Halfling (Black Petals Book 1) Read Online Free

wearily, pointing down the street with his thumb. Great, he thinks I’m nuts. My hand loosens its grip on the cleaver, and I let out a deep breath.
    “I’m so sorry,” I apologize and extend my free hand. “I’m Megan. I’m a little paranoid at the moment. I spent all morning watching horror movies,” I lie. “It really gets to a girl.”
    He chuckles and his expression lightens. “Not a problem.” He shakes my hand tightly. “I saw you come home yesterday morning. I was starting to think I was the only one under eighty in the neighborhood.”
    “Well, yeah actually, we are probably the only ones under eighty around here to be honest. It seems most young people prefer the other side of the city for whatever reason,” I agree with him.
    He shrugs. “Oh well, I guess. It’s not like I’m home much. I work a lot.”
    “What do you do?” I ask, making conversation and taking in his suit.
    “I’m a doctor,” he explains kindly and takes a small step closer now that he’s sure I won’t take a chunk out of him with my weapon.
    I gape. A doctor? “How old are you?”
    “Old enough to be a doctor,” he answers with a devilish smile. To me, he only looks to be about twenty-five, but I’m terrible at guessing age. He’s blonde with spiky hair and bright blue eyes the colour of sapphires. He’s neither tall nor short, standing at just under six feet tall. He’s cute I guess. Not faint-worthy, but definitely swoon worthy at least.
    “Would you like to come in?” I ask him when an awkward silence sets in for more than a few seconds.
    “Uh, I have a meeting I need to get to actually. Rain check?” he suggests, and hands me a bag from his hand. “This is for you.”
    “Isn’t it usually me that would give you a gift? You’re the one that’s new to the neighborhood, not me,” I joke and take the bag.
    He chuckles lightly. “I made too many. Have them.”
    I thank him and close the door, as he descends the steps. I lock the door, then I open up the bag. Inside, there is a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I do love a man who can bake, and I love chocolate chip cookies even more.
    I pop one into my mouth, then I put the rest on the kitchen counter for later. Crispen distracted me for a few minutes, but now I’m back to fretting about my future like an idiot.
    I sit on the couch with my laptop and job search. You know, because I rashly quit my job yesterday. I apply for a few that look alright, but nothing really catches my eye. I love working with the elderly, and I can’t believe that I have given up my dream job. Why is this happening to me?
    When supper rolls around, and I realize that I have no food in the house besides some left over bacon from breakfast, I decide that I’ll have to call in a pizza. I don’t feel like leaving the house while it’s pouring rain to get groceries.
    While I wait for my pizza, I type some searches into my favorite search engine. First, I try ‘Blayk Landon Toronto’ . Nothing even close comes up. Next, I search ‘gangs Toronto ’. Again, nothing too useful. I read up on a few suspected gang-related incidents, but nothing jumps out at me. Lastly, I search ‘gangs with rings’. There are plenty of gangs with a ring as some sort of symbol, but I can’t find a ring that matches mine or even comes close. I don’t know what I was hoping for exactly. I’m just about to put away my laptop, when I think of one more thing to search. The name on the inside of my father’s ring. I’ve always thought that it was just the name of the brand or maker of the ring.
    When I type in the name, multiple results show up. I wade through them until something catches my eye. It’s a police report in a paper from about twenty years ago. Unfortunately, the police report is not actually on the web, it is only referenced. To read the article, I have to contact the library. I click the link and a contact form pops up. I type in fake information, not wanting anyone to know that I’m