Bitten 2 (30 page)

Slamming the door shut, I looked around, scouring my surroundings for anything I could jam through the handle to at least slow him down enough for me to get the hell out of there. Finding no iron pipes or axe handles conveniently lying around, I abandoned the door and sprinted across the concrete to the parking attendant’s booth lit up like a Christmas tree. Through the large windows I could see a rack of keys, each one coordinating with one of the gleaming cars lurking in the shadows. Trying the door I fought to keep the scream of frustration from slipping over my lips when faced with yet another locked door.

Goddamned vamps are wandering around but his keys are safe. Cordova’s security system needs some serious reevaluation.

Taking a step back I raised a leg, envisioned Bruce Lee, and kicked out at the door. I was so surprised when it actually worked that I almost fell flat on my ass. Recovering quickly, I stepped into the cramped glass and steel booth that felt as small as a closet, and looked over the mass of keys. There were keys for Cadillacs, Audis, BMWs, and a handful of other brands I’d never even heard of. My car knowledge was limited to knowing the difference between an SUV and a sedan; I couldn’t differentiate an Audi from a Mercedes if my life depended on it. Unfortunately, at that moment it kind of did.

Standing in front of the rack, I felt panic flutter in my chest, making my already pounding heart beat even harder against my ribs. I could all too easily imagine the crazed vamp bursting through the door at any minute, his shining silver eyes locking onto me with hunger.

Just pick one!
my brain screamed as my eyes tracked back and forth across the keys, hoping for some brief flicker of recognition.

Just as hope was beginning to wither into a black dead thing in my chest, my gaze fell on a key fob with a familiar black horse.

Bingo!

Snatching the key from its hook I turned to look out the window as I hit the button. Directly across from me, blanketed in shadows, sat Cordova’s gleaming red Ferrari, its lights flashing yellow as if in greeting.

“Hello, beautiful.”

I was halfway across the stretch of open ground between me and my getaway car when the door to the stairwell crashed open with a boom that sounded like thunder. The vamp loomed in the doorway, snarling as he locked unearthly silver eyes on me, baring his fangs in a hissing snarl.

Jumping into the car, I was thankful that my grandfather had insisted on teaching me how to drive on his truck all those years ago, although I’d ranted and railed that I’d never need to know how to drive a stick shift.

As the engine rumbled to life, filling the parking garage with its throaty growl, the vamp darted towards me in sharp, jarring movements. It was like watching an insect scuttle across the floor, but a thousand times more terrifying. Slamming the car into gear, wincing as the gear box choked in protest, I put my foot to the floor and couldn’t help letting out a whoop of excitement as the car leapt forward, pressing me back into the seat with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.

Swinging the car wide, I angled it towards the distant exit ramp, hoping there was some kind of automatic control on the door, or Cordova was going to be
really
pissed when I trashed his pretty sports car
and
tore a hole in his garage door.

“Yes!” I crowed triumphantly as the garage door lurched into motion on silent gears, gliding open to reveal a growing patch of daylight.

I didn’t think I had ever been so relieved to see sunshine. Stamping my foot back down on the gas I didn’t even care when I bounced up the exit ramp, shedding sparks from the back end of the car. Sparing a glance in the rearview mirror I saw the vamp stagger to a stop at the edge of the light’s reach, a thin trail of smoke rising off of his extended fingers before he drew them back into the shadows and hissed at me. Raising my hand, I wiggled my fingers at him in a cheery wave as I careened toward the street like a three-legged dog on roller skates, and immediately pounded both feet down on the brake.

Screeching to a halt, I narrowly avoided getting broad-sided by a bus, the red-faced driver leaning on the horn as he flashed me the universal signal to let me know he thought I was number one. In retaliation I let him know he was number two and wondered if I’d been watching too much BBC America. The car rocked on its brakes and then promptly stalled, leaving me teetering on the apex of the exit ramp.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“THAT FUCKING UNDEAD son of a bitch!” I snarled, pounding a fist on the steering wheel and ruthlessly shifting gears as I whipped the Ferrari around a slow-moving box truck. “He set me up!”

Cordova, most likely with the help of his walking blood bag, Chrismer, had tricked me. They’d lured me into the club and then set his ravening guard dogs loose to kill me. I wondered how they’d spin that one on the evening news: “Naive werewolf slain by own stupidity.”

Who am I kidding, they’d have buried me in one of those damn tunnels and pretended I never existed.

“Assholes!”

A flare of pain shot down my arm as I pounded the wheel again, lending new life to the ragged wound in my shoulder. Fury and pain fueled my motions, spurring me to weave in and out of traffic, using my horn and middle finger generously. Narrowly avoiding a collision with a school bus full of laughing and merrily waving elementary kids, I decided that maybe tooling around in Cordova’s borrowed Ferrari wasn’t the best way to work off my anger. Or keep myself out of a body bag.

Easing my foot off the gas, I focused on slowing my heart rate to something approaching normal, and just drove. At some point, I switched over to autopilot, letting the road slide by as I wove my way through the tangled streets of downtown Denver. Before I knew it I was pulling up to the curb in front of Hank’s quaint little Victorian. I wasn’t sure what drew me to the pack master’s house; I could just as easily have made the drive to Alyssa’s, but something about the fear I had felt in the catacombs beneath Asylum made me want to be surrounded by the spicy, cinnamon scent of wolves.

I didn’t know if he’d be home, or even if I’d be welcome, but I needed a few minutes to be still and safe, or I was going to storm back over to the club and personally drive the closest sharp object through the Shepherd’s heart. Easing out of the car, I swayed when I was struck by a sudden bout of fatigue and dizziness. I knew I’d been skimping on the exercise lately, but I didn’t think that should account for the exhaustion I felt from running up a few flights of stairs. Leaning on the car’s warm hood, I levered myself up onto the curb and then staggered to the front door in a half walk, half stumbling fall, using my momentum to carry me forward on aching legs.

