Blood Lines

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It's been a little over three months since I met Rule. It seems a lot longer. I could turn all mushy and say it feels as if my life began when our eyes met that night at Club Hell, but I'd be lying. I had a life before him—bumpy and imperfect, but a life.

Just about everything in that life has changed, though. That is why it feels like a lot more than three months have passed.

I was a homicide cop back then. That's all I'd ever wanted to be—at least since the age of eight, when I learned that the monsters are real and look a lot like the rest of us. Now I'm working for the FBI, Unit 12 in MCD—that's the Magical Crimes Division—and I'm bonded for life to the prince of the Nokolai Clan.

Two months ago I was investigating the first West Coast killing in decades by a werewolf—excuse me, a lupus. Rule Turner looked to be my prime suspect. I realized pretty quickly he couldn't be, but it took longer to find out who was behind it all. A nutty telepath, a charismatic cult leader, and an ancient goddess-wannabe had teamed up to destroy all lupi in the United States, and they didn't object to killing a few humans along the way to taking over the country.

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