The first warning was a tremor in the linoleum, followed by a bass‑heavy boom that rattled every cabinet door. From the depths of Linda's cheerful kitchen came a voice that could have ordered mountains to shuffle left:
"Has anyone seen my invitation to this party?"
The voice carried the kind of authority that made ancient-vampire-turned-Hybrids straighten their spines and werewolves resist the urge to bare their necks in submission. It was the sort of voice that commanded respect across species lines, and it was currently coming from Linda's cheerfully decorated kitchen.
"Oh no," Callum breathed, his face going pale in a way that suggested he recognized that particular brand of authoritative bass. "Oh no, no, no."
