Bitten to Death

I moved quickly to shut the secret door, which disappeared behind an old grandfather clock that informed us we’d made it back inside just after midnight. The Were had survived into a new day. I decided to take that as a good omen.

The room had two obvious entries. The first led to a section of hallway I didn’t recognize. But I immediately knew which way to turn to get back to the suite. I have an innate sense of direction, something that rose in me as part of my Sensitivity. I don’t always appreciate it. Like when Vayl gets pissed and ditches me in the middle of Tehran, knowing full well I can find my way back to base. But that’s another story. Now my pathfinder told me we’d come to the central base-block of the villa.

The second door required a key to unlock. But I could hear something when I put my ear to the smooth, dark wood. Music. Something slow and mournful coming from what sounded like a piano. Also, someone murmuring. Maybe even singing along.

A moan from the bed brought me back to the Were’s side. His eyes fluttered open.

“Trayton? How’re you hanging in there?”

“Hurts,” he muttered.

“I know.” I almost felt it myself. Could nearly see the poison, like a pus-colored pall, floating over his body.

“Do you remember anything about the person who ensnared you? What happened?”

“Smell.”

“You smelled something?”

He winced. Blinked his thick black lashes. “Grapes.”

Now why did that ring a bell?

Think of it later. Now, just get the wolf to safer ground.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. We gotta move again. One more time, that’s all. Then—” What? I might have pulled him from the brink, but he was still far from well.

One thing at a time, Jaz. Get him dressed. Find the suite without being intercepted. If he’s still alive after that, then we’ll talk cure.

I went to the highboy and started yanking out drawers until I found clothes for him. I grabbed the arm-length sword I discovered in the third drawer as well.

“These should fit you,” I said as I laid the clothes and the weapon beside him. “Do you need help?”

“No,” he said, giving me a grateful look. “I can manage.”

He did get the clothes on, but I had to help him off the bed. Once he was up, he brought my hand to his lips. And licked it.

“Dude! What the hell!” I had one arm around his back. The other, clasped in his, badly wanted to wipe itself down the creamy white shirt that hung on him like a tent. That, more than anything, told me this room belonged to Admes. I hadn’t caught his scent earlier. But now it would always be intertwined with the memory of the hurt in Trayton’s eyes as he moved away from me and I caught a whiff of dead leaves. “Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you’re part wolf. I just—I don’t know a helluva lot about how you guys operate.”

“Growling usually means get away,” he said, his voice shaking enough that I looked at him again. And realized I’d never given myself the chance to see him until now. With him kissing the hem of Death’s robes, why would I want to imprint the memory of a kid barely out of his teens with a mane of raven hair that kept flopping into his eyes? A face that had just found the sharp angles and planes of manhood. And that by- God-I-will expression that assured me he’d do his part when it came time to get well.

Now that face would forever be tied with what I’d learned of him during my donation. That he’d rather run than eat. He hated the taste of beer but would never admit it to his friends. And he’d promised himself to a Were named Phoebe, but kept putting off the final ceremony because, deep down, he feared she’d be a bad mother.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “It’s kind of a hereditary thing. My dad’s a growler. Although he sounds more like a garbage disposal trying to process a set of flatware.”

Quirk of the lips, so reminiscent of Vayl that I wished hard for my sverhamin to join us. Lift this boy in his arms. Make him his burden. “Your father sounds frightening,” Trayton said.

“He once made a general cry.”

“No.”

“I shit you not. The guy had to retire after that. I mean, really, who’s going to follow your orders after some damn colonel’s reduced you to tears?”

He shook his head, which is how people typically react to Albert stories. But the tightness around his eyes had relaxed. I checked the hallway. “It’s clear.”

We began our slow march to the suite. Trayton insisted on holding the sword, though he leaned pretty heavily on me. “I don’t sense any vamps nearby,” I whispered as we half walked, half staggered down a flight of stairs. “But if we happen to run into some, we need a plausible excuse for your presence. Unless they’ve all seen your human face?”

“No. Only the one with the gun and the one who smelled of grapes.”

“So let’s come up with a reason for you to be here with me.”

“We could say I got lost while I was hiking and you found me outside.”

“That sounds reasonable.” He gasped as we reached the bottom step. We didn’t have far to go, but then it looked as if he didn’t either. I went on. “Of course, your story’s a huge snore. We could say you’re my escort. And I’ve, you know, worn you out.” When he looked over at me, I wiggled my eyebrows