"Why did our father need a personal ward?" Dorian asks.
Sean steps on the rung of a toppled barstool and deftly flips it upright onto its four legs with a smug smirk. "I always thought it was because of the vampires—."
"Wait—what?" Dorian blinks his eyes as if trying to process the impossibility of what he's hearing. "Now there are vampires involved too?"
Hitching a leg over the barstool, Sean takes a seat, then pats his lap with a waggle of his brows at me. "I hope not—sea monsters are trouble enough—but yes, there are vampires. With Desert pack situated in remote territory near the border, as the drug trafficking north out of Mexico increased, so did the human trafficking for vampire feeders."
"Eeuuww." Dorian's face screws up in disgust and he leans his elbows on the counter, directing his full attention at Sean.
