Bitten to Death

a bomb from a B52, the amusement dropped out of his voice. “My reality has become such a nightmare I have sworn to let no one take part in the journey.”

“Well, as long as you’re hanging out in closets, I don’t see that being a problem.”

“You were hiding from them as well.”

“Yeah, so?”

“The great American comeback.”

“Okay then, let’s make a deal.”

“The great American game show.”

“You are old.”

“You have no idea.” I recognized the same droll humor in his voice that I often heard in Vayl’s when he referred to the difference in our ages. But only a pinch. Mostly what I heard was despair. The kind you understand because you’ve fallen into a bottomless well of it yourself.

“Obviously you’re no fan of Genti and Rastus either. So why don’t you tell me what they were saying?” I’ve just gotta know how bad Rastus was getting his ass reamed. Holy geez, wait till I give Trayton the details. He’ll be rolling! “If you give me a down-and-dirty translation I can—”

“What will you do for me?” the vamp asked, his voice suddenly bitter. “Will you restore me to my place in the Vitem? No?” he demanded when I didn’t answer. “Well, perhaps something easier. In return for your jewel of information”—he leaned forward— “will you give me back my face?”

Chapter Twelve

I slept with a night-light till I was six. In high school, when I came home after a date, my skin would practically jump off my bones until I’d flipped on the light switch. Because I knew exactly what could be lurking in the shadows if I didn’t crush them right away, and it scared the crap out of me. I just never thought my childhood fears would chase me into my twenties.

When the vamp moved into my line of vision, the sight of him rammed my head back into the wall and caused my heart to stop for three full seconds before it boomed in my chest, like it wanted to pull the rest of me through the plaster and lathe back into the hallway, out the front door, and screw this place!

Then what? asked Granny May, who had a hand full of hearts and was trying to give Sitting Bull the high sign without the others catching on to her cheat. Seriously, Jasmine, what are you going to accomplish, running from the monster in the closet?

Won’t have to look at him anymore, I thought mulishly.

I’ll give you that, Granny admitted.

You sure as hell better. And while you’re at it, tell me what on earth is capable of eating a vampire’s face to the point that it won’t heal back right again.

He had no eyes. No sockets even. His nose and right cheek were also just . . . gone. And in their place, the stuff you’re never supposed to see. The mass of tissue behind a face. But not clean and excised. This was twisted and scarred, especially just above his upper jaw and at his left cheek.

“Some things you are not meant to survive,” he said, and now that we didn’t have to speak in whispers, the odd twang of his voice struck me, its resonance lost along with his nostrils.

“What did this to you?” I asked.

“I believe you mean who.”

“Not a Were, then?”

He shook his head. I really wished he hadn’t. “Disa,” he whispered.

I slid down the wall until my butt met my heels. “I knew something was wrong about her the second we met. Something just smelled off.” And now she’s bound herself to Vayl. I rammed my elbow into the wall, realized it was the one I’d hurt earlier, and gritted my teeth as twitchy pains zoomed from shoulder to fingertips.

He cocked his head at me and I wished I could drape a towel or something equally opaque over his mutilated face. I could hardly bear to witness the damage Disa had done anymore.

Okay, you know what, quit being a goddamn wimp! Your career may have hit the shitter. And your position as Vayl’s . . . whatever . . . may be as shaky as a Parkinson’s patient. But while you’re in the CIA, at least suck it up and act like a pro.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Disa smelled strange? Are you a Sensitive?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, I am. And yeah, she did,” I said. “Like a psychic diaper fire. Now you. Tell me what you can.”

He slumped into himself, raising his hands over his head as if to shield his ravaged face from even the memory of the attack. “I don’t even know you.”

“I would’ve thought sharing a space the size of an ironing board had taken us beyond etiquette, but okay. My name’s Lucille Robinson. I came with Vayl to help negotiate with Edward Samos.”

His chin came up. “Vayl has returned?”

“Eryx invited him. We didn’t know he’d been killed until we arrived tonight.”

“If only we’d known Vayl was coming,” the vampire murmured. “The outcome might have been so different.”

“What do you mean?”