Bitten to Death (7 page)

“Would you get the hell home already?” I snapped. “I don’t have all night!”

“Okay, okay, sorry if I thought maybe you’d come to kill me.” I’m not sure which of us was more surprised when the werebear, now fully transformed to a towering hulk of humanity, came shuffling out of the barn with his hands raised. Well, one hand. The other was covering his manly parts, since the vamps hadn’t seen fit to throw his clothes into captivity with him.

Though thick hair covered his chest, the pink puckered marks where Dave and I had wounded him practically glowed. And he’d been bitten so many times on the neck he looked like he was wearing a red chain.

“Do you remember anything that happened before you were brought here?” I asked.

He shook his head, his long brown curls bouncing like fishing pole bobbers as he moved. “Not much. I was flirting with a girl in the bar at the Hotel Patra. And then . . . nothing.”

“What did the girl look like?”

“Lovely, clear skin with eyes like honey. Petite. Sweet. I didn’t like her hair so well. But”—he shrugged—“it was worth all the rest.”

“What was wrong with it?”

“She had the, what do you call them?” He scrunched his free hand into his own tresses until a hunk of it fit tight into his fist.

“Dreadlocks?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Aha! So Meryl had been a key player in the Were-trapping scheme. “Okay,” I said. “Now get going. I don’t know how long they’ll be busy, but someone’s coming out here soon and it won’t be to hand you a pair of jeans.”

“But I must thank you. And to know your name, for the prayers of blessing.”

“You’re welcome. My name is Jasmine Parks.” I did mean to say Lucille Robinson. But she’s plenty blessed.

“Thank you, Jasmine Parks. My name is Kozma. And may Rhiaak bless you.”

A sudden, loud boom from the vicinity of the garage made us both jump.

“Shit! The wolf!”

“We must save him!”

I put my hand on Kozma’s chest as he tried to rush past me. Even from here I could tell. “He’s dead. And soon the vamp who shot him will be coming after you. Can you run?”

“Not far. I am still weak from the wounds.”

“O-kay. Follow me.” The walk from the wagon house to the lane only took half a minute. But it was all uphill, and Kozma was sucking air after the first five steps.

I whispered, “He’s coming. I can feel him. Too far away to hear us. Too close to dodge. Hide in the trees.” I handed Kozma the keys to the Range Rover as I described where it was parked. “It’s unlocked, and you’ll find a change of clothes in the back. When you see it’s clear, get your ass to town.”

“How can I ever repay you?” he asked as he took the chain and looped it around his finger.

“Make sure the rental agency sends the vehicle back tomorrow. And look, I know your league is going to be pissed when you tell them what happened. Just keep them away from this Trust for at least a week, okay? By then our business with them will be finished and you can do anything you like with them.”

From the light in his eye I figured whatever he had in mind wouldn’t be pleasant. But, remembering the shot we’d just heard and the sudden absence of the wolf’s imprint, I didn’t really care. “Fair enough,” he said.

“What’s all this?” asked Rastus, waving his gun at me as if he thought I might be concealing several more Special Ops types in Vayl’s Samsonite. His voice had roughened since its encounter with my
sverhamin
’s sword. And I knew, from the look in his eye, he’d love to use me for payback. I hoped I wasn’t about to give him an excuse.

I shoved my trunk at him so hard he either had to grab it or be trampled. “What’s it look like?” I demanded. “Disa said you were coming twenty minutes ago. Where’ve you been?”

“I . . .” He gestured back toward the garage, realized that was a story he shouldn’t tell. His eyes strayed toward the wagon house. “I have some—”

“Here.” I unloaded Dave’s pack, hung it over that waving arm, making it sag enough that if the Makarov went off it would take a chunk of my thigh with it. “You know where our suite is, right?”

“I’m kind of busy . . .”

I dumped Vayl’s suitcase at Rastus’s feet. Then I got in his face, started poking him in the chest. “You vamps think you’re so special, don’t you? Think you’re better than everyone else on the planet! Too good to do dishes or take out the trash or carry luggage for mere humans!” I gave him a push that nearly toppled him over. “Well, you and your Trust can go fuck yourselves for all I care!”

I stomped into the courtyard, deposited myself in a chair, and ignored him as he spent thirty seconds trying to figure out what to do with his gun, finally decided it would be okay in the pocket of his coat, and then spent another minute trying to load up the stuff I’d dumped on him.

I waited for him to disappear inside the villa, then I checked out the keys I’d lifted from his jacket pocket. Hey, it wasn’t in my nature to leave myself without wheels.

While I listened to the music of the Range Rover rolling Kozma away from imminent danger, I noted that one set of keys belonged to the minibus I’d seen parked just outside the garage. A couple looked like house keys. One might’ve been to a lockbox or safe. And also hanging from the chain was a remote opener for the garage door.

Looking back to make sure Rastus had committed himself to his delivery job, I went out the gate and thumbed the remote just enough to allow myself room to crouch down and get a good view of the floor.

Like Kozma, the wolf had changed. He sprawled in a pool of his own blood as if he meant to swim in it. His lips were still drawn back in a snarl, his fighter’s eyes wide and angry.

Wait a second. Shouldn’t they be empty? Is this sucker still alive? Can’t be. I don’t feel a presence . . . do I?

I ducked under the door, closed it, and moved to his side. While I hunted for a pulse I reached out with that extra sense Vayl had been nurturing since day one. There it was, the smell of werewolf, so faint it barely penetrated the vampire din coming from the mansion. And the pulse—also hardly existent.

“Aw, geez.
Now
what am I gonna do with you?” I whispered.

