Free The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) by Aiden James, Patrick Burdine

strength. The advent of dawn may have very well been the only reason Peter and I didn’t perish. And, as far as the police were concerned, once my boyfriend called them and advised his landlord of the damage delivered to his rented townhouse, a whole new can of worms would be kicked over.
    “Txema, you
did
call the police… please tell me that you did!”
    “I’m getting ready to do it now—”
    “PLEASE do it
right
now!”
    “Okay, okay. Just chill for a moment. I’ll get it done—I promise!” I assured her. “Are you at the dorm or someplace else on campus?”
    “Johnny and I are getting ready to eat something, but then we’re coming back to Massey,” she said.
    “Peter and I’ll meet you there.”
    “When?” she persisted. She sounded panicked again.
    “Right after the police get here.” I made sure my tone sounded soothing, with a positive lift. It worked on guys; I just prayed it worked on my highly intuitive roommate, too. “Once they’re done with a police report, or whatever, I’ll make sure Peter drives us back to campus.”
    “Okay… you promise, right?”
    “Yes, I promise!”
    It was hard not to admire her persistence. It was so much like me, too. If the chupacabra vamps had a sadistic fondness for a beautiful African American instead of a girl of Basque descent, I’m sure I’d be just as obsessive for her safety.
    After my conversation with Tyreen ended, Peter called to me from upstairs. There was no sign of anyone else, and he had already called the police. The dispatcher advised that a patrol car would be on its way in a few minutes.
    He looked numb as he headed downstairs. No doubt, the images of what he saw in the daylight were still being reconciled to the bizarre and terrifying events from the night before.
    “There’s no one here,” he said, his voice subdued. “What in the hell am I supposed to tell the cops?”
    I could almost feel the depth of his bewilderment, and the torment of trying to merge his previous understanding of the world and natural laws with the incredible destruction left by our inhuman visitors. Peter’s perspective on life had been seriously jacked up over the last several hours and honestly, my own had as well.
    “You stick to the facts,” I said. “Tell them that you saw shadows of someone moving upstairs and then we ran down into the cellar. Whoever was here got angry and tore the place up. Just be glad they didn’t decide to burn the building down around us.”
    I added a wry smile to go with this last part, which he seemed oblivious to. He nodded pensively.
    “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said.
    Neither of us wanted to rehash anything more, and we waited in silence until the police arrived. They didn’t stay long, especially after Peter followed my advice in giving just cursory replies to their questions. Property damage, even on this scale, doesn’t get taken quite as seriously where there is apparently a serial killer on the prowl. After a brief tour of the townhouse and the back porch, the two officers completed their report.”
    “You’ll get a copy of this in the mail in the next seven to ten days. You can usually contact your insurance company and file before you obtain this copy of the report,” the lead officer said. He was businesslike, but there was also a weariness in his voice. I realized it was likely he had worked a double, perhaps even a triple shift already.
    The officer left and Peter went into the kitchen only to return a few seconds later with a box of heavy-duty garbage bags in his hand.
    I helped Peter tack a handful of garbage bags over the windows, and on the way back to Massey Hall, he called his landlord with the police report number for his insurance claim.

    Talk about lockdown.
    The security checks to get back onto campus were much more intense that morning as compared to Thursday. Also, unlike the previous day, there were Knoxville cops everywhere.
    Peter parked his Camaro at the library again, and we walked