Bitten 2 (37 page)

“For one, I need to get paid before my electricity gets shut off,” I replied. “But more importantly, I need to put an end to this before anyone else gets hurt. Hank’s a good guy, and he’ll do his best to keep his pack from retaliating, but if one of the Blood Brothers gets attacked, the shit is really going to hit the fan. Yakov has no qualms about slaughtering his own kind if he thinks the situation calls for it, and you can be damn sure he’s not gonna bat an eyelash about taking out a few vamps. This is going to get ugly fast. I might not be able to stop this from going to hell, but I have to try.”

“I get all that, but why does it have to be you? You don’t owe these people anything,” he insisted, and I wondered if it was his fear for my safety, or Holbrook’s, that drove him to try to talk me out of it.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” I said with a shrug. “It might as well be me.”

While it wasn’t the answer he was looking for, or even the one he expected if his bewildered expression was anything to go by, after a moment’s reflection he mirrored my shrug.

“Fair enough.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

DRAINING THE LAST drops from my mug I sat back in my chair with a contented sigh, relishing the buzz of caffeine flowing through my veins. It was a long way from the relief a few more hours of sleep would give me, but until Tillman left it was the best I could hope to get.

We’d fallen into a relaxed, if not companionable, silence once he’d realized that he couldn’t convince me to give up investigating the attacks. Defeated by my boundless stubbornness, he’d loosened up a little, going so far as to unbutton his suit jacket and venture to take another sip of coffee.

“So, Juliet, huh?” I asked, not bothering to hide my grin.

A grimace passed over his face, whether it was from the strong coffee or my question I didn’t know, and with renewed stiffness he set his mug down. Finding me looking at him with a barely repressed grin he quickly looked away, color blooming in his cheeks.

Tilting my chair back onto two legs, I affected an air of casual nonchalance though my lips still twitched with my smug smile. “She’s pretty cool if you’re into tree hugging hippy vegans who can rip out your throat before you can say ‘I’ll have the tofu burger.’”

Seeing his Adam’s apple bob uncertainly, it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to break into raucous laughter.

“Though there is something to be said for all that raw, animalistic power,” I said in a considering tone while watching his blush darken. “The hunger of the beast and lack of inhibitions, and all that.”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing out loud when his eyes widened and he looked as though he might faint. Evidently, this was the first time he’d considered the more interesting aspects of a were’s second nature.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked in a low, grumbling murmur while refusing to make eye contact.

Feigning innocence, I made an enquiring noise in the back of my throat. “Who me? I’m just trying to gauge your intentions towards my friend.”

“You’re a jerk,” he muttered, looking away.

My amusement persisted, but a small flicker of guilt wove through me as I watched the color in his face extend to the tips of his ears.

“There’s only one thing to do,” I said offhandedly. I waited long enough for him to lift his gaze to meet mine before continuing. “You’re just going to have to ask her out.”

As fast as the color drained from his face I may as well have told him to single-handedly take down an entire nest of ravening vamps.

“I... I couldn’t... I mean, why would she...” he stuttered, for an instant resembling the shy and awkward young agent I had first met three months before. It was comforting to know that that guy was still in there, hidden beneath the muscles and uptight exterior.

“You know, I could put in a good word for you if you want,” I said, hoping he would see my offer for the olive branch it was.

If I was being totally honest with myself, I couldn’t blame him for the flicker of hesitation that passed over his face. I so desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were before, but I knew that I couldn’t push him into trusting me. He’d have to come to that decision on his own.

Give him some time,
the rational voice in the back of my mind urged, trying to remind my hurt feelings that I deserved his criticism.

When his response came, it was so quiet that even with my enhanced hearing I almost didn’t catch it. “Um... sure.”

“You don’t have any weird fetishes do you?” I asked, settling my chair on all four legs. “Well, besides your proclivity for fur that is.”

Rolling his eyes at my wide grin he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and replied, “Ah, no.”

“Good. Now, get out.”

“What?” he asked, startled.

“If I’m going to play matchmaker on top of everything else, I need to get some more sleep. So scram.” I barely gave him time to rise from his chair, looking dazed and confused, before I was herding him towards the door, the siren song of my pillow calling to me from my bedroom.

* * *

I’d fallen into bed boneless and exhausted after kicking Tillman out, and then, much to my irritation, had lain awake watching the thin sliver of sunlight seeping around the edge of the blinds creep across the ceiling. Exhaustion was a leaden heaviness in my limbs and a burning ache in my eyes, yet sleep continued to elude me. I couldn’t stop trying to analyze all I knew about the victims and the attacker, but each new detail I’d discovered just led to more questions. I was tempted to get up and get on with my day, but stubbornness kept me in bed, tossing and turning hoping to find the perfect position that would allow sleep to come.

Flopping onto my back once more, I folded my hands across my stomach and stared up at the ceiling, studying the small crack in the corner that would need to be patched before the winter was over.

If I live that long,
the malcontent voice in the dark recesses of my mind muttered.

Pushing the maudlin thoughts away, I snuggled deeper into my pillows and concentrated on drawing deep and even breaths, willing my mind to grow quiet and still. Instead, I found my thoughts turning to the ridge of pale and puckered scar tissue beneath my clasped hands. As always when I thought of the scar and the attack that had caused it, anger stirred in the pit of stomach. The heat of my anger warmed my blood better than any heavy blanket ever could, but with it came the inkling of a new emotion—acceptance.

