Broken Trust

Rideten, Present Time

They were swept into the house on a tide of women, voices overlapping in a craze that gave Rhett an instant headache. He managed to determine that those within the house were refugees of a sort, hiding from the Van Helsings and their cuffs. Part of him wanted to snarl at them that whilst the witches had been baking bread and burning incense, others were out there dying, but he managed to keep his temper in check.

Stella quickly took control and began issuing instructions and orders. Rhett eased back out the way that they’d come and slipped onto the porch. There, overlooking the pretty garden, he took one of the prettily cushioned wicker chairs, propped his feet up on the bright patchwork of an ottoman, and lit a smoke.

The door opened and Phillip stepped out, smoothing his hair back from his face as he scanned around him, spotting Rhett.

“Fuck,” Rhett muttered. He should have followed the porch around the house and found a hidey hole.

“There you are,” Phillip cro