Bitten 2 (44 page)

Sneering at the proffered can and its repulsive contents, she waved it away with a manicured hand that I noted with a degree of smug satisfaction trembled ever so slightly. Lifting my shoulders in a shrug, I set the trash can down and pushed it away with the toe of my boot, and then felt the bottom drop out of my own stomach when I realized that the front of my shirt was also peppered with dark splatters of viscous liquid.

“Oh man. I bet that’s gonna stain,” I grumbled, swiping at the marks on my shirt, succeeding only in smearing it further. “Ugh, and it stinks like a vampire’s asshole in here.”

I was blabbering, and we all knew it. But it was that or run from the building screaming and tearing out my hair. On one hand, I was impressed that Cordova had dealt with the problem of his traitorous lieutenant so efficiently, but on the other, I’d hadn’t expected to bear witness to it.

Cordova continued to move with the same businesslike air of detachment he’d possessed while executing Chuckles as he stepped around his desk and picked up the phone, oblivious to the dark streaks of blood covering his clothes and face. After issuing a series of instructions given in clipped Russian, he slipped away into the adjoining bathroom.

I was relieved to see he’d cleaned the blood from his face when he returned, though I didn’t think there was any saving his shirt and slacks. Glancing down at my own clothes again, I lamented the fact I was probably going to have to burn them. I didn’t think even the best detergent in the world could contend with dead vamp juice.

I was ruminating on the increasing frequency of my clothes ending up torn and blood splattered when a shrill scream broke through my thoughts, cutting off with the suddenness of someone flipping a switch. I looked up just in time to see Katarina collapse in the doorway, out cold.

Crap. No chance of coffee now.

“Is she okay?” I asked, glancing at Katarina where she lay sprawled in the doorway.

“She’ll be fine,” Chrismer said in a bored tone, barely glancing up from her phone when the silent cleanup crew arrived, toting buckets and cleaning supplies and stepping over the unconscious receptionist.

“Shouldn’t we move her or something?”

Breaking her concentration long enough to cast a critical look at me, she said, “Knock yourself out.”

One of the vamps sent to clean up the mess chose that moment to lift Chuckles’ head from the floor. His bulging white eyes stared out at me, full of reproach as if he was telling me that his death was my fault. Rationality told me that his demise was no one’s fault but his own, yet guilt still pricked at me.

“Ah, I’m good,” I said, swallowing the lump of bile that rose in the back of my throat while Chuckles’ head was stuffed unceremoniously into a black garbage bag.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

MY HANDS WERE still shaking and slick with sweat when I rang the bell at Hank’s house as the morning sunlight gilded the edges of the trees in the yard. I wasn’t in the mood to see the sexy-as-hell pack master—or relive the embarrassment from our shared kiss—but I couldn’t face solitude just now, or, worse yet, the questions I was sure to get from Alyssa. At first it didn’t look like anyone was home, but as I turned to stomp back to my car I caught the sound of movement inside the house. A moment later the door swung open to reveal Juliet decked out in grey yoga pants and a loose fitting yellow and white striped tank top. Her long blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, several wisps hanging down to frame her elfin face.

“Hey, I know it’s early. I’m sorry, I just—” I started to say only to have my words cut off by Juliet’s panicked cry.

“Holy crap. Are you okay?” she asked, blue eyes wide and full of alarm.

The questioning furrow in my brow faded as I followed the direction of her gaze to the front of my shirt, still streaked with Chuckles’ blood. I’d been so eager to get away from Asylum and its terrifying owner that I hadn’t paused to clean up.

“I’m fine. It’s not mine.”

“Who...” she started to ask, falling quiet at the haunted expression on my face. Appearing to sense that I was in no condition to recite the events of the evening, she offered me a welcoming smile and stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

Unable to find my voice, I nodded and stepped into the house, immediately soothed by the warmth and spicy scent of were. Closing the door behind me, I followed Juliet into the cozy kitchen, which still held the fragrance of the freshly baked bread cooling on a wire rack beside the stove. My mouth watered at the delicious smell, but my stomach rolled uneasily as images of thick black blood flashed in my mind. Afraid that I might puke, I looked away from the bread, turning my gaze to the small table that had been covered in Hank’s work papers the last time I was here.

At some point in the past couple of days, someone had tidied up, dividing the papers into neat stacks to clear some space on the tabletop. A Blossom Market tote sat on the uncluttered half of the table next to a sport bottle leaking condensation, and I felt my stomach flip again at the reminder of Chuckles’ method for selecting his victims.

Feeling as though the room had grown too small and hot, I fought against the nausea that churned in my stomach. Grasping at the significance of the bag and bottle, I said, “Crap, I’m sorry. Were you going somewhere?”

I’d already turned to head back to the front door when Juliet laid a hand on my arm, the brief contact almost enough to break the tenuous grasp I had on my emotions. “It’s okay. I was just heading over to the park to exercise.”

“This early?” I asked, glancing at the clock on the stove that told me it was just after seven a.m.

“Of course. Other than by moonlight, the light of the new day is the best time to do Tai Chi.”

For some reason her words conjured up the recollection of the night I had run with the pack and the image of her standing naked, bathed in cool moonlight.

Heat flooded my cheeks when the images in my mind shifted from Juliet to her brother, and the equally fine figure he had cut standing in the wilderness with not a stitch of clothing between him and the air. Shaking off my thoughts of Hank’s naked body, and all the wonderful things I could do to it, I turned my focus back to Juliet who was regarding me as if I was a particularly challenging jigsaw puzzle.

Cocking her head to one side, as if puzzling over something elusive, she said, “Your Chi is way off.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or worried, by her words, and in the end settled for asking, “My what?”

“Your Chi. Your life force. It’s the energy that flows through all of us.”

