He stood against the black SUV’s hood. He had parked beneath the streetlight posted behind the Lizard Lounge, Paris’s resident faery nightclub. Or at least, the club was the closest most would get to faeries without actually stepping into FaeryTown, where the real danger lurked. It was unseasonably cold for October, but regardless, he didn’t wear a coat over the black T-shirt he’d tucked into black cargo pants. A leather holster was strapped across his chest and back, but the pistol tucked under his arm didn’t sport normal bullets: they were wooden, designed for stopping vampires. Wood wouldn’t kill them, but it would give the nasty longtooths pause long enough for Hart to take them out. If necessary. It had been some time since vampires had bothered his pack. He missed the action. Easing back his shoulders, he winced—he was feeling it now in his triceps. Shouldn’t have spent all morning with the punching bag.
