Free The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed by Lynne Connolly

they had their weaknesses during the daytime, and there weren’t many Talents, when compared to the number of mortals. A vampire at the height of his or her powers faced with a small army didn’t stand to win anything except a swift death.
    Jay carried on walking, trying to detect anything untoward until a disturbance trembled through his shields. Just a twinge. Not something he could place or force, and certainly he couldn’t pinpoint a direction, but distress. From about a mile away.
    A shame that telepathy didn’t have a built-in compass, but he could eliminate a few areas. That left…a fuckload of ground to travel. But he’d do it. Something wasn’t right. He walked farther out, hands loosely by his sides, wishing he’d brought a gun instead of the slim blade he always carried as a matter of course.
    Without warning, a Talent communicated with him. Male, and someone he couldn’t recall contacting him before. A stranger. “There’s a copse of trees. One big maple.” An image flashed into his mind, of a configuration of branches, one twisted.
    “I know it.”
    “Come now.”

Chapter Five
    The voice abruptly shut off, and try as hard as he could, Jay couldn’t connect with it again. No help for it. He quickened his pace, ran toward the area the unknown voice spoke of.
    Was he running into a trap? Should he call for backup? He shot a message back to his agent. “Here. Now. Run.” This person was another fucking vampire, so as weak as he was during daylight hours, but that was relative. They were also trained fighters.
    Perhaps Pete would bring a weapon. Just to make sure, he corrected himself and received the incredulous, “You’re not armed?” in return.
    Jay concentrated on running.
    He reached the copse, saw a flash of color where there should be none. The blue of faded denim. A white top, maybe a shirt.
    One man slumped on the ground, lying on his back. Blood soaked into the earth. Even in his mortal state, Jay could smell it—a heated, thick aroma permeating the air. Another man leaned over him, got up at Jay’s near noiseless approach, and turned around.
    Blue . Jay recognized the Talent’s imprint now that he was closer, and Blue wasn’t doing anything to hide his presence.
    Jay didn’t stop to think. The man on the ground had called him, but Blue had intercepted the message. This bastard was trouble, and Talent or no, he had to suffer for it.
    Jay sprang, lashing out with one fist as he got within reach, but Blue sidestepped. That was why Jay hadn’t used his feet. He’d have lost his balance. So the Talent knew how to fight. He tried again, landed a punch on the base of Blue’s rib cage.
    With an inhuman roar, Blue surged forward, eyes glowing red, hands out, wicked claws extending them. Oh shit . A shape-shifter didn’t lose his powers during the daytime. Jay was so screwed.
    Not that it would stop him trying. He recalled what he’d told Lucille sometime last night— ”Not all Talents are good” —and cursed himself for not taking care of the problem then. “Are you impervious to bullets?”
    “They don’t hurt me when I’m in my other form.” Scales rippled over Blue’s skin but didn’t stay. Blue had just given a demonstration. Dragon.
    “So what does?” Jay went for a kick this time, too fast for Blue to catch and twist.
    Blue raised his brows in an expression of exasperation. He stepped aside and back. “Shit, and I thought all I had to do was show up. Jay, don’t you know me?”
    “Nope.” Maybe he could get Blue to shape-shift, and then he could try for the vulnerable parts, the underbelly and between the claws where the skin was relatively softer.
    “Nathan Beaumont.” Blue watched him warily. “You won’t recognize the first name, but you might remember the second. Sir George Beaumont, terror of all London, at your service.”
    He was speaking English. English English. Blue—Nathan—dropped his mental shields and the fog he’d used to obscure his