Bitten to Death

Chapter Four

Apparently Sonrhain is the Vampere word for “gross out the human guests.” Dave and I took one look at each other as we entered the Olympic pool–sized dining room and walked back out. “Who can I kill?” Dave asked, reaching inside his jacket. I put my hand on his arm, unsure whether he’d come out holding his Beretta or a fifth of Jack. Sucky plan either way.

“You know the rules. From now on, nobody dies who doesn’t threaten us directly,” I said.

“You’re shitting me, right? You want me to stand in there, watch that . . . and what, applaud?”

I shook my head, feeling as nauseated as he looked. “Just keep your eyes open and avoid the sauce.”

His eyes snapped to mine. “Is that what General Kyle told you? That I needed a sponsor to make sure I stayed dry?”

“No,” I hissed. “What he said was that you’re an excellent fighter who’s been through hell. He basically asked me to give you something constructive to do before you throw a grenade under the same helmet you’ve stuffed your career inside.” Okay, he’d said a few more things. Like my brother had turned into a walking volcano since our last mission. That he’d hit the bottle hard, along with a couple of fellow officers who, thank God, had respected him enough not to press charges. And if I didn’t help him get his head on straight, and fast, he could kiss the military goodbye.

I reached into Dave’s jacket, my hand sliding into the correct pocket first try. It emerged holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey. “That was just to keep me warm while I waited for you two to get your business finished,” he told me.

I stared into eyes so like my own the similarity sometimes still startled me. And I felt my heart break a little. After all he’d been through, I figured he deserved better than this. But I wasn’t here to pinch his cheeks and fluff his pillows. I put steel into my voice as I said, “Don’t fuck with me, Dave.”

I tucked the bottle in my own jacket, waiting for him to decide. After a long pause he said, “I don’t wanna go in there.”

“Me neither.”

So we walked through the double doors together.

Funny how you equate time with mood. Even after working the night shift for nine solid months, at almost ten thirty p.m. I felt like we should’ve hit unwind. I could sure go for a cocktail at one of the ritzy hotels down by the ocean. But as Dave and I met Vayl on the other side of the blank, dark gateways to the Trust’s party plaza, it seemed like we’d slipped on the double-barreled six-shooters of high noon.

The room shouldn’t have made me shudder. Ceiling-to-floor drapes in red satin hung on the walls to my right and left. They were drawn back to reveal murals cleverly painted to look like windows into the countryside. One was a view of the Gulf of Patras with ships at the harbor and a ferry just heading off toward Italy. The other showed a wooded landscape with a couple of waterfalls tucked into the background. It was almost inviting. Except for the rivulets of blood that ran down the “panes.”

You can get through this, I told myself. Just don’t let it touch you. I could almost feel another layer grow around my core. A thick, pearl-like shell that I could wash all the gore from later on. I turned away from the art as Vayl touched my arm, pointing me toward my seat. It was only two down from Disa. She’d already taken her place at the head table, which was covered in black silk and formed a horseshoe with several others around the raised ring in the center of the room. Which, I decided, I’d better give a long, hard look before I lost all the kickass points I’d gained in the courtyard.

A silver fence hung from the ceiling, surrounding the ring, giving it an Ultimate Fighter feel. I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t drop the F-bomb again, though it lingered there, trying to jump out of my mouth every few seconds as I took in more details of the Main Event.

In the center of the ring two Weres ripped at each other, growling ferociously as they grappled with teeth and claws. The wolf made me glad something solid and steel stood between it and my tender flesh. The size of a Bengal tiger, it made the room seem to shrink every time it moved. Its ear hung by one stringy chunk. Its left eye had closed completely, though I couldn’t tell if it had been gouged out or just injured so badly it would no longer open.

It battled a brown bear, which, in Were form, wasn’t nearly as cute as its zoo cousin. Think leaner, with longer fangs, claws like machetes, and jaguar speed, and you begin to get the idea. It was missing huge mounds of fur and its throat looked like something you’d find in the garbage can at a butcher’s shop. Blood covered both of the Weres’ faces, their hides, and so much of the floor that they slipped and rammed each other just trying to stay upright.

I stood motionless, trying not to gag from the smell. Was it worse that the Weres hadn’t been allowed to transform completely? That someone in this perverse little Trust had the power to force them to stop changing midway so that parts of their torsos, arms, and legs still maintained a semblance of humanity and therefore a horrible vulnerability to animal attack? Was I more revolted by the members’ loud cheering of their chosen fighters along with the exchange of euro notes when side bets were won or lost? Or was I the most disgusted that, facing some real wicked shit, my mind still focused on maintaining the illusion of overwhelming strength we’d begun to create outside, realizing that I’d be utterly humiliated if I puked, or worse, fainted?

Genti and Koren distracted me from my internal mayhem, their jubilant screams jerking my head to the right, where they stood on their seats, cheering the werewolf to victory. Rastus stood beside them, saving the sliver of voice that had returned to him. Just as juiced, he demonstrated his support by slamming his fist against the table so that all the plates and silver jumped like frightened servants. Even as I noted their positions, Meryl slipped into the room behind me and took a chair next to Rastus, closest to the table’s head. That surprised me. I’d have thought, socially speaking, she’d be required to sit farthest from Disa. But maybe Genti wanted as many bodies as he could get between himself and the Deyrar, just in case she completely flipped out. I also wondered about the significance of the empty spaces next to Genti, enough to seat four or five more. That open expanse of tablecloth struck me as odd.

“Rip his throat out, Wolfie!” Genti screamed, tearing a chunk out of his enormous turkey leg, as if to demonstrate. He’d set his hat down in front of his red glass plate, revealing a bald head that shone with excited perspiration as he pounded the air with his free fist, shouting exultantly as the wolf sank its fangs into the bear’s shoulder.

Across the ring, Niall and Admes were talking so intensely it almost looked like a fight. Only the way Niall would occasionally touch Admes on the back of the hand to emphasize a point or Admes’s tendency to rub Niall’s shoulder hinted at civil conversation. Their human companion roared with approval as the bear shook the wolf off and followed with a belt to the head that sent a couple of teeth flying. The guard jumped up to gather a winning bet from Marcon, who shook his silver ponytail with admiration, then sat back down near the head of their table, which