Bitten 2 (50 page)

Anxiety weighed heavily in the pit of my stomach, but the growls of hunger drowned it out as I drew in a deep lungful of the deliciously scented air. I was sure I’d eaten something in the last twenty-four hours, but for the life of me couldn’t remember what, or when, it was.

Rock salt crunched underfoot as I approached the door, and I felt a stab of alarm when I caught my reflection in the glass. I’d pulled my hair up into a ponytail, but nothing short of a shower and half a bottle of detangler would tame my bushy mane. It had been just over twelve hours since Metembe tried to give me a one-way ticket to the afterlife, and even my lycanthrope healing couldn’t eradicate all the evidence of his beating in that amount of time.

Deciding that my bedraggled appearance was a lost cause, I pulled open the door and stepped into the quiet warmth. The only folks inside, other than a weary looking waitress, were an old man with grizzled stubble and a couple college age kids who looked like they hadn’t made it to bed yet from the previous night. Catching a whiff of my own
delightful
aroma, I felt a renewed longing for my bed.

And a shower
.

Choosing a table by one of the windows overlooking the cracked pavement, I reveled in the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the glass to warm my fingers where they were splayed on the table, the fine tracery of newly healed cuts just visible on my knuckles. Once my fingers were sufficiently warmed, I flipped over my mug to signal to the waitress I was ready for coffee. After a few minutes she ambled over with a steaming pot and a menu.

I tried to ignore her surreptitious glances at my bruised and swollen face as she filled my cup, but there was no avoiding her heartfelt whisper. “Just leave him, honey. No man is worth that.”

“I... what?” I asked, but she just offered me a sympathetic smile and walked away. It took a few seconds for my sluggish thoughts to decipher the meaning of her words, leaving me cursing into my cup.

Great. I look like the poster child for domestic violence.

Dumping several packets of sugar and creamer into my coffee, I let my mind wander as I gazed out the window. Ten minutes later I spotted Hank’s familiar silhouette walking along the sidewalk, his breath steaming on the early morning air. He’d donned the same red and white plaid jacket I’d seen him wearing a few days before, but had made no other concessions to the cold, wearing his usual jeans and work boots.

Seeing me through the window as he approached, he raised a hand in greeting before ducking through the door. Shrugging out of his jacket, he slid into the opposite chair with a fluid grace rarely seen in a man of his size. Although it hadn’t yet reached eight o’clock he appeared bright-eyed and freshly shaven, his shoulder length hair left loose to catch the sunlight as it curled around his face.

Damn, he’s pretty,
I thought in a moment of sleep-deprived weakness, before shaking the thoughts away and reminding myself that it was entirely possible he’d been in cahoots with Chuckles and Metembe.

“You look like crap,” he said in greeting, turning over his coffee cup as the waitress bustled over.

“I feel worse,” I said, touching the tip of my tongue to the partially healed split in my lip.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really,” I said, pausing to take a sip of my coffee, wincing when the strong brew burned my lip. Once our waitress had retreated out of earshot I added, “But I will.”

Hank sat in silence as I regaled him with the events of the night before and the revelation that his second-in-command had been working with Cordova’s head of security to dethrone the Shepherd of the City. It was obvious he wanted to call bullshit, but I knew he could smell Metembe’s blood on me just as his sister had. Besides, I had no reason to lie.

“It looks like he had it in his head that you’d make a better Shepherd than Cordova. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Ever since I’d discovered Metembe’s motivation behind killing innocent vamps and weres, I’d been trying to ignore my growing suspicion that the pack master might have been in on the whole thing, or worse yet, the orchestrator of it all. Ignoring our shared moment of passion that had resulted in an ill-timed, yet admittedly steamy, kiss, I wanted to like the rugged pack master. While the past few days had confirmed my preference to remain a lone wolf, I had also learned that I didn’t detest the company of other weres. As supportive as Holbrook was, there were things about me he didn’t understand, and never would.

Hank didn’t answer at first, and I watched his face for any sign of emotion as he processed my words. Eventually he broke the silence, but his response left me as dissatisfied as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Thank you for letting me know what happened to Metembe.”

When it became evident he wasn’t going to say anything else, I asked, “That’s it? You’re not going to profess surprise that your lieutenant was a raving lunatic who thought you deserved to be king of all?”

“I am surprised by his actions,” Hank said, though to my ears his words lacked any semblance of conviction.

Folding my arms across my chest and leaning forward over the table I said, “You don’t seem very surprised.”

“I’m sorry my reaction doesn’t meet with your expectations,” he replied in an even voice though the first shadow of a sneer touched his face.

“What reaction? You look like I just told you it might snow later, not that your second-in-command was a crazed, elitist psychopath who thought butchering innocent people was the best way to get you crowned king of the city.”

Standing up from the table so abruptly that the legs of his chair squealed on the floor, Hank delved into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a decent sized wad of cash. Peeling off a few of the topmost bills, he tossed them on the table next to his still steaming cup.

“For the coffee,” he said, slipping his jacket on.

I remained seated at the table for a couple seconds, staring wide-eyed at his retreating back before leaping up to chase him out the door. He was already halfway down the block when I caught up to him.

“What the hell?”

I caught the almost imperceptible tightening of his shoulders as he came to a halt and, with a sigh, turned to face me. The hard set of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze made me pull up short, rocking back on my heels. Gone was the golden Adonis I’d been lusting after. He was still drop dead gorgeous, but there was a hardness to him now that hadn’t been there before.

Or perhaps I’d just been too blind to see it.

“Let it go, Riley.”

“The hell I will,” I snapped, feeling as betrayed by the exposure of his true colors as my own naiveté. “Did you know about this? What he was doing?”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away from my furious gaze either.

