Bitten to Death

Chapter Six

I stood by the shuttered and shaded window of the suite Disa’s boy toy, Tarasios, had led us to, watching Vayl stitch Dave’s head back together. But my mind was on the Weres.

Which I hadn’t hallucinated one single bit, thank you very much. Wait, I wasn’t happy about that either. But at least it was real, dammit! The Weres had been rounded up and locked away where they could heal before returning to their regular lives. This was according to Tarasios, whose IQ continued to drop in my estimation the longer I knew him. So I’d questioned him closely on the details as he’d led us away from the blood-drenched dining room and the mutilated body of Niall’s dead guard.

“Where will they be kept?” I’d asked, looking over my shoulder at the muzzled wolf being carried by Niall and Admes with the help of a curtain rod they’d run between its tied legs.

“The wolf goes in the garage,” said Tarasios. “I had to back the cars out myself, because they might get scratched otherwise. And the bear goes in the wagon house. I don’t know why it’s called that because we don’t have any wagons. But that’s its name, so that’s where he went.”

I looked at his perfect face, serenely perched above his magnificent physique and thought, God is a practical joker. “Is the wagon house that big building at the end of the front-door path?”

He nodded. “I guess it’s a guesthouse now,” he said, snickering like a kindergartener at his own pathetic humor.

In order to get us to our temporary digs, Tarasios had to lead us past the villa’s front entrance. Even if my Spirit Eye hadn’t practically rolled back in its socket from the power I felt in that spot, I’d have had to stop. We stood in the second-floor hallway at a railing that overlooked the massive arched doorway, the handles of which were life-sized carvings of skeletons made to look as if the door was another dimension from which they were just emerging. I could imagine that when you let a guest through, it almost felt like you were pulling the skeletons into your reality as well.

Just inside the threshold stood the rough-hewn statue of a god. Though it had no face, I could tell it was divine. Nothing human could walk upright with a wang that size. The fact that it also had Pamela Anderson breasts just kinda made you go, Huh.

A chandelier the size of a big-screen TV hung from the ceiling, its brass base elaborately woven to resemble a face. I looked closely, my skin going cold as I peered, wondering if . . . no. It wasn’t the same as in the vision I’d had. But it definitely read vampire, its eyes, ears, and fangs dripping ruby-colored crystals, its hair a mass of tiny white bulbs.

On the burgundy tiled floor lay a rug that looked to have been woven from human hair. The umbrella stand beside the stairs might once have served as a man’s wooden leg. But those weren’t the most interesting items in the room. That honor definitely fell to the masks.

They hung from the wall that lined the staircase leading up to our landing. Made of metal, ivory, glass, and wood. Carved with lasers and pocketknives. Ranging in size from yeah-that’ll-fit-your-hamster to a whopping let’s-see-how-many-college-students-will-fit-into-this, these were the source of the power that made my teeth try to sink back into my gums.

“That’s quite a collection,” I said, waving to the wall and then sticking my hand in my pocket before Tarasios could see the shaking. What the hell was the Trust doing with all that alakazam?

“That’s just supposed to be like the spokes of the wheel,” said Tarasios enthusiastically. “Disa says somewhere there’s a—” He stopped, covering his mouth like a kid who’s about to reveal the location of his mom’s Christmas presents.

“A what?” I asked.

“Nothing. We’d better go.” Tarasios hurried on, leaving Vayl and me to exchange curious glances over Dave’s hanging head.

The more twists and turns we took inside that maze of a mansion, the freakier the decor got. Naw, I was cool with the black carpeted halls hung with red and gold flocked wallpaper. What shook me was the little zap of power I detected when we passed a glass case full of skulls whose teeth had all been removed and lined up neatly in front of them. Or the shelf full of ancient clay bowls whose internal stains, I sensed, had not been caused by clothing dye. I was just plain startled by a large frame that looked blank until you’d almost passed, and then you realized it contained a pair of holographic eyes.

Dave saw them too, the suddenness of their appearance causing him to stumble, making me want to put a hand under his arm to steady him. By now his coloring had shaded from its usual wind-burned brown to a sickly celery. But if I offered help he might never speak to me again. Plus Vayl, walking on his other side, was quick enough to catch him before he fell. So I tapped Tarasios on the shoulder.

