Blood Song

away again. Frustrating.

“You’d best hurry, Ms. Landingham.” The bastard’s voice had a hint of amusement. “You’l want to be

finished before your brother gets back.”

“My brother would never hurt me.” Emma spoke with cold certainty. And wel she should. Kevin adored

his baby sister. There was no way in hel he’d ever do anything to put her at risk.

“Are you sure? Werewolves can be so … unpredictable. Especial y at the ful moon.” He sounded so

sure, so reasonable. Probably exactly the same tone the snake had used with Eve when talking about

that pesky apple.

“What an assssss.” I muttered the words under my breath, but Emma heard. She glanced at me, and

a flicker of something close to understanding cut through her rage. The main reason we’ve never been

close is the fact that I am so very irreverent and rebel ious: “stuck at thirteen developmental y.” She

hates that Warren and Kevin care so much about me. Now, probably for the first time, the poster child

for repression was taking a hike in my shoes. Flying by the seat of her pants in a dangerous situation

wasn’t making her any cheerier than I usual y am.

She hit the button to release the restraints. They made a screeching sound that made my ears hurt

and halted about halfway down, apparently disliking the shape I’d bent them into. Normal y they slid

smoothly into the surface of the lab table. Dammit. El Jefe was probably going to make me pay for the

repairs.

I sat up and tried to figure out how to remove al of the various electrodes and tubes. It takes a

certain finesse to remove medical equipment without damaging either your body or the equipment. I’d

heal, but if I ruined any more of Warren’s stuff he’d be seriously pissed.

I turned and looked at the stranger. He met my gaze without flinching. Nor did his eyes wander, not

even to the tattoo. I have a vine of ivy tattooed onto my left leg, winding around my calf and up my thigh.

It’s beautiful y done and very eye-catching. People always comment on it when I wear shorts or a skirt.

But he didn’t say a word. My body was just that … a body.

He looked at me with cool appraisal, watching in amusement as I took his measure in return. He

wasn’t handsome, or ugly, or truly much of anything. You could look at him closely and five minutes later

you’d have forgotten him. Pleasant features, hazel eyes, hair that color that hovers between blond and

brown—cut so that it was neither short nor long. His charcoal-colored suit was the kind of mid-price

off-the-rack but not cheap suit that your average businessman would wear. My guess was that he

either was currently with or had once worked for a three-letter agency of one sort or another and would

be introducing himself as “Mr. Smith.”

The only thing that wasn’t studiously ordinary about him was the scars that peeked out from beneath

his starched white col ar. You had to look very closely to see them, but they were there.

“Hel o, Ms. Graves. I’m John Jones.”

Not “Smith,” but close enough.

He extended his hand to shake. When I took it I got a jolt of psychic power that brought an involuntary

gasp from my lips and a faint smile to his.

I could see in his eyes. He’d done it deliberately. He was testing me. I didn’t like it, didn’t like him. But

I’d be careful. Because Mr. Jones wasn’t just dangerous, he was deadly. I wasn’t sure I wanted him on

my side—but I sure as hel didn’t want him working against me.

And Kevin knows him well enough to call in a favor. I’d always wondered about Kevin’s past.

Werewolves live several decades longer than humans. I didn’t know exactly how old he was, just that

he was the product of Warren’s misspent youth and had decided to go to col ege later than most, so

that he and Emma were just a grade apart. But he’d been around a while, because Warren is wel past

tenure. But Kevin doesn’t talk about the past. Ever. I made the mistake of asking … once. I’m not stupid

enough to repeat that error. Of course that didn’t keep me from being curious as hel . But Kevin’s my

friend and Warren’s son. I won’t snoop. Stil , based on Jones it appeared that Kevin might have lived

an even more colorful life than I’d given him credit for in my wilder imaginings.

I glanced around the room, feeling suddenly very awkward. Clothes may not make the woman, but

running around naked general y puts you at a disadvantage. You have to be very secure in your body to

be nude in a group of ful y dressed people and carry it off. I’m no prude, but I’m not that secure. So I

was very glad when Emma pul ed one of my duffel bags out of the lab’s storage closet. Everything I

needed was in there, neatly packed. And lying on top was something I didn’t need but absolutely wanted

—the holsters with my guns and the polished wooden case that held my knives when they weren’t in

use. A holsterless but cleaned and polished 9mm sat on top of my wal et and a stack of neatly folded

clothes. It wasn’t my gun, so why was it with my stuff? I felt a stab of something that wasn’t quite a

memory as I ran a finger over the grip. I tried to force it, but the more I tried to remember specifics, the

further it slipped away from me.

Frustrating.

Growling under my breath, I shoved the gun aside and turned my attention to the knife case. I flipped

open the lid and there they were, al cleaned, shiny, and oiled. The thorough care smacked of Kevin’s

work, but he couldn’t have touched the blades. They’re magical, and they were created specifical y to

kil monsters. Stil , whoever had cleaned them had done a fine job.

“You sssstil haven’t told me what’s wrong with me.” I kept my voice neutral as I asked Emma the

question. But it was Jones who answered.

“You are an abomination.”

“Excusssse me?” I raised my brows, my voice bordering on insulted. He laughed. From the

expression on his face, it took him by surprise.

“I take it you don’t laugh much.”

“Not real y, no,” he admitted. The humor was gone as though wiped from a slate. He was talking

directly to me, as if Emma weren’t even there, but that didn’t seem to bother her. I would’ve been

pissed. “‘Abomination’ is the term used by the vampires for that smal group of persons who should

have died, or been turned, but instead survived with only partial physiological changes. They live, they

have a soul and possess their own memories, but have been altered significantly. Each person’s

physiology changes differently. We’re stil determining that with you.”

“I ssssee.” I did. I didn’t like it, but I definitely saw where he was going. I was now in possession of

more strength than the average bear, a lisp, and a pair of real y impressive fangs. What else had

changed? Would I be able to go out in daylight? Could I eat real food, or had I developed a taste for

blood? God, I hoped not. Even thinking about it was just so gross. “So you’re going to fol ow me around

and watch me? See what I do and what makes me tick? Is that a good idea?” I’d imagine that was a

pretty dangerous way to operate.

He shrugged. “When we’ve worked with abominations in the past, we normal y kept them under for a