Bitten to Death

For a second I thought Vayl was going to freeze her like an MRE, his powers spiked so suddenly. Then he said, “I heard you were dead.”

Out the corner of my eye I saw her throw her head sideways, as if to dodge a bitter memory. “Hardly,” she replied, her voice higher and tighter than before. “Hamon and I might have had a slight . . . disagreement. But that was settled years ago.”

“Where is your Deyrar?” Vayl asked.

I searched my mental dictionary, my limited Vampere vocabulary coming up with one of its few complete definitions. The Deyrar was the supreme leader of a secretive vampire community called a Trust. He was like a king, only less prone to gout and gambling addiction.

She drew herself up to her full height, maybe five-foot-one, and said, “I am the Deyrar.”

Vayl and I don’t have a psychic link. But we’re close enough to say a ton with one stricken look.

Are we screwed? I asked him with puckered eyebrows.

A valid question, Jasmine, his narrowed gaze replied. Obviously she was not expecting us. Which means she knows nothing about the deal.

Well, shit.

Our agreement had been with Hamon Eryx, the (deposed?) leader of the vampires who packed the mansion before us. Together they formed one of a network of worldwide Trusts. Vayl himself had lived with this particular group nearly a century ago.

We’d been asked to come to Patras by Eryx himself, a canny old sleaze who’d promised us safe passage in return for a shot at Edward Samos, aka the Raptor. Samos had either attempted or committed enough acts of terrorism in the past few years to raise him to the top of our department’s hit list. He’d also written to Eryx offering an alliance. Eryx wasn’t interested, but because he knew everyone who refused Samos’s advances ended up dead, he’d asked Vayl to intervene.

Now the Deyrar had been replaced, which meant our whole mission could be junk before it even came out of the box. Plus, we were standing in the middle of a well-established Trust. Any minute now we could be surrounded by fifteen to twenty vamps and their human guardians, who’d be psyched to have an excuse to disembowel us. Those goofy Vampere. Anything for a giggle.

As if he’d read my mind, a Mr. Universe candidate burst out the same back door the Deyrar had just exited. His appearance made me seriously consider smoking my target just so I could stand and stare. He went shirtless, though Grecian springs are cool and the temperature currently hovered around sixty degrees. From the look of that sculpted bod I estimated his workout took a three-hour chunk out of his daily schedule. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he was a vamp. But he was all man. The kind photographers feature on the covers of books with titles like Forbidden Folly and Wesley’s Wench.

“Disa, the party’s ready to start,” he said eagerly. He looked at Vayl, starting slightly, as if he’d only just seen him. “Who’re you?” he demanded.

“I am Vayl. And this is Lucille Robinson.”

“My mother’s name was Lucille,” said Binns.

“Shut up,” I said.

“Did you know I killed her?” he sneered. “I kill everybody I meet named Lucille, Lucille. Lucy Lucillia Robin —”

“Shut the fuck up before I cut out your tongue!” I snarled.

His teeth clicked shut.

I blew my breath out through my nose, trying to keep anger from shredding my better sense. Because I knew what he was trying to pull.

Vayl had explained that in the Vampere world, knowing someone’s name could give you power over them. Which was why Hamon Eryx had insisted on trading birth certificates. Vayl had, in turn, demanded that Eryx keep my personal info secure. Meaning everyone else in the Trust should get my favorite fake ID. I sure as hell would’ve picked another if I’d known it was going to set Binns off. Not because it disturbed me. But because I didn’t want to kill him out of anger. So unprofessional.

Cover Boy, noting Disa’s displeasure at my foul mouth, asked, “Do you want me to kill them?”

I tried not to gape. After all, I was holding a loaded weapon. Could he be that dumb?

“No, Tarasios,” Disa said tiredly. “Get the rest of the Trust.” As he bobbed his head and went back inside, she turned her glare to me. “So you are Vayl’s . . .” She raised an eyebrow, gave me that look. The one that said, Hey, even vamps who’re trying to blend gotta get their blood from somewhere. So what about it? Are you Vayl’s very own, personal Slurpee?

I gave her empty eyes as I said, “I’m his assistant,” then zoomed back in on Binns. He was beginning to relax. Starting to believe his Deyrar would tow him out of this jam. His gaze dropped to his front pocket just before his right hand tried to follow suit. So I shot him.

He staggered. Stared down at the bolt sticking out of his left shoulder. Looked up at me in shock. “Why did you do that?”

“Hair trigger,” I said. Maybe not, though. He liked to torture his victims before he killed them, half of whom had been under the age of twelve. And the more I obsessed about his MO, the less control my brain seemed to exercise over my hand. “I suggest you stand very still now. Wouldn’t want you to have a nasty accident before I settle on your future plans.” In the deep silence that followed, all I could hear was the whir of well-oiled machinery as Grief automatically loaded another bolt into my crossbow.

I glanced at Disa just in time to see her eyes go through major changes, moving from brown to black, red to orange and bright yellow before fading back to brown. It happened so quickly it felt like watching a retro rock video