Free Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply by Michele Bardsley

dealing with him. We expected the pyramid to reappear in the desert tomorrow—the “seven days hence”—and others had gathered at Moira’s dig site in preparation.
    Karn would no doubt try for the pyramid again. We all knew that he would make his presence known eventually. He’d been popping up and wreaking havoc for the last couple of months. Pain in the ass. Some
droch fola
—the vampires who were soulless—were relentless in their stupidity. But if Karn was in Egypt . . . then he wasn’t anywhere near New York State.
    The most recent Vedere prophecy revealed that the return of the missing vampire ancients, Shamhat and Amahté, would herald a new chapter for the vampires. The prophecy was not particularly secret . . . but the location of the Ancients had been closely guarded. How Karn had learned of their whereabouts remained a mystery. His goal was to get to those long-slumbering Ancients and kill them. He wanted to take their power—and give himself true immortality with the ambrosia that was buried with them.
    World-domination plots were so last century.
    My thoughts returned to Moira. She was a fascinating woman in many respects. However, she was not very well liked around these parts, though the bits of gossip I gleaned while sitting at the coffee shop and in the library (where she loved to go ravage the sections on ancient Egypt) seemed tinged with bitterness. People who whispered their grievances and spread poison with innuendos were cowards.
    Moira was not a coward.
    She faced people every day who either hated her or feared her, and she acted as though their sneers and the obvious way they crossed streets to avoid her didn’t bother her at all. She ignored, too, people clustering together and laughing behind their hands. Perhaps these actions did not bother Moira. Constant derision and scorn often built the most durable of shields.
    All the same, I wanted to rip off their faces.
    I had come to admire Moira. She had grace. Purpose. Beauty.
    If I hadn’t known better, I would have said she was a werewolf.
    I was the only one dispatched to the college to watch over Moira. Dove did not need protection. She vibrated with the kind of energy that encouraged people to move out of her way or die.
    I liked her.
    The other humans Eva had glamoured were also students here, but we had no cause to concern ourselves with their memories. Their minds had been far more malleable than Moira’s and Dove’s . . . and most had been asleep when Karn sent his minions to the campsite. The one called Ax had presented a somewhat larger challenge, but eventually he remembered just as Moira and Dove did: They had found an empty crypt and had returned to the States hopeful that next year’s dig would bear fruit.
    Eva had thought the false memories of an archaeological find would better hide the real memories of uncovering the pyramid and being attacked by Karn.
    I felt a growl low in my throat.
Karn.
The way he had taken Moira, threatened her. He deserved to die for laying his filthy hands on her. My sense of dread had been building all week.
    Or maybe it was my attraction to Moira that coiled like a snake in my belly and caused my foreboding. I could not have her.
    But I wanted her.
    I heard the clip of boots on the sidewalk and straightened. I knew the beat of Moira’s shoes on concrete. She strode around the corner, confident and beautiful, her red hair pulled into a casual ponytail. She wore a short-sleeved T-shirt with the college logo on it, tight jeans, and an old pair of cowboy boots. She carried a monstrous tote, and as always, her expression suggested she was deep in her own thoughts.
    She seemed unaware of her surroundings, and as far as I could tell from my weeklong observations, she never seemed to show interest in detecting potential danger. Being on home turf made her complacent, even though she was surrounded by enemies. If I had the opportunity, I would show her how to protect herself better. She seemed