Bitten to Death Page 7

  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.”

  Chapter Seven

  I don’t relish hanging out in guys’ bedrooms. Especially ones that see lots of use. In this one, half-burned candles stood in groups of four or five on every flat surface—the claw-footed table beside the king-sized sleigh bed, the highboy, the tea table flanked by two armchairs covered in faded red fabric with gold diamonds. The bed hadn’t been made, its rumpled blue sheets inviting its last occupants to resume where they’d left off ASAP. I apologized to them as I dumped Trayton in their midst, noting from their feel how expensive they must be.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” I told him. “We’re going to have to move again.” As soon as I figure out where we are.

  I moved quickly to shut the secret door, which disappeared behind an old grandfather clock that informed us we’d made it back inside just after midnight. The Were had survived into a new day. I decided to take that as a good omen.

  The room had two obvious entries. The first led to a section of hallway I didn’t recognize. But I immediately knew which way to turn to get back to the suite. I have an innate sense of direction, something that rose in me as part of my Sensitivity. I don’t always appreciate it. Like when Vayl gets pissed and ditches me in the middle of Tehran, knowing full well I can find my way back to base. But that’s another story. Now my pathfinder told me we’d come to the central base-block of the villa.

  The second door required a key to unlock. But I could hear something when I put my ear to the smooth, dark wood. Music. Something slow and mournful coming from what sounded like a piano. Also, someone murmuring. Maybe even singing along.

  A moan from the bed brought me back to the Were’s side. His eyes fluttered open.

  “Trayton? How’re you hanging in there?”

  “Hurts,” he muttered.

  “I know.” I almost felt it myself. Could nearly see the poison, like a pus-colored pall, floating over his body.

  “Do you remember anything about the person who ensnared you? What happened?”

  “Smell.”

  “You smelled something?”

  He winced. Blinked his thick black lashes. “Grapes.”

  Now why did that ring a bell?

  Think of it later. Now, just get the wolf to safer ground.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. We gotta move again. One more time, that’s all. Then—” What? I might have pulled him from the brink, but he was still far from well.

  One thing at a time, Jaz. Get him dressed. Find the suite without being intercepted. If he’s still alive after that, then we’ll talk cure.

  I went to the highboy and started yanking out drawers until I found clothes for him. I grabbed the arm-length sword I discovered in the third drawer as well.

  “These should fit you,” I said as I laid the clothes and the weapon beside him. “Do you need help?”

  “No,” he said, giving me a grateful look. “I can manage.”

  He did get the clothes on, but I had to help him off the bed. Once he was up, he brought my hand to his lips. And licked it.

  “Dude! What the hell!” I had one arm around his back. The other, clasped in his, badly wanted to wipe itself down the creamy white shirt that hung on him like a tent. That, more than anything, told me this room belonged to Admes. I hadn’t caught his scent earlier. But now it would always be intertwined with the memory of the hurt in Trayton’s eyes as he moved away from me and I caught a whiff of dead leaves. “Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you’re part wolf. I just—I don’t know a helluva lot about how you guys operate.”

  “Growling usually means get away,” he said, his voice shaking enough that I looked at him again. And realized I’d never given myself the chance to see him until now. With him kissing the hem of Death’s robes, why would I want to imprint the memory of a kid barely out of his teens with a mane of raven hair that kept flopping into his eyes? A face that had just found the sharp angles and planes of manhood. And that by-God-I-will expression that assured me he’d do his part when it came time to get well.

  Now that face would forever be tied with what I’d learned of him during my donation. That he’d rather run than eat. He hated the taste of beer but would never admit it to his friends. And he’d promised himself to a Were named Phoebe, but kept putting off the final ceremony because, deep down, he feared she’d be a bad mother.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “It’s kind of a hereditary thing. My dad’s a growler. Although he sounds more like a garbage disposal trying to process a set of flatware.”

  Quirk of the lips, so reminiscent of Vayl that I wished hard for my sverhamin to join us. Lift this boy in his arms. Make him his burden. “Your father sounds frightening,” Trayton said.

  “He once made a general cry.”

  “No.”

  “I shit you not. The guy had to retire after that. I mean, really, who’s going to follow your orders after some damn colonel’s reduced you to tears?”

  He shook his head, which is how people typically react to Albert stories. But the tightness around his eyes had relaxed. I checked the hallway. “It’s clear.”

  We began our slow march to the suite. Trayton insisted on holding the sword, though he leaned pretty heavily on me. “I don’t sense any vamps nearby,” I whispered as we half walked, half staggered down a flight of stairs. “But if we happen to run into some, we need a plausible excuse for your presence. Unless they’ve all seen your human face?”

