Bitten 2 (33 page)

I thought I’d seen Hank in the role of pack master at the coffee shop and leading the run, but seeing him now, moving with purpose and authority, I realized that I’d barely glimpsed the surface of the power he could command. All eyes in the room turned to regard him, heads bowing in deference as a hush rippled out from him until the only sound in the room were the hiccupping sobs of the murdered were’s widow. Even the voices in the other room grew silent as a cluster of solemn-faced weres gathered in the doorway.

My understanding of Hank and the rest of the pack, was further shaken when he sank down to his knees in front of her and took her clenched hands in his. She was no waif like Juliet, her hands showing the signs of someone who didn’t shirk physical labor, but they still disappeared in Hank’s thick-knuckled hands, looking like the delicate fingers of a child compared to his.

“Ben was a good man, a good wolf,” Hank said in a soft whisper, yet I caught every word as if he had shouted them, the room silent and still as if everyone was holding their breath. “The pack will care for you and yours. We are your family, Vanessa.”

The words, though simple, seemed to carry a great deal of significance, and as one, the assembled pack exhaled. Once again, I knew I was missing something important and cursed my ignorance.

Hank remained kneeling in front of the now quietly weeping woman for a moment longer, murmuring words of consolation. His expression was closed when he rose to his feet and motioned to the dark figure of Metembe lurking in the hallway. Together they moved back to the front door and stepped out into the cold, their heads bent together in discussion before the door swung shut behind them. The void left by Hank’s departure was quickly filled by two female weres who moved to the couch to flank Vanessa, soothing her with softly spoken words of comfort and gentle touches.

It was several minutes before Vanessa emerged from the embrace of her grief long enough to raise her eyes to survey the group of weres loitering in her living room, many of them now clustered together in small groups talking in subdued tones. Instead of finding the familiar face of a pack member, she caught my gaze, and a reflexive flinch went around the room as her face hardened and her upper lip curled back from her teeth.

“Who the fuck are you?” she snarled, tear tracks shining on her cheeks.

My shoulders stiffened at the sudden silence as all conversations ceased and everyone turned to see what my reply would be. “I’m Riley. I came with Hank,” I said lamely.

Whatever reaction I’d been expecting from her, it wasn’t the bitter sneer that twisted her features, making her look even more gaunt and hollow-eyed than her grief already had.

“So you’re the pack master’s new bitch, huh?” she said with a cruelty meant to inflict as much pain as possible.

Heat burned in my cheeks as all eyes in the room fell on me, and I wondered if they could all tell that we’d been pawing at each other like horny teenagers.

Of course they can,
I told myself as I smelled his scent lingering on my skin.
I might as well be sporting a giant hickey.

A sick feeling rose in the pit of my stomach as I fought against the wolf’s sudden surge of anger. Who was this woman to insult us? She was nothing compared to us. We could take her, she was weak... squeezing my eyes shut, I struggled to resist the urge to leap across the room and tear into Vanessa. My emotions, already raw and confused, were quickly being swallowed by the fury bleeding through from the wolf, my hands curling into fists at my sides. The tenuous grip I had on my humanity was slipping through my fingers like sand, and if something didn’t happen to change the course of my emotions soon, I would lose control.

As surely as I knew fire burned, I knew that if I gave in to the wolf’s bloodlust, there would be no going back.

“Look at the poor thing shake,” she sneered. “She’s nothing but a frightened pup. My husband... he... he was a real wolf. She’s just a
mutt
.”

The insult, spoken with bitter malice and the intent to wound, was the last straw, tipping me over the edge. Warmth swept through me, tasting of burnt cinnamon and hot copper, and I felt my thoughts slipping away, overridden by the wolf’s thirst for vengeance.

“Hey now, Vanessa. There’s no need to snap at the little lady,” a large man interrupted, laying a massive calloused hand on my shoulder. The unexpectedness of the firm touch was enough to jolt me out of the haze of anger muddling my thoughts, and grant me the strength I needed to wrestle control back from the wolf. Dressed in a white t-shirt and a leather vest covered in patches, jeans, and leather chaps, he was the epitome of a grizzled biker, complete with a long silver and grey beard that trembled as he talked. He moved past me to grip her shoulders in both hands.