“Did you put him up to it?” I asked, the chilling thought blooming in my mind at the same instant the words left my lips.

“I said, let it go,” he finally said. And then he was walking away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

For a moment I contemplated chasing after him, but what was the point? It was clear he was going to deny any involvement in the attacks no matter how I phrased the question. The simple truth was that my faith in him had been shaken and there was nothing that could be done to repair the damage. I watched him walk away until he reached the end of the block and turned the corner, disappearing out of sight.

Returning to the diner, I almost didn’t notice the difference in temperature between the outside and the cozy interior, my anger burning plenty warm to keep the chill at bay.

“Are you ready to order, or would you like to wait for your friend to come back?” the waitress asked, glancing at the empty chair opposite me.

“No, thanks. He’s not coming back. I’ll just take the check.”

It wasn’t until I gathered Hank’s cash with my own to pay the check I saw the three hundred dollar bills peeking out from beneath the five on top.

“That bastard,” I muttered, shoving my arms into my jacket with furious motions. Leaving the cash on the table, I drained the rest of the coffee from my cup and walked out the door.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ARRIVING HOME A couple hours later, I felt the small modicum of calm I’d garnered during my drive home disappear like a puff of smoke at the sight of a cardboard box sitting on the doormat. My mind instantly conjured up images of dead coyotes and vague threats. While it had been Metembe who’d left the bloody warning on my doorstep, I wouldn’t have put it past Johnson and his Humans for Humanity brethren to still be skulking around somewhere close by waiting for the right moment to strike and take me out.

Not wanting to take any chances, I parked my Jeep in the driveway and retrieved a rake from the garage with sweating hands before approaching in a cautious crab walk. Using the garden tool, I gave the box a jab and tensed in anticipation, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

The box remained inert, hanging out all box-like on the mat, but my suspicion persisted. After the week I’d had, I decided I couldn’t be too careful. It would be just my luck to survive a psychotic werewolf and a murderous vamp just to be done in by something as innocuous looking as a cardboard box. Giving it another poke for good measure, I relented and took slow steps forward until the FedEx shipping label came into view. I was fairly certain the shipping conglomerate hadn’t taken up shipping body parts and implements of doom, so figured I was safe for the moment.

Setting my impromptu weapon aside, I crouched beside the package and tore off the tape. My suspicion gave way to confusion as I dug through the packaging, unearthing a stuffed animal in the shape of a grey wolf and another smaller box wrapped in bubble wrap. Even through the layers of plastic wrapping I could detect the mouthwatering aroma of gourmet chocolate.

“What the...”

I couldn’t think of many things less threatening than stuffed animals and expensive chocolates and resolved that the box hadn’t been sent by anyone wanting to do me harm.

Unless of course, the wolf is spelled to explode in my face and the chocolates are laced with Wolfsbane,
the snide voice in the back of my mind supplied helpfully.

“Shut up,” I muttered to myself as I finished digging through the box, hoping to find some clue as to the identity of its sender.

At the bottom, tucked beneath the sales order, I found a printed gift message and let the last of my hesitation slip away. Holbrook. The great big lug had almost caused me to have a heart attack, but had also written a gushing apology, promising to make up for his absence. Dashing the moisture from my eyes, I gathered the box and its contents in my arms and went inside.

* * *

After plying Loki with the obligatory litany of apologies and an entire can of tuna, I slipped into the shower to wash the stink of vampires, werewolf briquettes, and fear from my body. It took half a bottle of body wash and scrubbing my skin until it was pink and tingling, but eventually a cursory sniff told me I smelled only of orange blossom soap and the faint warm cinnamon of the wolf. Turning my back to the shower head I lingered beneath the spray long past the point of turning into a giant prune; the hot water sluicing over my skin had never felt so good.

I didn’t get out of the shower until the hot water had been depleted and I was at risk of turning into a popsicle. Feeling more refreshed than I had in days, I dumped my dirty clothes into the hamper, deciding to at least try washing the blood and dirt out of them before throwing them away. The check from Cordova would keep me going for a few months, but I didn’t want to shell out for a new wardrobe unless I absolutely had to.

Determined to let nothing draw me out of the house for the next few days, I pulled on my coziest pair of pajama pants, a pair of fuzzy socks, and one of Holbrook’s t-shirts that had ended up in my closet. The soft cotton still held a trace of his rich molasses scent, and I paused to draw in the smell of him as I went about fixing a pot of coffee and digging out something to eat.

I was stretched out on my couch, lounging beneath the comforting warmth of my grandmother’s afghan and a contentedly purring cat, licking the last sticky traces of peanut butter and honey from my fingers, when my phone chirped on the coffee table. I let the noise persist for several seconds as I debated whether or not I wanted to answer it or just let whoever it was get shunted over to voicemail. Letting out a sigh, I decided I might as well look to see who it was, and almost didn’t believe it when I saw Holbrook’s name flashing on the shattered screen while the phone continued to chirp like a demented cricket. Some small, irrational part of my brain had begun to wonder if I’d ever hear from him again or if he’d been stolen away by a super-secret government entity.

Dumping Loki onto the floor, I scrambled to reach the phone before it went to voicemail, my hands shaking so badly that I almost dropped it in my haste.

“Here! I’m here. Please don’t hang up!” I cried out as I lifted the phone to my ear, smearing honey across my cheek in the process.

The rich, melodious sound of Holbrook’s chuckle drifted into my ear, warming me from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, and everywhere in between. At any other time I might have been put out by the fact that he was laughing at me, but I was too damned happy hearing his voice to let it bother me.