“We’re almost there,” he said, picking up the pace even more.

Okay, he really doesn’t want to talk about the masks. Or probably anything else that’s tweaked my freak-detector tonight. So let’s try something else. “Aren’t you worried about the police finding out about the Weres?” I asked Tarasios. “I know they’re not protected any better than vamps. But you still need a good reason to have one trapped in your garage. Unless he’s just mangled your family and you’re waiting for the local executioner, I’d say you’re in a legal shithole here.”

“Well, Hamon’s—” He blushed prettily, looking over one shoulder as if afraid Disa would suddenly jump from behind the statue we were currently passing. It was a rather gruesome depiction of Athena emerging from Zeus’s head, which, while scary enough in itself, might even give me the screaming jeebies if she leaped out and yelled, “I am the Deyrar!”

“Go ahead,” I said gently. “We won’t tell her what you said about Hamon. Right, Vayl?”

“I doubt we would tell Disa if her own hair were on fire,” Vayl muttered.

When Tarasios gave him a hurt look, I waved my hand around in front of him to get his attention. “He’s such a kidder. Go on.”

Tarasios shrugged, cocked his head to one side, as if slightly embarrassed. “I was just going to say Hamon’s apartments should be empty. But we’ve been prevented—that is—we haven’t been able to pack up his things, so there’s no room for a Were there.” He turned to Vayl in delight. “Did you hear that? Were there. I made a rhyme!”

“You’re a poet and you don’t know it,” Dave muttered. “Now, where the hell are we staying?”

While Tarasios led us to our door, Vayl and I traded interested glances. What would keep a bunch of determined vampires from clearing out their dead leader’s drawers? Given Hamon’s tragic end, I think I smell a death-spell. One designed to keep bad-wishers out of your goodies if you happen to kick it unnaturally soon.

I wanted a look inside those apartments. But first I had to experience ours.

The suite consisted of two rooms. The first, which had been painted forest green, couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A table that looked like it might’ve been rescued from a library fire had been shoved against the wall to the left of the main entry. Two straight-backed chairs were pushed so far beneath it they actually tipped backward slightly. A bookshelf made of some dark wood, maybe black walnut, ran the length of the back wall. Knickknacks like the broken pieces of pottery you might expect to pull from an archaeological dig, and figurines of naked women and small round men with enormous genitals ran rampant across shelves that held only a few samples of actual reading material, all of which were written in Vampere.

The middle of the room held a fountain featuring a nude woman holding an urn on her head. Six brown wicker chairs with flowered cushions snuggled up to it. Given my surroundings, I couldn’t decide if I was supposed to study for my final or host a tea. Neither might prove to be the healthiest choice. Because the walls smelled vaguely of mold. Brown water flowed down naked-stone-lady’s body. And I was certain, given the right chemicals, I’d discover the stains scarring the wooden floor at the adjoining room’s threshold were blood.

Its open door invited exploration. But I figured Dave might appreciate some moral support, given that he looked like he’d just been bitch slapped by a gangbanger wearing steel gloves. So I stood by the covered window as he sat in one of the wickers, his nostrils flaring when Vayl shoved the needle too deep. To give him credit, my sverhamin worked with surprising care for one who’d seen, and done, so much violence. I don’t know what I’d expected. Something more along the lines of an old Western maybe. Here, chew on this stick while I dig around inside you and see if I can hammer every nerve ending in the immediate vicinity of my oversized, blunt-ended, outmoded instrument of torture—um, I mean modern medicine. But it looked like Vayl had plenty of experience stitching up slash wounds.

Come to think of it, putting members of my family back together seemed to be becoming a habit with him. My mind tracked back to the first night we’d returned home from our mission to Iran. When I’d traced him to his doorstep.

I’d stood in front of the redbrick Victorian with its wraparound front porch and Rapunzel-let-down-yer-hair turret and tried to square it with my mental image of Vayl. Who’d never seemed that attached to home. I’d expected to find him in a place similar to mine. Small. Nondescript. Hospital cold. But Vayl had a blue gazing ball beside his front steps. And flowers. Which didn’t calm me one bit. Because I was already pretty far gone. Not panicked, but getting close, which is maybe why I couldn’t stop once I started pounding on his sturdy oak door.