  “No. Only the one with the gun and the one who smelled of grapes.”

  “So let’s come up with a reason for you to be here with me.”

  “We could say I got lost while I was hiking and you found me outside.”

  “
That sounds reasonable.” He gasped as we reached the bottom step. We didn’t have far to go, but then it looked as if he didn’t either. I went on. “Of course, your story’s a huge snore. We could say you’re my escort. And I’ve, you know, worn you out.” When he looked over at me, I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. He grinned.

  “As if you could,” he whispered. Gad. Guys are guys the world over. Even when they’re nearly dead!

  I acknowledged his machismo with a smile. “Not that I’m suggesting anything,” I went on. “I’m sort of spoken for. But it would make me look such the formidable opponent.”

  “So you’re not with these vampires?”

  “Just visiting,” I confirmed. I felt his shoulders loosen. And before I knew it, his nose, nuzzling into my hair. I stiffened.

  “Doesn’t anyone ever touch you?” Trayton asked.

  “Uh, no. That is, until just recently.” I thought about it. Felt a surge of frustration. “And still, not much.”

  “Relax. It’s not sexual, okay? Think wolf. I can feel your blood working in me. You’re part of me now; you always will be. And I’m yours. So let me learn you.” Irritation in his tone, like I should be old enough to know this by now. As if I was keeping him from something that was his by right.

  Okay, well, maybe it was that easy. I tried to lighten up. Then I saw myself, leading this post-adolescent down the hall while he sniffed my neck, up into my scalp. And I couldn’t help it. Suddenly I was imagining a supermodel standing twenty paces downwind, holding a bottle of Head & Shoulders, saying, “Even werewolves can’t tell the difference!” I started to giggle.

  “What?”

  “It tickles,” I said. He took another deep breath. “Now it feels like you’re blowing loogies into my roots.”

  I stopped, mainly because we’d finally reached the right door. But also because he’d laid his chin on my shoulder. “You know what I think?” he asked.

  I glanced at him sideways, not quite willing to meet his gaze. “What?”

  “You need a comrade.”

  “I have friends.”

  He shook his head, his hair waving across his face so I could barely see the shine of his eyes. “I’ve been inside your head, remember?”

  “Could we not talk about that?”

  He rubbed his cheek against my arm. Already his closeness seemed less threatening. “You keep the circle small and give only the affection you think you can bear. But, in doing this, you harm yourself the most.” He nodded, as if deciding. “I can be what you need.”

  “I don’t need anything from you. Except for you to heal up so I can get you back to your pack. The worst thing that could happen is for them to declare war on this Trust right now.” I wrenched open the door, scooted him inside, and closed it. As soon as I had him settled in the bed it was like he decided he could stop faking. All the color drained from his face and he admitted to serious nausea. I brought the wastebasket over to the bed in case he couldn’t make it to the bathroom.

  “You must find the one who smelled of grapes,” Trayton said. “He trapped me and forced me to turn. He can draw out the silver.”

  No problem. I’ll just run around sniffing butts till I figure out which one of these egotistical maniacs smells like—wait a minute! Grapes! I know this one! From the courtyard! Nobody stood out in the crowd. Except Disa, who made me want to gag. And the grape guy—Niall! “I’ll be back!” I said. But Trayton didn’t hear. He’d already fallen asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  I found Niall back at the site of the Sonrhain, mopping up. Literally.

  With Genti and his crew also involved in cleanup, I couldn’t just walk over to where Niall stood in the ring and demand help with the Were. I wandered toward him, noting that the fence had already been rehung and he was transferring blood from the floor to a big blue bucket with the help of a bedraggled long-handled squeegee.

  On their side of the room, Koren and Meryl swept up broken glass while Genti and Rastus piled the unmarred dishes into plastic bins. “Came to help out, did you?” Genti asked sharply.

  “I kept the bear from taking off your head, didn’t I?” I replied. I turned to Niall. “Sorry to bother you,” I said. “But since Disa and Vayl are tied up with contract talks, they sent a note out that I’m supposed to get you so we can drive to town for champagne to celebrate the new agreement. I’d go alone, but I don’t know the area.”

  My only warning that Genti had moved on me was the blur I saw out of the corner of my eye and the breeze that stirred the curls off my shoulders. I whirled, triggering the syringe of holy water.

  “Genti Luan, stop!” I yelled. Knowing his name. That’s what saved me. As soon as he heard it he froze, his fangs centimeters from my neck. I’d already plunged the needle into his chest. He looked down. “Holy water,” I told him, my thumb firm on the plunger. I realized I was panting and made myself breathe deeper.