The sobbing woman grew quiet under his touch though her eyes continued to burn with anger and the desire to hurt someone. I guessed I was the lucky one who’d been volunteered to act as punching bag for the evening.

“You,” the big man said, pointing to the boy who’d moved from the stairs to linger in the doorway. “Go fetch your mom a glass and the bottle of whiskey she keeps hidden under the sink.”

Nodding, the boy disappeared out of the doorway, reemerging a few moments later with an empty glass and a large bottle of dark amber liquid.

“Thanks, Rick. Now, go up and sit with your sisters. You’re the man of the house now, they’re gonna need you to be strong for them, y’hear?”

His lower lip quivering with the effort not to cry, the boy nodded and appeared to puff out his chest, straightening shoulders that held more weight than they ever had before. Accepting the glass and bottle of whiskey from the boy, the grizzled old were waited until he’d disappeared up the stairs before pouring a generous amount of whiskey into the glass and handing it to the sobbing woman.

“Drink it up, girl.”

Draining the glass in two hearty swallows, Vanessa seemed to settle a little, her eyes taking on a faraway look, and I was glad that her attention had turned away from me.

Refilling the glass, he watched her take a slower, smaller sip, and took a long pull off the bottle himself. Seeing me watching, he held the bottle out to me, but as tempting as it was I shook my head. Alcohol had already gotten me into more than enough trouble today.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug before taking another swig. Wiping a few glistening drops from his lower lip, he added, “You’d best come away, girl. Vanessa’s not known for having a tight hold on her temper at the best of times.”

Eager to put some distance between myself and the sobbing woman, I let him steer me into the kitchen, where some thoughtful person had laid out an array of deli meats, sandwiches, fruit, and cookies, as well as a well-stocked bar. Snagging a chocolate chip cookie and a can of Mountain Dew, I moved to stand in the corner of the room, trying to appear as small as possible.

“So you’re with the pack master, eh?” my new friend asked, eyeing me appraisingly.

“Yes. No. I mean, not like
that
,” I floundered, tripping over my own words. “We’re just friends,” I finished, cringing at how cliché I sounded.

The knowing smile bristling his thick mustache made my denial sound all the more forced. I felt my cheeks warming again when he said, “Well, it’s nice to meet you all the same. My name’s Chip, but everyone calls me Squatch.”

“Squatch?”

“Sasquatch. On account of my luxurious beard,” he said while stroking the bushy grey beard, which admittedly was pretty impressive.

“Nice to meet you, too, Squatch. I’m Riley.”

“Oh, I know who you are. Most folks around here do.”

Once again my notoriety had preceded me, landing me in a situation where strangers knew far more about me than I’d ever wanted anyone to know. Even though Samson was six feet under, he was still rearing his ugly head like a nightmarish phantasm.

I wasn’t sure if it was the unexpected memory of Samson’s head split open like a watermelon, or remnants of the wolf’s energy lingering so close to the surface of my awareness, spurred on by the overwhelming scent and energy of a dozen weres, but a wave of dizziness hit me with enough force to almost knock me off my feet. Around me, the room spun, and I was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat that made my shirt cling to my skin.

“I’m not feeling so good,” I said around the flood of saliva in my mouth.

“You’re looking a bit pale,” Squatch said, reaching a large hand out towards me, but he was too slow. The floor tilted up to meet me at the same time my fingers went numb and the can of soda slipped from my grip to spill neon yellow bubbles across the tile. I didn’t even feel the impact when I hit the ground, my attention focused on the family of dust bunnies under the refrigerator, before darkness descended and whisked me away into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I WAS DRIFTING weightless on a cloud of sweet smelling cotton candy when a bright light lanced through my skull. Lifting an arm that felt like it had been made of lead, I batted away the sun. Sighing in relief, I sank back into the comfort of my cotton candy cloud, relishing the quiet. I was hovering on the edge of sleep when the sun rose again, piercing my eyes like a hot poker. Trying to wave it away, I grumbled in irritation when it remained.