“Jasmine?” He’d thrown it open so fast my fists connected with his chest before I could stop myself. He caught my hands in his and held them still. “What is wrong?”

“I—” I gritted my teeth, trying to keep the words simple in my brain so they’d come out straight. “I can’t seem to stop sh-shaking.”

I felt him lift me, heard the door close. I curled into his feverish warmth, knowing it meant he’d just emptied the packaged blood he kept in his fridge. I wasn’t cold, but my teeth clicked like fingernails on a keyboard as I buried my face in his white silk shirt. I breathed in his scent. And still the shivers rocked me, as if I’d spent the past ten hours stuck in the back of a milk truck.

He sat down, holding me like a child on his lap. I got the impression of a room paneled in squares of rich brown wood, a couple of tall, ivory-shaded lamps, and a coffee table stacked with books. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“I don’t know—”

“When did it begin?”

“When I was unpacking. I was putting stuff in a pile to wash. Everything was okay. But then I opened my weapons case. And I got out the knives. The knife. To clean it. Because it still had Dave’s blood on it. From when I had to cut him, to get the Wizard’s ohm out of his throat. That—the thing the Wizard used to control him with when he was a zombie.” Vayl knew all this. I was babbling. But I couldn’t seem to stop. “Do you remember?” I said. “It contained part of his finger bone—”

“Of course.”

“Th-that’s when I s-started to sh-shake.” It had gotten worse. Just talking about it sent me into such spasms that Vayl had to fold his arms around me and hold me tight to keep me from juking off the long leather couch we shared.

After a minute or so I calmed down enough to say, “What the hell is up with me?”

While Vayl held me around the waist with one arm, he slid his free hand into my hair. As he slowly and repeatedly ran his fingers through my curls, he leaned forward until his forehead touched mine. Every move he made seemed gauged to relax and, bit by bit, I did feel myself begin to unwind.

“Jasmine, correct me if I am wrong. But in the past three months you have been murdered by a Kyron and brought back to life by Raoul. Spent weeks in hospital. Become an aunt. Endured killer nightmares. Come to terms with the loss of your fiancé. Saved the world at least twice. Freed your brother from a cursed existence only to see him die. Rescued your niece from otherworldly soul stealers. Sighed with relief when David did come back to this life, but then lost that relief because the next minute you found your father was the target of a murderer.”

Nodding didn’t seem to be among my current skill set, so I jerked my head a couple of times. “That about s-sums it up,” I said. Then I shut my mouth before I could accidentally bite my tongue.

“Darling, your body is telling you to give it some peace or it is going to shake you right into a mental institution.”

I was torn. Should I be delighted that he’d called me darling? Or terrified that my boss had brought up the idea of dumping me into the nuthouse? My feet, which were dangling over the side of the sofa, began tap dancing. Not a pretty sight.

I tried to get up. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have b-b-bothered you.”

“Jasmine, look at me.” For once my Sensitivity failed me. That hypnotic tone in his voice demanded and my eyes glued to his. They were amber. Glowing. He leaned in and kissed me, oh so softly, once on each cheek. “You will be fine. You simply need time and rest. Go to sleep. That is where the healing will begin.”

As usual he’d been right about me. I just wished Dave could’ve come home with us. Partaken of Vayl’s wisdom. Maybe then he wouldn’t be here now, torn up inside and out.

The cell phone in my back pocket vibrated, signaling the arrival of another text message. Oh yeah, as if I didn’t have enough guys to worry about. Then there’s him.

I pulled it out and checked the screen. Yup, it was from Cole. Now working his first solo mission, he’d become a real pain in my ass. And not just because every time my phone buzzed against my right butt cheek I knew his sweet, funny message would send me into a spiral of confusion and worry about how badly I was going to break his heart when I finally said, “No, Cole, I can’t see me married to you.”

Since I’d helped with his training, I also didn’t appreciate the spike of fear that jammed itself into my spine when I thought of everything that could possibly go wrong with him out there on his own. Which was the main reason I tolerated his ridiculous texts instead of putting him in his place. At least this way I could be sure he was still kicking.

I read quickly, happy that Cole spelled most things out, saving me the labor of code breaking.