I knew enough about Weres to kill them, and that was about it. So the bullet Rastus had used must’ve been silver. Even if it had gone completely through his body, it had probably left enough residue to cause a fatal poisoning. But Rastus had played it lazy with that single shot. If you want to make sure a Were is dead, you have to cut off his head. Because he’s capable of sending himself into a trance while he tries like hell to heal. Which is what this guy seemed to have done. I supposed that meant he had a chance. If we had a place to stow him. If we could find somebody to draw out the silver and pump in a buttload of antidote.

I stared around the garage, searching for inspiration.

A workbench stretched across the far wall. Shelves full of paint, oil, fertilizer, and whatnot filled both sides of the place. A garbage can full of shovels and rakes took up one corner. Other than that—only blood.

“He must’ve lost half his supply already,” I whispered hopelessly. I was so bummed the Were was going to die I didn’t even blink when a face,
that
face, appeared again, swimming in his blood. “Great. Just when I think I’m pulling myself out of that pit of blackouts and nightmares that came after—after the Loss. I finally start pulling myself out of that hell and what happens? I go stark raving mad.”

“I love the mad,” said the face with an anguished smile. “They are so much more interesting than the sane.”

“Jesus Christ, could you at least not talk to me while I’m losing my mind?”

The face twisted. “That name is anathema to me. And I am already in enough pain. Can we at least agree that you will abstain from holy references and I will treat you as if you were stable until after we have saved the Were?”

“Only if you tell me your name.”

“But I do not know. Every day it seems as if I lose more of myself. Soon there will be nothing left.”

I could’ve told him he was already little more than narrowed eyes, pitted cheeks, and long drippy fangs protruding from a mass of spilled heart-fluid. But we didn’t have that kind of time. And I wanted the conversation to get saner, not weirder.

“Okay. I have maybe five minutes until Rastus comes to dispose of this almost-corpse. So. Considering that he’s damn near dead, do you have any idea how to reverse that?”

“Fresh blood.”

“I’m not putting anything of mine near his mouth.”

A breath of annoyance. “As if he could swallow it. No, woman, be direct. I can feel your powers from here. Just a few drops in the wound will begin the process. You should know what to do next.”

With no time to stall, I did anyway. “How’s my blood going to help? He’s so far gone.”

“It will act as a stimulant. Much as doctors administer adrenaline to patients who are severely allergic to bee stings.”

While my hallucination had been talking I’d finally decided to get busy. I’d pulled the bolo out of my right pocket.
Talk about overkill
, I thought as I made a quick, horizontal incision about four inches above my wrist. One of my throwing knives would’ve worked better. But I hadn’t strapped them to my wrist since returning from Iran.

Holding the cut above the Were’s bullet wound, I squeezed my arm, forcing as much of my blood to drip into him as I could manage on short notice.

Nothing happened.

It won’t be long now,
I told myself.
Then I’ll leave. After the mission I’ll contact his pack and let them know what happened. Maybe try to help them locate the body.
My eyes strayed to the shovels in the corner. We’d probably never find it.

I was so sure the Were was going to die that when he grabbed my arm with both hands I jumped a couple of inches off the floor. “What the hell?”

He muttered something I didn’t understand. It sounded like Greek. He surged upward in a half sit-up, using my arm as a brace. We froze in that position, our eyes meeting in a moment of perfect comprehension. I felt my vision expand, as if my contact lenses had suddenly become telescopic. More than that. My Spirit Eye, which usually allowed me to sense
others
, track them, mark their vulnerabilities, and take them down, turned inward. And I Saw that I could wrap my vision around him. That I could use it to reach inside him, blast the blood I’d donated across his internal wasteland, and make it work like rain in the desert.

So I did.

What I didn’t expect was the return. This must’ve been what Vayl had meant when he’d first taken my blood. That, despite appearances, it wasn’t a donation. It was an exchange. For a moment that felt somehow eternal, the Were and I existed inside each other. No lies. No bullshit. I
knew
him. Not details, like a name and address. The big picture. Intentions, beliefs, hopes, regrets. They all swirled among my own, stirring, sparking, but never judging. And, just like that, I loved him. Not like I had Matt. Not like I could love Vayl. More like how I’d cared for my vamp-slaying crew in that once upon a time when I’d believed they’d live forever.

As soon as I felt his vitality rise, I closed my Spirit Eye. I realized I was covered in sweat, suffering from a pounding headache, a crushing desire for chocolate chip cookies, and a cramp in my right foot from sitting at the wrong angle.

“Holy
shit
, let’s not do that anymore, all right?” I muttered. “That’s just too . . . extreme. Plus, it makes you talk to yourself afterward.” I pulled the Were to his feet. He said something else in Greek. “Sorry, buddy. My universal translator is still in the aw-please-you-gotta-build-this stage.”

“Where are we going?” he asked in perfect English.

“To hide you. What’s your name?”

“Trayton.”

Come on, pal, please stop looking at me like your mind’s blown too. Let’s pretend we’re normal for a little while longer
.

“You can call me Lucille. Listen, I happen to know there’s a secret tunnel leading from the wagon house into the mansion. You’re going to have to walk about two hundred yards, naked, in sixty-degree weather. Can you handle that?”

“I can do anything you ask.” Trayton gazed at me with copper-colored eyes that seared themselves into my heart. The other reason I never wanted to repeat what I’d just done. Because, at least in this moment, with no one in my head but me, I could admit it hurt too much to care. In fact, it scared the shit out of me. As a result, every act of kindness or (gulp) outright affection required a response from me that simulated a charge up a heavily fortified enemy hill. I didn’t need more friends, dammit.

I hid my wince in my sleeve as I wiped it across my mouth. “Okay. Let’s get the hell out of here before Rastus shows up and spoils all our fun.”