“I missed you,” he said, striding over to sit on the bed beside me.
“Yeah.” I handed him my glasses. Didn’t want to wear them anymore. They felt too heavy. “I just talked to my dad.”
“Oh? That is good, yes? You should tell David.”
“Okay. But maybe, you know, just until he’s sort of recovered from this whole ordeal, I’ll leave out the part about how Albert thinks somebody is trying to kill him.”
I leaned my head on Vayl’s shoulder as his arm came around me. But I could not feel comforted. A necromancer had enslaved my brother, a demon had tried to steal my niece’s soul, and now my father was telling me his motorcycle wreck was no accident. The violence that formed the framework of my life had never before touched my family. But within just a few days it had nearly destroyed it.
I looked into Vayl’s eyes. “This shit’s hitting too close to home,” I whispered.
“What do you want to do about it?”
I didn’t even have to think. “Hit back.”
Acknowledgments
I
want to express my deepest gratitude to all the pros at Orbit who work tirelessly to put Jaz Parks into the field. They include: Bob Castillo, Bella Pagan, Penina Lopez, Alex Lencicki, Katherine Molina, Jennifer Flax, and most especially my editor, Devi Pillai, who is an absolute freaking genius. Plus, she’s hilarious. To my agent, Laurie McLean, whose astounding energy and absolute support let me know I am professionally blessed — thanks so much for everything you do. My readers have hung in with me once again, and if the beauty is in the details, much of what’s lovely in this book is due to Ben Rardin, Katie Rardin, and Hope Dennis. And to you, Reader, it’s so cool that we’ve shared this adventure! Shall we have another?
extras
meet the author
Photo by Cindy Pringle
J
ENNIFER
R
ARDIN
began writing at the age of twelve, mostly poems to amuse her classmates and short stories featuring her best friends as the heroines. She lives in an old farmhouse in Illinois with her husband and two children. Find out more about Jennifer Rardin at
www.JenniferRardin.com
.
introducing
If you enjoyed BITING THE BULLET, look out for
BITTEN TO DEATH
Book 4 of the Jaz Parks series
by Jennifer Rardin
I stood in the stone-paved courtyard of a Greek villa so old and refined it would’ve made me feel like a cave- dweller if I hadn’t been so pissed. I’d only just raised Grief, the Walther PPK my former roommate-turned-tech consultant had modified for me, so I had no problem keeping a steady bead on my target. Since he was a vampire, I’d pressed the magic button, transforming Grief into a crossbow. Which said vamp was taking pretty seriously. The only reason he was still pretending to breathe.
Beside me, my boss played his part to perfection. He’d already made the leap from feigned surprise that I’d drawn on one of our hosts, to acceptance that I’d once again dropped him into a socially precarious situation. Maybe he slipped into the role so easily because he was used to it. I did tend to make his existence, well, interesting.
He turned his head slightly; his dark curls indifferent to the steady breeze coming off the bay they were clipped so short. He managed to keep an eye on my target, as well as whatever vamps might come pouring out of the sprawling sand-colored mansion to back him up as he said, “Are you sure you recognize this fellow?”
“I’m telling you, Vayl, he’s the one,” I insisted. “I just saw the report on him last week. He’s wanted for murder in three different countries. His specialty is families. The pictures were —”
gruesome,
I thought, but I choked on the word. The twitch of Vayl’s left eyebrow told me I was on a roll. The thing was, at the moment, I didn’t give two craps about our little game. The Vampere world might be all about superiority, which was why we’d needed to make a power play the minute we crossed their threshold, but I’d have popped the vamp in front of me even if it meant we had to fight our way out of a nest of enraged vultures and their human guardians. In fact, that we should personally benefit from his demise made me feel almost . . . dirty. I know, I know. As assistant to the CIA’s top assassin, I was hardly in a position to make moral judgments. But I didn’t see why that should stop me now.
“You can’t prove anything,” snarled the vamp, whose shoulder length hair did nothing to hide his enormous bulging forehead.
“I don’t
have
to, you idiot!” I snapped, wishing I could objectify the rage I was feeling, hurl it at him like it was an enormous black vase full of cobras. “Much as it often pains me to say so, you
others
have so few official rights they could fit on the back of my driver’s license. That leaves me free to smoke you if I feel you are a clear and present danger to society. Which you are.”