Resting my forehead against the doorframe, I pressed my thumb into the doorbell, and left it there, listening to the chime echo inside the house.

Please be home, please be home, please be home...

A short while later heavy footsteps thumped down the hallway towards me and I could just make out a dark shape approaching the door through the frosted glass.

“For Cain’s sake, I’m coming!” Hank rumbled on the other side.

Wrenching the door open, his lips already drawn back in a snarl as his face twisted in irritation, he froze when his gaze fell on me.

“Riley?” he asked, dumbstruck, the creases in his face shifting from anger to confusion.

“Wanna buy some Girl Scout Cookies?” I asked, letting my thumb slide off the doorbell, though the chime continued to ring in my ears.

Maybe that vamp hit me harder than I thought.

“Er... what?”

“Cookies. Baked by responsible young ladies, unlike myself. Never mind. Can I come in? I’d happily maim someone for a beer.”

“You look like you’ve had enough already,” he said, eyeing the way I swayed on my feet.

“Trust me, I wish this was from drinking too much,” I said. “Now, are you gonna quit busting my balls and let me in, or do I need to go find somewhere else to drink?”

“I... sure,” he said after a moment, stepping back enough to let me stumble my way inside, though the confused look on his face remained in place.

Before the door closed behind me I remembered to hit the little button on the key fob, the sharp
beep-boop
of the alarm ringing out in the quiet street.

“Wait. Is that
your
car?”

“It’s not mine per se,” I said, leaning an aching shoulder against the wall, not sure if I could remain upright without it. The hallway was looking a lot more slanted than I remembered from my last visit.

“Meaning what exactly?” he asked, confusion and concern giving way to suspicion.

“Meaning I borrowed it.”

“From who?” Hank asked, peering over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of the shining red beauty, his eyes alight with the same hunger and desire most men exhibit when looking at a sports car they couldn’t afford to own even in their wildest dreams.

“That’s not important,” I replied, letting the door swing shut behind me.

“People only say that when it is important,” he observed, crossing muscled arms over his muscled chest in a display of rippling, muscled masculinity.

What the hell is this guy eating? Even his muscles have muscles.

“How about that beer?” I asked, dismissing his question, and ignoring the fuzziness at the edges of my vision.

“How about some answers?” he countered, not moving. I knew where the kitchen was, but I was so tired I wasn’t sure I’d make it all the way there under my own steam.

“Fine. I borrowed it from a vamp. Happy?” I replied, conveniently leaving out just which vamp I had borrowed it from.

Wrinkling his nose as we stared at each other in the shadowed hallway, pressed close as lovers, he asked “Is that why you smell like vampires and fear?”

“Intoxicating fragrance, isn’t it?”

“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?”

“The less you know the better. Deniability, and all that crap,” I said, waving a hand in the air.

Letting out a long breath, he lifted his massive shoulders in a brief shrug, though I got the impression that the gesture was more for his benefit than mine. “Fine. Come on then.”

Exhibiting some small degree of manners, I waited for him to pass me before making my way to the kitchen. He was already popping the top off a beer when I came into the room. Being the nosy little shit that I am, I couldn’t resist glancing at the open laptop on the table amid a spread of creased and stained papers as I collapsed into the chair pushed back from the table.

“You doing some remodeling?” I asked, looking over the jumble of work orders and invoices.

“What? Oh, no. I’m doing a favor for a friend and helping him with his taxes. I figure everyone won’t start panicking to get their taxes done for another couple weeks. Then I’ll be really slammed.”

“Wait, you’re... an accountant?” With his rippling physique I’d been sure Hank was in construction or some other equally macho profession.

“Yep. I’ve always had a thing for numbers, drove Juliet crazy. She can barely balance her checkbook.”

Dumbfounded, I could only stare when he lifted a dark brown bottle and asked, “Did you want a glass?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I replied, ignoring the thrill of energy that shot into my gut at the brief touch of our fingers.

You have a boyfriend,
I reminded myself yet again, smothering the ember of desire that flickered to life in the crux of my thighs.

Sucking down half the bottle in one gulp, I stopped to draw a rasping breath, pausing as I lifted the bottle again. Hank stood across the kitchen, his butt resting against the edge of the sink, hands resting on the lip, staring me in something akin to surprise, or maybe revulsion.

“Thirsty?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yup,” I said in a ragged breath before draining the rest of the bottle, the carbonation burning the back of my throat, making my eyes water and my nose twitch.

“You want another?” he asked, sounding hesitant.

Setting my empty bottle on the table I swallowed a burp. “Sure.”

Surprise flittered across his face, but I ignored it, figuring that if he didn’t like my answer he shouldn’t have asked me in the first place. After a brief pause he pushed away from the sink and retrieved another beer from the fridge, popping the top with one powerful hand.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, handing over the bottle, his grip lingering for a moment as if he might change his mind and snatch it back out of my reach.

Don’t even try it, buddy.

“Just peachy.”

By the time I set the second empty bottle down, the alcohol was working its way through my system, filling my stomach with a warm glow and softening the edges of my awareness. It was exactly the effect I’d been hoping for, and with a sigh I felt some of the tension that had been holding my shoulders somewhere up around my ears melt away. Hank’s eyes drifted towards the fridge in an unspoken question, and with a shrug I said, “What the heck. I’ll take another.”

I could tell that he wanted to question my decision, but the sharp look I shot at him silenced his tongue. Exchanging the bottles with him, I saw him relax a fraction of an inch when I took a slow sip rather than a large gulp. Leaning back in my chair, I turned my gaze to the bottle in my hand, condensation beading on the dark glass and turning the label soggy.