As Lie the Dead (Dreg City, Book 2) by Kelly Meding

By Kelly Meding

Evangeline Stone, a rogue bounty hunter, by no means requested for an international divided among darkness and light-weight . . .
. . . or the ability to die and stay back in an individual else’s borrowed physique. After a homicide plot intended to take her out leaves a whole race of shapeshifters approximately extinct, Evy is gnawed through guilt. So while one of many few survivors of the slaughter enlists her reduction, she feels duty-bound to help—even notwithstanding conserving a frail, pregnant shifter is the very last thing Evy wishes, specifically with the area going to hell round her.

Amid weres, Halfies, gremlins, vamps—and more and more outgunned humans—a warfare for supremacy is brewing. With shifters tough justice, her superiors eager to keep an eye on her, and an murderer on her path, Evy discovers a frightening conspiracy. and she or he could be the simply individual on the earth who can cease it—unless, in fact, her personal facet will get her first.

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Example text

Ha. I’m surrounded by struggling shops in old storefronts, each protected by rows of steel bars and less-than-impressive security systems. The uneven sidewalks are strewn with litter and overflowing trash cans. The strip club across the street flashes neon signs that invite all the wrong sort. As many hookers as johns pace the corners, all keeping an eye out for cruising cop cars. As if they’ll see any around here. The cab has left me in front of a tiny jewelry store called A Puzzlement. I’m curious about the name and mentally check it off as something to explore later.

Halfies that managed not to go bat shit from a vampire’s infectious bite didn’t manage a set of impressive fangs for a good two weeks. My attacker’s nubs put him around five days. Past the fangs, I saw the face. One I’d seen two days before, in a cellar prison. I’d coined the name Jock Guy for him. Same clothes, same cocky expression. Only this time I wasn’t behind bars. ” I asked, and planted my foot flat on his sternum. He hissed and snarled but was in too much pain to put up a real fuss. “Maybe you missed the memo, but Tovin’s dead.

As Wyatt and I walked down the corridor to the elevator, I couldn’t decide which I’d seen in Phineas. And that unsettled me even more. Our bus trip was brief, just long enough to eat the too-sweet toaster pastries, and ended two blocks over the Black River. The constant stop ’n’ start was seriously slowing us down. Besides, Mercy’s Lot was good for catching a cab in daytime, which we did with little issue, and continued our trek across downtown to the city’s largest and oldest hospital. St. Eustachius sat on the west bank of the Anjean River, about a mile north of where it connected to the Black River.

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