Now he’d added me to the mix.
Inside my head Granny May was cackling like a hen as she waved her hands, dispersing all the other in- dwellers to their appointed places now that the worst of the danger was over. As I glared at her, waiting for her to whip out the hanky and dry the at-my-expense tears, she shook her head at me and snorted,
My mind filled with silence. It wouldn’t last. Already I could feel the niggling fears that Samos had made too good of a deal with his devil. Cole still needed his answer. My dad’s attacker wouldn’t lay low forever. And I might do something phenomenally stupid to lose my chance with Vayl.
I met his amber eyes, my heart skipping a beat as they crinkled at the corners.
Acknowledgments
This has been the most difficult book to write so far, and it wouldn’t have ended nearly so well without the support of my husband, Kirk, who is a constant source of quiet strength. I’d also like to thank my editors, Devi Pillai and Bella Pagan. Funny how one question can open up a whole new perspective on a character’s world. Deep appreciation, as always, must go to my agent, Laurie McLean, the great folks at Orbit, and my precious readers Katie and Hope. To the citizens of Patras, please accept my apologies for feeling free to rearrange your architecture. Rest assured I put it right back where I found it after the novel was finished. And to you, my awesome readers, so cool to have you here! Wait till you see what I’ve got in store for you next!
extras
Meet the Author
JENNIFER RARDIN 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 BITTEN TO DEATH,
look out for
ONE MORE BITE
Book 5 of the Jaz Parks series
May 18, 6:00 p.m.
“Jasmine, do not pull that gun.”
Vayl spoke in a voice so low even I could barely hear him, which meant the people in the worn gray seats next to the bathroom door where I stood still had no idea what I meant to do.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I growled. My fingers tightened on the grip of Grief, the Walther PPK I kept stashed in the shoulder holster under my black leather jacket. I couldn’t see my intended victim at the moment. Vayl had set his hands on the edges of the doorframe, spreading his calf-length duster like a curtain, blocking my view. But I could hear the son of a bitch, sitting near the front, chatting up the flight attendant like she was the daughter of one of his war buddies.
“You do understand what a bad idea this is, do you not?” Vayl insisted. “Even discussing pulling a gun on an airplane could bring the passengers down on you like a mob of after-Christmas-sale shoppers.” He fixed me with warm hazel eyes. “I would hate to see you beaten to death with that woman’s boot.”
He jerked his head sideways, directing my attention toward an exhausted traveler whose fat rolls drooped over her armrests like just-kneaded bread dough. I glanced her way, and as people will do when they feel eyes upon them, she looked back at me. For a split second her pink cheeks and heavy-framed glasses swam out of focus. A lean, dark-eyed face sneered at me from beneath her shoulder-length perm. It said, “Are you certain you know my name?” I squeezed my eyes shut.
I turned my head so that when I opened my eyes they fell on Vayl’s short black curls, which, I now knew, felt like silk under the fingertips. And his face, carved with the bold hand of an artist whose work I’d never tire of.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I picked the part that bothered me least and let loose. “You’re the one who allowed my father to come along on this assignment. I told you it wouldn’t work. I warned you that blood could be shed. But did you listen?”
“I rather thought you would wait until we had landed in Inverness.”