“Go ‘way,” I muttered, my tongue thick and heavy.

I was surprised when the sun spoke in a feminine voice. “Someone hold her down.”

What strange words for a burning star to say.

As I tried to puzzle out who the sun was talking to, a piece of my cloud bed broke off from the rest, transforming into a pair of grasping hands that clutched at my wrists with an iron grip. Panic flared in my chest, making my heart hammer against my ribs, each frantic beat of my heart filled me with searing pain.

Holy crap, that hurts.

“Take it easy, Riley,” the sun said, though at some point it had turned its light away, and I found myself longing for its warmth. I was warm where the cloud hands grasped me, but the rest of my body was had begun to grow cold.

“S-so c-cold,” I stuttered, my teeth chattering hard enough to make my jaw ache.

“Hold on, Riley. Hold on,” the sun implored, her voice thick with emotion, even as it grew distant and hollow.

“C-cold.”

The cloud hands loosened their grip on my arms, and I felt a cold wave surge up around me, carrying me off into the darkness.

* * *

Awareness came in brief flashes of light and sound, predominated by a burning cold. I was chilled to the bone, every part me feeling brittle and fragile, as if the most delicate of touches would shatter me into a thousand pieces.

Even my hair hurt.

Maybe I should just lie here for a while...

I remained quiet, timing my breaths with the ebb and flow of pain, unable to focus on anything beyond the agony that seemed to have become my existence. When I’d gotten the hang of breathing between the crippling bouts of pain, I turned my attention to examining the sounds around me in the hopes that they might shed some light on where I was.

At first, I could hear little above the steady rush of blood in my ears, but I slowly became aware of other sounds—somewhere close by a TV was tuned to a kid’s show; further away was the drone of murmured conversations punctuated by heartbroken sobs. Slowly, the day’s events started to come back to me: my visit to Blossom Market; meeting Chrismer at Asylum and being hunted by ravenous vamps; my joy ride through Denver in Cordova’s borrowed Ferrari that took me to Hank’s house; and then the call that had brought me here, to the house of the distraught widow. Last came the memory of standing in the kitchen talking to Squatch just before the floor rushed up to meet me.

I guess that explains why it feels like a horse kicked me in the face,
I thought as my entire face throbbed in time with my heartbeat.

Sinking back into the pendulum swing of pain and fleeting relief, I lost track of time until the dryness in my mouth became unbearable. Daring to open my eyes, I was met by darkness and at first thought my eyelids hadn’t obeyed my commands. After a few minutes of peering into the dark I was able to pick out areas where the shadows weren’t quite so deep. Blinking a few times to clear the remaining blurriness from my vision, I frowned as an unfamiliar bedroom took shape around me. I wasn’t lying on a cotton candy cloud after all, but rather a king size bed with a thick down comforter that smelled of unfamiliar wolf.

Disoriented by the scent of other weres all around us, the wolf panicked at the foreign location. Growling and ready to fight, she tried to rise to the surface to protect us, only to fall back, dizzy and weak. Whatever was making me feel as if someone had run me through a trash compactor was doing a number on her, too. Reassuring her that we weren’t likely to be attacked while sprawled atop someone’s bed, I went back to surveying my surroundings.

I was surprised when a shadow beside the bed resolved into the slumped shape of someone sitting in a chair. My mind was still foggy from whatever had plunged me into unconsciousness, and—judging from the tingling in my fingertips— a hefty painkiller, but I perked up at the thought that Holbrook had come home. I tried to say something, anything, to let him know that I was awake, but found my tongue leaden and so dry it stuck to the roof of my mouth every time I tried to speak. The rest of my body was just as unwilling to cooperate, my arms so leaden and weak that I couldn’t do more than twitch a single finger.