Bored as a gay guy at Hooters. Cold, too. Mark is late. Rude of him, yes? Dreaming of you in ski boots and fur hat—nothing else! Tell Vayl he sux. Luv, C.

Uh-oh. Cole sitting around waiting for his target to show makes me wonder who’s going to get the banana up the muffler first. I immediately texted him back to behave himself and stowed the phone for later study. If I could figure out what part of the world Cole had been assigned to I might be able to give him better, more specific advice on how to stay out of trouble.

“I’m sorry, Jaz,” Dave said.

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re mad as hell right now.”

“Really? How can you tell?”

“You’re staring at my shirt. Which means you’re not meeting my eyes. Therefore you’re trying pretty hard not to punch me.”

Oh. Ha, ha, ha, not at all. I was just hoping that bizarre, bloody face wouldn’t reappear before we burn that rag you’re wearing. And then, yeah, come to think of it, I may have to beat the crap out of you.

Before I could say anything, Vayl stepped in. “Tact does not run in your family, does it?”

Dave and I shared a wry smile. Together we said, “No.”

Since that seemed to be the last word, Vayl leaned into his final stitches and I wandered into the bedroom. Just to the left of the door sat a canopy bed with a scrolled headboard. It was dressed in enough white lace for three brides, which made the arch-lidded trunk at its base seem like a shipwreck survivor. Beside it sat a table whose finish was flaking like hickory bark. It held a lamp and an empty wooden bowl big enough to hold an entire birthday cake. On the other side of the table sat an armchair in dire need of reupholstering, but once fit for royalty if the velvety blue and green fabric gave any clue.

Two white armoires that needed repainting covered the wall adjoining the bed. I was betting they blocked a window as well. The bathroom was just to the right, a mildewed, water-stained closet that I’d have to attack with a case of bleach before I’d feel comfortable using it. As in the sitting room, the floor had been left in its original wide-planked, wooden state.

I was getting ready to claim the bed and let the guys fight for floor space when I took a closer look at the painting mounted on the wall opposite the door. The bed’s occupant would view this picture every night before closing her eyes. If she could manage sleep, that is, after subjecting herself to its bold, slashing images. It showed a vampire feast. Without actual food. Yeah, screaming victims, their blood running like red tar in a backdrop of a blazing city. Chicago, maybe, back when everything was flammable, including the sidewalks.

I thought about it a second. Would it be better to snooze in the sitting room next to the rusty water and the fungus-covered walls? Nope, I still wanted the bed. But the picture had to go.

A tap at the outer door brought me back to the sitting room. “Were we expecting somebody?” I asked Vayl.

“Always,” he replied gravely.

I drew Grief, triggered the magic button, and sank into the chair nearest to Dave, holding the crossbow comfortably in my lap. All that my Sensitivity told me was that the creature on the other side of the door scented vampire. At least I had that. Before I’d died the first time, I’d been stuck in the five-sense box with everybody else I knew. I still hadn’t figured out if these extra-specials had been worth the price. But at the moment—any advantage they gave me got a definite hell yeah! As soon as I nodded to Vayl he said, “Come in.”

Marcon stepped inside and stopped, his eyes darting nervously from Vayl to Grief and back again. He winked, which I found odd, until he did it again and I realized he’d developed a twitch. Which meant something had changed. He’d been nervous before. Now he seemed überstressed. “Disa and Sibley wish to discuss Hamon’s contract with you,” he said.

“It’s a little late now,” I replied roughly.

“Ah, my apologies.” His bow, so courtly, took me to another age. I suddenly felt underdressed and ill-mannered. “Our sense of timing never seems to be in step with that of the outside world,” he said.

Despite my obvious red-neck ancestry, I soldiered on. “What is there to discuss? You people are in breach. You’ve allowed injury to my guy, here. Plus, you don’t seem to be able to tell your asses from a hole in the ground. What guarantee do we have that you won’t pull some idiotic stunt during negotiations that will blow our chance to eliminate Samos, or worse, get us killed?”

Marcon’s eyelid fluttered so wildly he put a finger to it and rubbed. “Sibley requested that I extend to all of you the Vitem’s deepest apologies, and ask if you would consider rejoining the contract. If so, we would like to confirm the details you and Hamon agreed to, as well as any new deals you might like to make.”

“What did Disa say she would do to you if you came back with a negative reply, Marcon?” Vayl asked gently.

