Well, to just about anything you can imagine.
The only reason the werewolves—or Lycae, as they called themselves—survived the Renfield Syndrome was due to what they were—mystical creatures that were immune to human disease and maladies. Like vampires, they were slow to age, living to a ripe old age of several hundred years.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
“He should just change her,” someone muttered. “Get it over with.”
“It would save him a lot of trouble,” someone agreed. “We don’t need this.”
“I can’t believe he’d mate a vampire lover. He’s no better than his brother.”
“Patrick deserted us for a vampire,” the other person said. “I’d say that makes him worse.”
“He was out of control,” the first person argued. “It doesn’t count.”
“It does count. He was one of us. His place was here. Instead of taking on the responsibility he was given, he decided to go sniffing for vampire *. A total waste of a male if you ask me. Vampires can’t satisfy men.”
I swiveled my head to peer at the females doing the talking.
Like Jackson, they had brown hair that had been cut short. Their tanned bodies were muscular and thin. The stares they aimed in my direction were hostile. They were dressed like men, in their normal ass-kicking wardrobe. I decided right then that if I never saw a piece of camouflage again, I could die happy.
“Hi there. Good to see you.” It was stupid, but I didn’t care if I harassed the she-men shamelessly. I gave them a wide, peppy, sorority sister grin and waved. “How’s it going?”
The shorter one growled, her irises an odd hue of yellow.
Then she narrowed her eyes and spat on the floor.
“Very nice,” I drawled, bestowing a double thumbs-up. “I can see why Patrick decided not to stick around.” I turned before they could form a plausible response, although I did make out a random “fuck you, bitch” as I resumed my walk.
The hallways were mostly empty, with a few trash bags placed in front of random doors. There was no movement or sound I could decipher, meaning the residents leaving behind garbage and waste must have moseyed upstairs to listen in on Carter’s plan.
“Psst! Hey. Hey! Over here!”
Frowning, I stopped and searched for the tiny voice. I gazed around and saw a young boy who didn’t appear to be any older than nine or ten peering around the corner.
“Yeah, you.” He motioned with frantic waving jerks of his hand, indicating I should move closer and fast. “Come here.”
After a moment, I started walking in his direction. When I got within his reach, he snagged my arm, pulled me behind him, and hauled ass for the only open doorway. We’d barely made it inside the apartment before he spun around, closed the door behind us, and sagged with apparent relief against the wood.
I was about to ask him what he wanted when the ghost of a woman appeared, walking out of the kitchen as if she were still very much alive. She stopped, lifted her head, and looked at me.
Her dark auburn hair was markedly longer than I’d seen the other women wearing, but it was still cropped into a bob that met her chin. It was a shock seeing her, as the spirits I’d encountered never crossed into a personal dwelling. She had to have died here—within the building, inside the very apartment we stood in—to be wandering around.
“They say you can see ghosts.” The little boy gained my notice as he circled the room. He stopped in front of me, blocking out portions of the spirit that waited just behind him. “Can you or can’t you?”
I took a quick glance at the ghost and tried to decide which was better—the truth or a lie. I was already up to my neck in shit, and I didn’t want to add manure to the pile. It would be easy to leave and not answer. I took the little man in. He wasn’t kidding around. His face was too serious.