Was it possible that Juliet had been right, and that I’d lived the last nine years with the wolf without really embracing her? Were my experiences with Juliet and the other members of Hank’s pack influencing me, pushing me towards truly allowing the wolf to become a part of me? As much as she had become a part of my life, I’d always tried to maintain a barrier between the wolf and my human half. After losing so much—my parents, my grandparents, my mundane life—I had feared losing myself to her stronger desires and nature. I had held her at arm’s length, but now I was beginning to see how foolish and selfish those actions were. Shifting my focus to this new and unexpected thought, I sighed in frustration when it drifted away.

“Just go to sleep,” I growled to myself, scrubbing at my face with my hands.

As if drawn by my words of frustration, my bedroom door opened with a horror movie-esque creak as Loki wedged his head through the gap to muscle his way in. Jumping up onto the bed he trilled softly before stretching out along my leg, spreading out to take up half of the bed in the way that only cats can. I’ve long sworn that cats possess the rare ability to shift from a solid to a liquid and increase their mass exponentially. It’s really the only way to explain how a twenty pound cat can take up more than half of a queen size bed.

Where breathing exercises had failed, Loki’s powers worked with surprising quickness. Laying a sleep whammy on me with his mere presence and the soft vibrations of his purr against my leg, he had me tumbling down into the darkness of sleep within minutes.

* * *

My bedroom was bathed in the golden tones of the dying sun when I emerged from sleep, and I had to force myself to leave the warmth of my bed with the reminder that the investigation wasn’t going to solve itself.

The sooner I figure this out, the sooner I get paid.

The thought was pretty lackluster as far as pep-talks go, and my movements were slow as I showered and dressed. The fog didn’t lift from my mind until I was in the car sipping coffee as black as tar from a travel mug and shoving donut holes into my mouth, showering the front of my shirt with powdered sugar. Thanks to the combination of strong coffee and sugar, I twitched my way down the mountain.

My sugar rush didn’t last long. In the same way that my metabolism burned through alcohol much faster than a mundane, it also processed refined sugars and caffeine at an increased rate. I often tried to convince myself that that was the reason behind my addiction to coffee and junk food, but I knew I was living in denial.

By the time I pulled up in front of Asylum, I was quickly sliding towards an epic crash. Pausing long enough to slurp the cold dregs of my coffee and shove the last doughnut hole into my mouth, I hoped it would be enough of a pick-me-up to last through my meeting with Cordova.

You need to be on high alert around Cordova, he’s as slippery as an eel. And just as ugly,
I told myself, hoping my words of wisdom would help to bolster my sluggish thoughts.

I was almost relieved to see Chuckles, standing as silent and still as a statue, outside Asylum when I stalked towards the door. Colorless eyes watched my approach with the intensity of a lion watching a struggling gazelle, but I was no weak and wounded creature.

“You get attacked by a baker?” he asked, baring his fangs in a teasing grin.

“Huh?” I replied dumbly, blinking in confusion.

With a tilt of his wide, pale chin he gestured to the front of my shirt speckled with at least a pound of powdered sugar, turning my black “Here Be Dragons” t-shirt grey.

“Dammit,” I muttered, not bothering to turn my back on the snickering vamp as I tried to brush the remnants of my hastily eaten snack off my shirt. In the end I just made matters worse, smearing powdery sugar and crumbs all over my shirt and down onto my leggings.

It’s a wonder anyone ever wants to be seen with you in public,
the bitchy voice in the back of my mind sneered when I gave up my efforts as futile.

“Your boss around?” I asked, deciding that I was about as presentable as I would ever be.

“The Shepherd of the City is very busy,” Chuckles replied with the personality of an automated phone system, though his mouth continued to twitch with amusement and his milk-white eyes didn’t appear quite so lifeless and creepy.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, moving past him to the door.

The door swung shut behind me, sealing off the sound of the muscle-bound vamp’s laughter, encompassing me in silence. Without slowing my steps I nodded to the shapely vamp engrossed in the happenings on her cell phone.

“I’m here to see the Shepherd,” I informed her, though I could have declared that I was there to drive a rowan stake through his heart and set his corpse on fire for as much attention as she paid to me.

Shrugging, I pushed through the heavy curtain over the doorway, bracing myself for the assault of thumping techno music and the overpowering stench of lust and the undead. I wasn’t disappointed—the barrage of the music’s pounding bass echoed up through my feet, combined with the garish lights angled at the stage, made me sway on my feet.

“Well, hi there!” a bubbly brunette beamed as she materialized in front of me, seeming to appear as if from nowhere.

The unadulterated enthusiasm of her greeting was almost as startling as how young she looked. If it weren’t for the fact that she was wearing what had to be the world’s skimpiest cheerleader uniform that glittered and shimmered with each breath, she’d have looked as though she was on her way to a pep rally at the local high school. If cheerleaders wore white fishnet stockings and five inch pumps rather than athletic socks and sneakers, that is.

“Hi,” I said, trying to dodging around her, only to find my way barred again by her wide fanged smile.

God help me, she’s one of
those
,
I thought with a groan.

There are few things I loathe more in this world than early mornings, the IRS, and psychotic killers. Overly peppy people are high on that list. You know the type: the people who somehow have the same level of energy at 6am that normal people are only able to muster around 10am after an infusion of caffeine. They’ve always got an excited smile on their face and want everyone else to be as doggone cheerful as they are. They use words like ‘darn,’ ‘fudge,’ and ‘shoot.’ The only thing that ever made me that excited was a grande, white chocolate peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings with a side of Double Stuf Oreos and a trashy romance novel. Well, and Holbrook, of course.

“I’m Tinkerbell, what can I get you to drink?” she asked, sliding a petite hand along my arm.