Bitten 2 (2 page)

I resisted the urge to snatch up the cell phone and shove it down the garbage disposal. Holbrook probably wouldn’t be too keen on buying me another one so soon. He’d replaced the first one after I’d left it in my jeans pocket and run it through the washing machine. And the dryer. Apparently water resistant does not mean washing machine and dryer proof. The time after that it had fallen out of my pocket and I’d run over it with my Jeep before realizing it was missing. As far as I was concerned, the damn thing was more of a liability than a convenience.

I had never wanted—or needed—a cell phone before. When my psycho ex attacked me, turning me into a werewolf in the process, the media blitz during the ensuing trial had left me running for the hills to live like a hermit. All of my family was gone, and the few friends I’d had before the trial fled from the media hounds as soon as my face started showing up on every news outlet across the country. Since then, my social interactions had been limited to guild mates in the online gaming community where, if I was being totally honest, I spent way too much of my time. Those friendships were easy, safe, and free of the risk of anyone actually getting to know me.

Recent events had forced me to shed some of my recluse tendencies, allowing a select few people into my life. Still, besides Holbrook, Alyssa, and the few work contacts I had, there was no one else to call, making the fancy phone he had insisted on buying seem like a pointless extravagance. The wolf resented the loss of freedom she felt it represented, and I felt silly toting the damn thing around.

And now Chrismer has the number. Dammit.

Snatching up the phone again, I brought up the call log and entered her into my contacts under the name ‘Coffin Whore,’ before setting it back down with a self-satisfied smile.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CRUNCH OF tires on gravel several hours later drew me out of my cat video marathon. With business being slow for the past couple of months, I’d been left with far too much time on my hands and not enough to occupy my mind. Smothering the self-pity that threatened to drag me down, I peered out of the window as a white delivery van come to a stop in the driveway.

I guess he didn’t forget about me.

Bouncing up from my chair, I raced out of my office into the living room, my sock-clad feet sliding on the wooden floor. Scrabbling towards the door in excitement, I already had my fingers on the door knob when the first knock landed on the other side. Wrenching the door open I startled the delivery man, his thick brows rising high above dark glasses while his hand remained suspended in midair, poised to knock again.

“Ah... Ms. Cray?”

Rocking back and forth on my heels I fought against the excitement bubbling inside me. I was on the verge of beaming like an idiot and figured I needed to tone down my exuberance a little before the delivery guy fled. “Yup, that’s me.”

Scribbling something on his clipboard he extended it to me. “Sign here, please.” Keeping a tight rein on my enthusiasm, I scrawled my signature on the line and handed the clipboard back.

I’d been throwing myself a serious pity party for the past couple days. The fact that Holbrook was going to be out of town for Valentine’s Day had left me more than a little disappointed. When the morning came and went without any sappy messages, or even a simple hello, I’d sunk deeper into my maudlin thoughts. An examination of the mailbox at the end of the driveway hadn’t turned up any declarations of love either. I’d slunk back towards the house like a scolded dog, the snow soaking through my Killer Bunny slippers. Loki hadn’t emerged from the relative safety of my closet until I had settled myself at the kitchen table to single-handedly devour a Deluxe XL Hearts of Love box of chocolate—“Guaranteed to make your love’s heart melt for only $19.95!”

The arrival of the delivery van had given new life to my hope that Holbrook hadn’t forgotten about me after all. My excitement, however, was to be short-lived. A flicker of doubt took root as the driver pulled a slim envelope from under his arm and handed it to me.

“Have a nice day, ma’am.”

“Yeah, thanks. You too,” I murmured, turning the envelope over in my hands as I went back into the house, pushing the door closed behind me.

Shuffling into the kitchen I tore the envelope open, hope withering with each step. The logo of Cordova’s club, Asylum, was emblazoned across the top of the first sheet I pulled out of the envelope, and I felt the sting of rejection lance through my chest. There hadn’t been any professions of love between us yet, but that hadn’t stopped me from eagerly awaiting the moment when he’d say those three little words.