He shuddered. “N-nothing.”

“But if I walked in the Trust once more, you would tell me . . .”

Marcon stared at him miserably, then shook his head. “You should never have left.”

“I was little more than a killer when I was here.”

“Yes, but you were ours.”

Vayl shrugged. “Now I am the CIA’s. And”—his eyes strayed to mine—“I am more.”

Marcon’s sigh could almost have been a sob. “What shall I tell the Vitem?”

Vayl tied off the last stitch and cut the thread with the scissors Dave handed him. “I will tell them myself.”

“Do you want me to come?” I asked.

“Not this time,” he said. Before I could argue, he was crouched in front of me, his fingertips warm on my face.

“I should be there to guard your back,” I whispered as his eyes lightened to the green I equated with long, breathless kisses.

“That is David’s job,” he said.

But he’s injured! Plus, the danger around us is so electric it’s practically sparking. If we’re separated here, where everyone’s against us, will we ever come back together?

Small nod of Vayl’s head. “Perhaps you could bring our bags in and get us settled. I believe that vehicle you wanted to take off-road is now parked in the garage. At least”—he lifted an eyebrow—“I am fairly sure Tarasios said that is what he did with it.”

It took me longer than it should have to get his drift. First I had to get past the I’m-not-your-goddamn-maid! reaction before I could decipher his real message. Tarasios had pulled all their cars out of the garage. Ours wasn’t even on Trust property. Which meant Vayl was giving me an excuse to go outside. Why?

Because Disa would never allow those Weres to live.

They were too hard to kill in their present form, so she’d probably just wait until they turned and then have one of her lackeys do them from a distance. It would be bad news for the Trust if the wolf got back to his pack and told his story. And the bear—well, he’d have his own loose-knit league who’d be enraged at his tale. Wars had started over less.

My job wasn’t to prevent the conflict. That problem was for people higher up the political chain than me. I only had to save a couple of lives. For once. Which meant . . . one more round with the injured, pissed-off Weres. Thanks a lot, boss.

But I smiled inside. I so liked this part of him. Even a lot of humans I knew wouldn’t have given a second thought to the welfare of those wounded moon-changers. But he’d made it part of our mission to ensure their survival.

“Will you be okay?” I asked Dave, knowing the question would piss him off. As expected, he launched out of his chair and grabbed his crossbow. “Aw, for chrissake, it’s just a scratch! I’ll be fine!”

I smirked. It had been a mean move. But I was sick of seeing him mope. Better to have him hurt and yelling than feeling crappy and keeping mum.

As Dave went to the bathroom to wash up, Vayl took me aside. “When I return, we need to talk.”

Though he kept his voice low, I was sure Marcon could overhear us. So it seemed strange that he’d even bring up a private conversation for the Trust vamp to get curious about. “Yeah?” I said.

“I did not realize Disa was alive, much less living here still. Otherwise I would have told you of our history much sooner.”

“Ah.” Suddenly that word, “history,” meant so much more than boring stories involving stuffy wig-wearing lawyer types.

“I am sure it is nothing to be concerned about, now that I have you, my avhar.” Vayl’s eyes searched my face, almost like he was memorizing it.

But I couldn’t stifle the creeping sense of dread I felt as we went our separate ways. Marcon gave me directions that I didn’t need and led the guys away. I kept looking over my shoulder until they were out of sight. And then, realizing a divided focus could be the death of me, I shoved my concern to one corner of my mind and put all my effort into the job at hand.

I went back out to the courtyard. But I didn’t try the vine-framed door; despite the villa’s covered windows, I still suspected someone might see me from the inside. Instead I left through the open gate. Rather than hiking up the hill to where our SUV was parked, I followed the wall that circled the villa to the back. It stopped at the garage, which hadn’t even existed in Vayl’s time. When he’d drawn the layout of the place for us to memorize, he’d left it out completely, instead penciling in a one-room stone building he called the Gardener’s Hut. He’d told us in his time it had been used as a sort of halfway house for newly recruited vampires.

“You had to keep them at such a distance?” Dave had asked incredulously. “What, were you afraid they were going to rise a half hour before everybody else, steal all the silver, and run off with the kitchen help?”