She’s crazier than a sack of rabid raccoons.

“Umm...” I hummed, hoping my expression didn’t telegraph my thoughts.

“I haven’t lost my mind,” she said with a smile. “No more than usual, anyway.”

Despite the sick feeling lingering in the pit of my stomach, I chuckled at her words and found myself grateful that she had been the one to answer the door rather than her brother. If Hank had answered, sleepy-eyed and dressed in his pajamas, I’m not sure I would have been able to stop myself from doing something I would greatly regret when I came back to my senses.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Juliet asked, her bright voice dispelling sinful images of her brother.

“What? Where?”

“To the park. I could show you some Tai Chi moves, help realign your center.”

Shifting my weight from one foot to the other I tried to think of a polite way to decline. “I don’t know...”

“I’m not trying to convert you or anything. I won’t expect you to switch to soy or give up cheeseburgers. But I think it will help. If nothing else, working up a sweat might help relieve some of your stress.”

I wasn’t sure how old lady exercises were supposed to make me sweat, but I felt my resolve weakening nonetheless. “I’m a mess,” I said, gesturing to my gore splattered clothes in a last ditch effort to worm my way out of agreeing.

Not even batting an eyelash at the stains covering my t-shirt and jeans she said, “No problem. I’m sure I’ve got something upstairs you can borrow.”

Unable to see any way out of the situation that didn’t involve hurting her feelings, I shrugged and said, “What the hell. Why not?”

“Great!” Clutching my hand with far more strength than I would have expected from the petite blonde, she pulled me up the stairs and along the hallway to her room.

I couldn’t help glimpsing what I assumed was Hank’s bedroom as she towed me past the open door. I got an impression of rich reds and oranges and dark woods along with a whiff of tangy musk. It was an alluring aroma, but I felt inordinately relieved when I realized that it paled in comparison to the sumptuous sugary notes of Holbrook.
That
was a scent I could happily drown in.

Ever the opposite of her brother, my first thought when entering Juliet’s room was “Wow. That’s a lot of pastels.”

A grown-up version of the princess room I had longed for as a kid, it was filled with white-washed furniture and an abundance of pale lavender, cream, and peach textiles. Judging from the various knick-knacks and framed pictures throughout the room, I got the impression that Juliet had a thing for owls. She even had a stuffed owl nestled among the embroidered and ruched pillows on her bed. It was a complete departure from my own bedroom, which was a culmination of thrift store finds, pieces inherited from my grandparents, and even a few relics leftover from my childhood. I had fantasies of one day having an adult bedroom, complete with matching furniture and coordinated linens that hadn’t been picked out of the bargain bin at Walmart.

Let’s be honest here, most days you can barely match your socks, let alone your bedding
.

Dismissing my self-deprecating thoughts, I said, “I didn’t realize you lived here too.”

Looking up from where she was digging through a chest of drawers, she replied, “Oh, yeah. I was still living here with our mom and dad while going to school. When Hank took over the pack, he said I could stay.” Pausing with a pair of black yoga pants in her hands her expression turned sad. “I think he was a little afraid of living here alone to be honest. Too many memories.”

“You’ve mentioned your parents a few times. Are they...” I asked, letting my words trail off. I’d lost everyone I ever loved, I knew all too well what it was like to lose a parent. She didn’t need me to say the words to know what I was asking.

She didn’t respond at first, just continued to gaze down at the bundle of fabric in her hands with a faraway look in her eyes. After a while she gave a slow nod.

“They were geneticists. That’s how they’d met—as undergrads at CU. Love at first sight, my dad always said. Mom said it wasn’t until their fifth date,” she said with a solemn chuckle. “They’d gotten a grant to map the genomes that cause lycanthropy. They were making great progress and thought they were close to isolating the genes that trigger the change. Mom even thought they might be able to identify a single gene that creates an alpha.”

Juliet’s expression turned wistful, and I got the feeling that she was seeing things beyond the four walls of her bedroom.

“It really was very thrilling; you couldn’t help getting caught up in the excitement whenever they talked about it. They’d just received confirmation that they were getting another year of funding, and then...” a small, hiccupping sob broke through her words.

“The bombing,” I said, filling the silence with two simple words that held so much weight and emotion. I’d known the name Stone was familiar, but hadn’t been able to place it until Juliet mentioned that her parents were doctors.

Doctors Charlene and Thomas Stone had died in their research lab on the Boulder campus when a pipe bomb laden with silver nitrate had gone off. No one had taken responsibility for the bombing that claimed the lives of the doctors and two of their research assistants, but many suspected that Humans for Humanity had played a role in the attack. Three years later, no arrests had been made in the case and few members of the supe community were surprised. After all, what did the mundane police care about a few dead weres?

“I’m sorry,” I said, cringing at my words, knowing how useless they were.

Forcing a smile, Juliet pushed a few wisps of hair back from her face, and I pretended not to notice the moisture in her eyes.

“These should fit you. I’ll go grab one of Hank’s t-shirts. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

* * *

I felt ridiculous standing in the middle of Congress Park, surrounded by the whisper of winter bare branches creaking in the breeze and the unceasing drone of traffic passing by. I’d balked at first when Juliet insisted that I would be plenty warm in the borrowed yoga pants and t-shirt that held the clean scent of laundry detergent overlaying the spicy musk of Hank. As it turned out, she was right—in no time at all my hair was plastered to my cheeks and forehead with sweat, and my own hot cinnamon scent had risen to perfume the air.

“No wonder you’re so thin,” I said through panting breaths as I copied Juliet’s slow, but controlled movements, shifting into a position she’d called Snake Creeps Through The Grass.

“Tai Chi isn’t just for old folks and yuppies. It can be a serious workout if you do it right.”