Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(78)

By when? Tomorrow? How long could they wait without trying something else?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Jenna jumped at the loud pounding on the front door.

Frowning, she rose and headed for the living room.

John shuffled out of his bedroom, sweatpants and T-shirt rumpled, hair sticking up on one side. “Is he awake?”

“Not yet.”

“Was that—?”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She nodded and continued into the living room and over to the door. Rising onto her toes, she peeked through the peephole.

A tall red-haired young man who looked to be her son’s age stood there, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

“Yes?” she called.

He straightened, eyes fastening on the peephole. “Hi. I’m looking for Jenna?”

“And you are?”

“Sheldon Shepherd, ma’am.”

Who the hell was that?

“Do you know him?” John whispered.

“No.”

“What do you want?” John demanded in a deep, hostile voice.

Jenna peeked through the peephole again.

Sheldon went still. “I . . . ah . . . I’d just like to talk with you for a moment, ma’am, if that’s all right. We . . . ah . . . we have a mutual friend who . . . with whom I’ve lost contact and . . .” He glanced around, frustration written all over his face.

Jenna lowered her heels to the floor. “He must be a friend of Richart’s,” she whispered and reached for the lock.

John caught her hand. “Or he could be one of the people who hurt him.”

“If he’s a friend, maybe he can help him.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Hello?” Sheldon called.

“Just a minute,” Jenna called back.

“Hang on,” John said and hurried from the room. When he returned, he carried one of Richart’s daggers. “Just in case. No way am I going to let whoever cut him up cut you up.”

He casually slid his arm a little behind his back so the blade wasn’t visible.

Nerves jangling, Jenna opened the door.

Sheldon looked down at her. “Hi. Jenna?”

“Yes.”

He offered his hand. “I’m Sheldon. Nice to meet you.”

Jenna shook his hand, not getting any kind of danger vibes from him, but still on guard.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but”—he looked to John, then met Jenna’s gaze again—“may I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“No,” John said before she could answer.

Jenna shot John a warning glare. “What is this about, Sheldon?”

He looked from side to side and down to see if anyone was outside who might overhear them. Leaning forward a bit, he murmured, “It’s about Richart. I don’t want you to worry, but . . . something happened last night and I’ve lost contact with him. I—”

“What is your relationship with Richart?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m his nephew.”

Relief rushed through her. Richart had mentioned his nephew several times, but she didn’t remember him ever calling him by name. “Come in.” She stepped back so Sheldon could enter and closed the door behind him. “This is my son, John.”

Sheldon offered his hand to John, who shook it with reserve.

“What’s going on with Richart?” she asked.

“I’m not at liberty to go into detail. It’s highest level clearance only. In fact, I shouldn’t even be here, but . . . Richart was . . . out on assignment last night and some problems arose. The situation deteriorated quickly. There was a lot of confusion and . . . I’ve lost contact with him. I hoped you might have heard from him.” He glanced around the room, his words slowing as he noticed the splintered coffee table, the bloody fistprint on the wall. “I really need to talk to him.”

“He’s here,” she announced, hoping her instincts were correct when they insisted he was friend and not foe.

Relief blanketed his features, though some wariness remained. “Is he okay?”

She shook her head and motioned for him to follow her back to her bedroom. “He collapsed shortly after he . . . appeared.”

“Do you mean arrived?” he asked carefully.

“No, I mean he just appeared. Out of thin air.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. There’s an explanation for that.”

“Of course there is,” John drawled, bringing up the rear. “He’s a vampire.”

“He isn’t a vampire!” Sheldon denied. “Wait. You guys believe in vampires?”

“We sure as hell do now,” John answered.

Jenna nodded as they entered the bedroom. “It’s hard not to after seeing Richart’s glowing eyes and fangs.”

Again he swore. “Yyyyyyeah. There’s an explanation for that, too.”

They surrounded Jenna’s bed.

“Has he regained consciousness?” Sheldon asked as he leaned down and drew the covers back. Bandages and butterfly closures decorated most of Richart’s torso.

“No,” Jenna answered.

“Are his wounds still bleeding?”

“No.” Had she not seen Richart’s fangs and eyes, she would have puzzled over that. She had not even needed to apply pressure to them. The bleeding had just . . . stopped.