We’d been thrust together three months ago when Holbrook and his partner, Agent Johnson, had been assigned to protect me after Samson—my psycho ex-boyfriend—escaped White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary. He’d been intent on hunting me down and finishing what he’d started almost nine years before, and I’d been determined to do everything I could to stop that from happening.

Johnson’s unexpected and untimely betrayal had tightened the bond between Holbrook and me, leading to several very steamy bouts of sex born of the need to seek comfort in the touch of another. Now, as I stared down at the phone on my kitchen table, surrounded by crumpled candy wrappers, I couldn’t help wondering if I’d been a fool to open myself up to him.

Dropping the envelope on the table, its contents spilling across the old wooden surface that bore the dents and scars of decades, I curled my hands into fists. Anger and hurt were bubbling up from my gut, threatening to erupt in a fit of rage that was certain to leave at least one plate smashed. I knew of only one thing that would help to burn off my anger.

I didn’t bother going into the bedroom to undress: I stripped on the spot. Used to such theatrics, Loki didn’t even bat an eyelash as my clothes tangled in a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor. Instead, he stretched out in the shaft of sunlight that fell across the back of the couch and gave me a wide yawn to show just how uninteresting my tantrum was.

I stalked to the back door, which had been rehung by Holbrook after Samson tore it off its hinges, and pulled it open with controlled motions. Anger tingled in my fingertips, and I knew that if I didn’t keep a tight rein on it until I was running free amongst the trees, there was no telling how destructive I would end up being. It had been a constant struggle to keep the wolf under control since my very first shift, but since I’d pumped Sampson’s face full of silver bullets there had been a surge in her strength and determination. Although I’d spent much of the past eight years trying to deny that other side of myself and what it meant to have a wolf under my skin, the change was always a welcome reprieve from the complications of my human life. Not for the first time in recent weeks, I wondered if I had done myself a disservice by remaining stubbornly opposed to embracing the wolf.

As my thoughts began to spiral in directions I wasn’t ready to address, I shook my head to send them sinking back down into the dark where they belonged, and concentrated on the sensation of my hair brushing against the naked skin of my shoulders. Stepping onto the back step I closed my eyes, tilting my face up towards the sun to enjoy the feel of its warmth cutting through the chill of the cold February air.

Gritting my teeth, I welcomed the change, urging it to flow over me even as it seared a burning path along my synapses. The usual pleasure of shifting barely had a chance to chase away the pain before I stood panting on four paws. Bowing my head I waited as the last few tremors rippled through my body, my nose picking up the hundreds of scents I couldn’t detect when I walked on two legs. I could smell the almost citrus tang of pine and the clean scent of the snow, and, further out, the tantalizing smell of dozens of warm bodied creatures snuffling their way through the undergrowth.

Powerful legs launched me off the back step in a soaring leap, my feet touching down on the snow for a moment before I was flying again. The ground raced beneath me as I cut a familiar path through the trees, barely feeling the low hanging branches thumping against my flanks. Time lost all meaning in the rush of cold air through my fur, and the powdery snow beneath my paws. The wolf felt the sting of rejection as keenly as I did, but out here she had no need for such human emotions. Out here in the wilds, nothing mattered except the wide expanse of blue sky overhead and the never-ending wilderness.

CHAPTER THREE

HOUSED IN A former Catholic church, Asylum was one of Denver’s hottest spots for those looking for a walk on the dark side. A strip club staffed almost entirely by vampires, as cliché as it was, drew patrons with a deep desire for something dangerous. Within its once hallowed walls, you could get a lap dance from a beautiful woman who had been witness to the horrors of the Black Death or a handsome young man who had slain Nazis on the beaches of Normandy.

With a cover charge of a hundred bucks, you’d think the place would be begging for business, but once darkness fell the line was sure to stretch halfway around the block on any given night of the week. As much as the more conservative inhabitants of the city lambasted its existence, there was no denying that it was a veritable cash cow, and that was just how its proprietor, Alexei Cordova, liked it.

