Destined for an Early Grave

cops, they’d really discount anything she said in the future.

Denise kept the gun pointed toward the sounds as she edged around to the front windows. If she angled her body just so, she could see—

“What?” Denise gasped out loud.

On her porch was a little girl, something red on her outfit. She was tapping on the door in a way that looked hurt or exhausted or both. Now Denise could make out the word “help” coming faintly from her.

Denise set down the gun and yanked open the door. The little girl’s face was streaked with tears and her whole frame trembled.

“Daddy’s hurt,” the child lisped.

She picked her up, looking around for a car or any other indicator of how the little girl had gotten there.

“What happened, sweetie? Where’s your daddy?” Denise crooned as she took the child inside.

The little girl smiled. “Daddy’s dead,” she said, her voice changing to something low and deep.

Denise’s arms fell at the instant deluge of weight, horror filling her as she saw the little girl morph into the same man who’d murdered Paul.

“Thanks for letting me in,” he said, his hand clapping over Denise’s mouth just in time to cut off her scream.

Spade closed his mobile phone, mulling the conversation he’d just had. Denise MacGregor fancied her cousin had been murdered by some sort of weredog— except weredogs or were-anything didn’t exist.

The only reason he was making the trip to Texas was on the off chance that there was another explanation. It was possible a vampire murdered her cousin and then tranced Denise into thinking she’d seen him transform into a dog. Human memories were so easy to alter. And if Denise had witnessed a vampire attack, the murderer might decide to use more than glamour to make sure she didn’t retell the tale. Since Denise was his best mate’s friend, he’d go to ensure her safety, if another vampire was involved.

Spade cast a look at his bed with regret. He’d long ago mastered the crippling lethargy that came with sunrise, but that didn’t mean he relished a trip to Texas now. Ah, well. It was the least he could do to ensure Crispin and Cat didn’t rush back from New Zealand for what was, in all likelihood, just the emotional breakdown of a human who’d snapped from too much grief and stress.

He remembered the look Denise gave him the last time he’d seen her. Specks of blood dotted her clothes, her face had been as pale as Spade’s own ivory skin, and her hazel eyes held a mixture of revulsion and fear.

“Why did you have to kill him?” she’d whispered.

“Because of what he intended to do,” Spade replied. “No one deserves to live after that.”

She hadn’t understood. Spade did, though. All too well. Humans might be more forgiving with their punishments, but Spade knew better than to show a rapist, even a potential one, any naive mercy.

He also remembered the last thing Denise said when he’d dropped her off at her house later that night. I’m so sick of the violence in your world. He’d seen that look on many humans’ faces, heard the same flat resonance in their voices, and it all ended the same. If Crispin weren’t so busy with everything that had happened lately, he’d explain to Cat how the kindest thing to do for her friend was to erase Denise’s memory of all things undead. Perhaps Spade would do that himself if Denise had become delusional. Kindness aside, if her grasp on reality had slipped, it would also eliminate a liability if everything Denise knew about them was erased from her recall.

Spade filled his satchel with enough clothes for a few days and went downstairs to the garage. Once settled behind the wheel of his Porsche, he put on dark shades and then clicked open the garage door. Bloody sun was already up. Spade gave it a baleful glare as he pulled out into the dawn.

Humans. Aside from tasting delicious, they were usually more trouble than they were worth.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again I have to thank God, for helping me achieve my old dreams while giving me strength to strive for new ones.

If I gave proper credit to everyone who’s helped me, encouraged me, or been instrumental in the success of my series this past year, I’d need a separate book. So to save space, I’ll mention a few people I couldn’t do this without: my editor, Erika Tsang, who continues to amaze me with support and insight that doesn’t just stop at making my books better. If I haven’t said it lately, I’m so grateful for all you do.

Thanks to Thomas Egner, whose beautiful covers are like reader magnets. Also thanks so much to Amanda Bergeron, Carrie Feron, Liate Stehlik, Karen Davy, Wendy Ho, and the rest of the fabulous team at Avon Books/HarperCollins.

Deepest gratitude to my agent, Nancy Yost, for your professional expertise, the outstanding attention you give your clients, and your invaluable assistance in guiding my career.

Thanks to the fans of the Night Huntress series, for continuing to allow me to share my world and characters with you. My books are only possible because of your enthusiasm and support. Simply put, you rule! Special thanks also go to Tage Shokker, Erin Horn, and Marcy Funderburk, for keeping my fan site such a fun place for readers—and me!—to hang out.

Melissa Marr and Ilona Andrews, I can’t thank you enough for your friendship, wisdom, critiques, and general awesomeness. The two of you have kept me steady through all the unexpected twists and turns this past year. “Sorority Sisters” for the win!

As always, to my husband and family…I’d be lost without you.

About the Author

JEANIENE FROST lives with her husband and their very spoiled dog in Florida. Although not a vampire herself, she confesses to having pale skin, wearing a lot of black, and sleeping in late whenever possible. And while she can’t see ghosts, she loves to walk through old cemeteries. Jeaniene also loves poetry and animals, but fears children and hates to cook. She is currently at work on the next novel in her bestselling Night Huntress series.

To know more about Jeaniene, please visit her website at www.jeanienefrost.com.

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By Jeaniene Frost

DESTINED FOR AN EARLY GRAVE

AT GRAVE’S END

ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE

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