Vayl’s chuckle, which usually sounded more like a guy choking on his porterhouse, flew round and full from his upturned lips. “You keep forgetting what a suspicious old wretch Hamon Eryx is. While he knows the Trust must grow if it is to survive, he still believes every other Trust is trying to infiltrate him and learn all his secrets, thereby stealing everything he has worked so hard to build.”

“So why doesn’t he just turn people?” Dave asked. When I gaped at him, he raised his hands. “Not that I’m advocating the practice. God knows—” He shook his head at me. “No, I’d never be okay with that, Jaz.”

My heart, which had twisted painfully at his question, relaxed. His wife had been turned before showing up at my back door, begging entry, planning violence. I’d ended Jessie’s undeath, because I’d made her that promise long before either of us dreamed our fates could actually unwind that way. I nodded at Dave, grateful his forgiveness still held true.

He went on. “All I’m saying is, looking at it from Eryx’s perspective, he’d have to think he’d get a more loyal brand of member that way.”

“A valid view,” Vayl replied. “But no one in the Trust is allowed to turn another. In fact, it is an offense punishable by execution.”

That conversation seemed even more significant as I scoped out the back of the garage. I whispered to myself, “They kill their vamps for turning humans. Wonder what they do to humans for turning Weres loose?” I pulled Grief. “What do you say we don’t find out?”

Outside the garage, on a wide concrete pad that stretched from the building to the lane, sat the vehicles Tarasios had moved. A BMW 523i that made my mouth water. A Porsche Boxster two seater that caused me to think things my Corvette would’ve considered adulterous. And a blue Fiat Scudo minibus that I could only assume the Trust used for field trips. It seated nine and looked like it had one of those tootie-toot horns that warn you all the passengers carry disposable cameras and close their shoes with Velcro straps.

The garage was windowless and the only other entrances were the shut and locked bay doors. So far the only close presence I’d detected was that of the werewolf inside. Since the locks were somewhat intricate, requiring time and possibly noise to defeat, I decided to check out the wagon house first. If I could free the bear more easily, so much the better for all of us.

The wagon house, surrounded on three sides by a confused mass of herbage that included chestnut trees and wild primroses, was a square, tile-roofed echo of the villa. To my relief, it held no vampires. All I felt was the prickling at the base of my brain that told me whatever lurked behind its extra-wide, barnlike door had a two-edged psyche, one of which was a beast.

This is just stupid, I told myself as I holstered Grief and pulled my coral necklace out from beneath my shirt. That damn bear is probably waiting right inside, licking his chops at the thought of a little grain-fed American for his midnight snack.

The shark’s tooth at the necklace’s center fit perfectly into the padlock that held the sliding door shut. I could almost see the tooth melding to the form of the key the lock required. You know, Bergman may be too good. Sometimes it would be nice if I couldn’t get into places. Like this one.

The padlock clicked open. A voice sounding oddly like South Park’s Cartman echoed through my quivering brain. Goddammit!

Grief came back to my hand as if attached by a spring. I switched to crossbow mode for silence. Keeping my shoulder to the outer wall, I braced my foot against the door’s edge and shoved. It slid a couple of feet to the left, opening a twenty-foot-tall crack that felt like a hole in the universe.

Nothing happened.

Is he in there waiting for me? Or is he unconscious? Why doesn’t Vayl ever give me the easy jobs? I swear, if one of us was ever forced to get a massage, or watch the whole first season of Futurama for Uncle Sam’s sake—he’d assign that one to himself!

“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.

I met Rastus halfway down the hill. He didn’t even bother to hide the Makarov he held, which told me two things. The son of a bitch could pick his handguns. And I’d just hopped on a thin, shaky wire. Was it a bad thing that the head-banging, mosh-pit groupie in me craved a showdown? Maybe. It’s not such a big deal when your only weapon is an emery board and your greatest skill is accessorizing. But given time and a little luck I could take out a small village if I freed that wild child inside me. And the fact that I could feel her clawing so close to the surface? Not a good sign.

On my back I carried the black bag holding my miniature armory plus Dave’s pack. My left hand gripped the handle to my ratty old traveling trunk; my right held Vayl’s suitcase minus an outfit for Kozma. I tightened my fists until it hurt. Maybe the pain would help me think straight.

“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.”