It was still early enough when I arrived that the line at the door was only three deep, but it also meant that the Humans for Humanity whackos were still brave enough to form a picket line along the sidewalk. Religious zealots who thought that if you weren’t pure human you were just a moment away from spontaneously combusting in the flames of hell, they were one of the largest—and loudest—anti-supe groups in the country. I’d had a couple run-ins with their members and felt my hackles rise instantly at the sight of their intolerant bullshit. Tonight, a dozen people marched back and forth along the curb shouting their hate-filled diatribe at anyone within range.

I’m all for freedom of speech and understand that those rights extend to everyone, including nut jobs like the Humans for Humanity crowd. I get that they’re just as entitled to their vile beliefs as anyone else, but having experienced the actions inspired by those opinions firsthand, I’d lost what little tolerance I had for the anti-supes group. While they never publicly encouraged their members to engage in violent protests, there was little punishment meted out to those who got “a little carried away.”

As far as I was concerned, people could believe whatever they wanted, including that I should burn in hell simply for not being a vanilla human. Once they threatened me and mine, however, all bets were off.

Approaching the throng of protesters, I hunched my shoulders up around my ears as much to protect them against the cold as to help me muscle my way through the crowd. What I didn’t anticipate was one of the younger members of the group breaking away from his buddies to block my path.

I’m so not in the mood for this crap.

Ignoring the man-child, I stepped around him only to find my way barred again when he sidestepped in front of me. Wisps of sandy blonde hair escaped from beneath his blue baseball cap while brown eyes squinted at me accusingly behind a pair of oval glasses. He couldn’t have been more than 21.

How can someone so young be filled with so much hate?

“God hates fangs!” He almost bounced with zealous energy, his eyes shining with hate fueled conviction.

“Yeah? Well, I’m sure he doesn’t like hate-mongering douche bags much either,” I replied, baring my teeth in the beginnings of a snarl.

I could feel the wolf floating up out of the darkness, all too happy to teach those idiots a lesson, and had to exert far more effort than I would have liked to keep her at bay. The burning itch in my eyes signaled their shift from human greyish-blue to gold, and I watched with a flicker of amusement as the fanatic waving his sign at me recoiled, horror-stricken.

“Werewolf!” He pointed a shaking finger at me. From the way he reacted, anyone would think I’d sprouted a second head or belched a swarm of locusts. A smirk curved my lips when he crowed his warning again, but my amusement quickly withered as the cry of “Werewolf!” spread through the group like wildfire. Before I knew it, the protesters were glaring and waving their signs in my direction, all while shouting insults.

“Beast of Satan!”

“Flesh not fur!”

“Not blessed, just cursed!”

Biting my tongue, I shouldered my way through the crowd, “accidently” shoving a few of them aside with a well-placed elbow. A smug smile tugged at my lips as they stumbled over one another in an attempt to get out of my way. None of them moved to come after me, but the volley of shouted insults followed me all the way to the entrance of the club.

Stepping up to the door, I dug my I.D. out of my pocket and handed it over to the doorman. If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable dry and musty stink of the undead that wafted off him in a noxious cloud, I might have mistaken the great hulking behemoth manning the door for a mountain troll rather than a vampire. Then again, the smell of a mountain troll would have been enough to clear the streets for a three block radius. Personal hygiene was not high on their list of priorities.

Topping out somewhere just under seven feet tall, he was easily one of the largest men I’d ever seen. Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his black t-shirt emblazoned with the club’s logo, looking like even the smallest flex of his muscles would reduce it to shreds. The bulging muscles of his shoulders flowed up into a neck as thick and solid as a tree trunk. The neon glow from the sign above the door gleamed on the skin of his bald head, accentuating his deathly pallor and the creepy milky white of his eyes that alternated between tracking my approach and keeping a watchful eye on the protesters.