  Niall had raised the mop in both hands like a spear. “Enough, Genti,” he said sternly. “We need these people if we are to defeat Samos.”

  “Admes might not agree with you.”

  “Admes is patrolling, just as the Deyrar ordered him to do. Therefore she is happy with him. But think how she would react if she found you had killed her lead negotiator’s avhar.”

  Genti’s puffy lips began to tremble. “Remove the needle,” he snarled.

  My thumb hovered. So tempting. I yanked it out. “You’re lucky I love my job. Because that’s all that kept you from floating off into the air ducts just now.” I reseated the syringe and stalked out of the room, assuming Niall would follow. He did.

  “I need to talk to you,” I growled, realized how that would sound to Trayton, and cleared my throat. “Uh”—I looked over my shoulder—“I noticed you weren’t really into the Were-fighting while it was going on.”

  Niall allowed some distance to grow between us and the dining room before he answered. “I feel the same for my Trust as you do for your job. I imagine we have both done things we prefer not to in order to preserve our place in the order of things.”

  A-fricking-men. “You understand our contract?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Okay, well, under its terms you’re required to help us do everything we can to bring Samos down.”

  Niall looked amused, as if I’d begun to tickle him under the chin and talk like a baby. “I would hope so.”

  “In a roundabout way, this next favor I’m about to ask of you fits under that provision. Because if you don’t help, your Trust could be in big trouble, which would weaken it to the point where Samos might be able to do you from a distance. And if he doesn’t have to show for a face-to-face, we’re screwed.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  We’d reached the suite by now. I took him inside, sat him on one of the library chairs, and put myself between him and the bedroom doorway. “Vayl and I couldn’t allow the Weres to be killed.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was planning to speak to them later tonight.”

  “Niall, I know you helped trap them.”

  He dropped his head. “When the Deyrar orders . . . you obey. She knew I wished to deny her. But she’d called Admes to stand beside her at the time. Within reach of those razor-sharp—” He looked up, as if realizing he’d almost let a state secret slip. “I promised myself I would find a way to make it right afterward.”

  “Well, you waited too long. She sent Rastus to cap them.”

  “Cap?” He shook his head. “I don’t—”

  “Kill.” You goddamn old fart! “I helped Kozma, the werebear, escape in time. But the wolf was shot.” I grabbed Niall’s hand and pulled him out of the chair. “He says you can help him.”

  “He knows me?”

  “Your scent anyway. He’s full of silver,” I said as I led Niall toward the bedroom. “Do you know how to extract it?”

  “Of course. My power centers around the moon-changers.” As soon
as we crossed the threshold to the bedroom he stopped so suddenly he jerked me back into him.

  He took maybe three seconds to process the sight of Trayton resting on my brown pima cotton sheets with their gold chalice border. Then he closed the door so hard it actually shook, setting his shoulders against it, as if an army was about to take a battering ram to the other side.

  “I thought we were coming in here for a jacket and car keys. So you could take me to where you were hiding him—in the woods perhaps. But he’s here. In. The. Trust. Are you insane?” Niall demanded in a stage whisper.

  I started to laugh. And couldn’t stop. It became the most hilarious question anyone had ever asked me. Niall didn’t get it, of course. As I held my aching stomach and tears rolled down my face, he went to Trayton and studied his wound, which I’d bandaged with a handful of Armor All wipes and some electrician’s tape I’d found in the garage. Hey, somebody else could worry about infection. My job was to figure out how to keep the guy from leaving a trail for his would-be killers to follow.

  “Trayton’s my—” I stopped. “Just fix him, Niall. Otherwise the contract is void and Vayl and I will get Samos on our own.”

  He stared at the armoires, seeing beyond the wood and the walls behind them, struggling with the fears that skittered across his face like the bugs that frequent cesspools and murder scenes.

  “All right,” he said finally, his shoulders slumping wearily. “I’ll do what I can.” He bent over the Were, his power rising as he moved. The Vampere called this central ability a cantrantia. And I felt it like a shifting inside my bones. It grew out from him, a primal force that made me check to make sure I had a wall at my back.

  I watched him pour that power into Trayton, who jumped as if he’d been shocked. Immediately his wound began to bubble, first red, then silver, as the toxins from the bullet bled out of him. He clutched at the mattress and bit his bottom lip as the pain rocked him.

  Shit! I wrapped my hands around my stomach, which didn’t like this show any more than my noodly knees did. How had I allowed this to happen? The last guy who’d tried to lick my hand had ended up dead on the floor of an abandoned warehouse thirty seconds later. Of course, he’d been a psychotic mail bomber who’d worked his way up the federal employee ladder to the secretary of state before we’d finally nailed him. But still.