Bitten to Death

“Only if you tell me your name.”

“But I do not know. Every day it seems as if I lose more of myself. Soon there will be nothing left.”

I could’ve told him he was already little more than narrowed eyes, pitted cheeks, and long drippy fangs protruding from a mass of spilled heart-fluid. But we didn’t have that kind of time. And I wanted the conversation to get saner, not weirder.

“Okay. I have maybe five minutes until Rastus comes to dispose of this almost-corpse. So. Considering that he’s damn near dead, do you have any idea how to reverse that?”

“Fresh blood.”

“I’m not putting anything of mine near his mouth.”

A breath of annoyance. “As if he could swallow it. No, woman, be direct. I can feel your powers from here. Just a few drops in the wound will begin the process. You should know what to do next.”

With no time to stall, I did anyway. “How’s my blood going to help? He’s so far gone.”

“It will act as a stimulant. Much as doctors administer adrenaline to patients who are severely allergic to bee stings.”

While my hallucination had been talking I’d finally decided to get busy. I’d pulled the bolo out of my right pocket. Talk about overkill, I thought as I made a quick, horizontal incision about four inches above my wrist. One of my throwing knives would’ve worked better. But I hadn’t strapped them to my wrist since returning from Iran.

Holding the cut above the Were’s bullet wound, I squeezed my arm, forcing as much of my blood to drip into him as I could manage on short notice.

Nothing happened.

It won’t be long now, I told myself. Then I’ll leave. After the mission I’ll contact his pack and let them know what happened. Maybe try to help them locate the body. My eyes strayed to the shovels in the corner. We’d probably never find it.

I was so sure the Were was going to die that when he grabbed my arm with both hands I jumped a couple of inches off the floor. “What the hell?”

He muttered something I didn’t understand. It sounded like Greek. He surged upward in a half sit-up, using my arm as a brace. We froze in that position, our eyes meeting in a moment of perfect comprehension. I felt my vision expand, as if my contact lenses had suddenly become telescopic. More than that. My Spirit Eye, which usually allowed me to sense others, track them, mark their vulnerabilities, and take them down, turned inward. And I Saw that I could wrap my vision around him. That I could use it to reach inside him, blast the blood I’d donated across his internal wasteland, and make it work like rain in the desert.

So I did.

What I didn’t expect was the return. This must’ve been what Vayl had meant when he’d first taken my blood. That, despite appearances, it wasn’t a donation. It was an exchange. For a moment that felt somehow eternal, the Were and I existed inside each other. No lies. No bullshit. I knew him. Not details, like a name and address. The big picture. Intentions, beliefs, hopes, regrets. They all swirled among my own, stirring, sparking, but never judging. And, just like that, I loved him. Not like I had Matt. Not like I could love Vayl. More like how I’d cared for my vamp-slaying crew in that once upon a time when I’d believed they’d live forever.

As soon as I felt his vitality rise, I closed my Spirit Eye. I realized I was covered in sweat, suffering from a pounding headache, a crushing desire for chocolate chip cookies, and a cramp in my right foot from sitting at the wrong angle.

“Holy shit, let’s not do that anymore, all right?” I muttered. “That’s just too . . . extreme. Plus, it makes you talk to yourself afterward.” I pulled the Were to his feet. He said something else in Greek. “Sorry, buddy. My universal translator is still in the aw-please-you-gotta-build-this stage.”

“Where are we going?” he asked in perfect English.

“To hide you. What’s your name?”

“Trayton.”

Come on, pal, please stop looking at me like your mind’s blown too. Let’s pretend we’re normal for a little while longer.

“You can call me Lucille. Listen, I happen to know there’s a secret tunnel leading from the wagon house into the mansion. You’re going to have to walk about two hundred yards, naked, in sixty-degree weather. Can you handle that?”

“I can do anything you ask.” Trayton gazed at me with copper-colored eyes that seared themselves into my heart. The other reason I never wanted to repeat what I’d just done. Because, at least in this moment, with no one in my head but me, I could admit it hurt too much to care. In fact, it scared the shit out of me. As a result, every act of kindness or (gulp) outright affection required a response from me that simulated a charge up a heavily fortified enemy hill. I didn’t need more friends, dammit.

I hid my wince in my sleeve as I wiped it across my mouth. “Okay. Let’s get the hell out of here before Rastus shows up and spoils all our fun.”

Chapter Seven

I don’t relish hanging out in guys’ bedrooms. Especially ones that see lots of use. In this one, half-burned candles stood in groups of four or five on every flat surface—the claw-footed table beside the king-sized sleigh bed, the highboy, the tea table flanked by two armchairs covered in faded red fabric with gold diamonds. The bed hadn’t been made, its rumpled blue sheets inviting its last occupants to resume where they’d left off ASAP. I apologized to them as I dumped Trayton in their midst, noting from their feel how expensive they must be.

“Don’t get comfortable,” I told him. “We’re going to have to move again.” As soon as I figure out where we are.