation might be permanent but the shared thoughts had a time limit.
    She rubbed her