Free Bitten to Death by Jennifer Rardin

she’s plenty blessed.
    “Thank you, Jasmine Parks. My name is Kozma. And may Rhiaak bless you.”
    A sudden, loud boom from the vicinity of the garage made us both jump.
    “Shit! The wolf!”
    “We must save him!”
    I put my hand on Kozma’s chest as he tried to rush past me. Even from here I could tell. “He’s dead. And soon the vamp who shot him will be coming after you. Can you run?”
    “Not far. I am still weak from the wounds.”
    “O-kay. Follow me.” The walk from the wagon house to the lane only took half a minute. But it was all uphill, and Kozma was sucking air after the first five steps.
    I whispered, “He’s coming. I can feel him. Too far away to hear us. Too close to dodge. Hide in the trees.” I handed Kozma the keys to the Range Rover as I described where it was parked. “It’s unlocked, and you’ll find a change of clothes in the back. When you see it’s clear, get your ass to town.”
    “How can I ever repay you?” he asked as he took the chain and looped it around his finger.
    “Make sure the rental agency sends the vehicle back tomorrow. And look, I know your league is going to be pissed when you tell them what happened. Just keep them away from this Trust for at least a week, okay? By then our business with them will be finished and you can do anything you like with them.”
    From the light in his eye I figured whatever he had in mind wouldn’t be pleasant. But, remembering the shot we’d just heard and the sudden absence of the wolf’s imprint, I didn’t really care. “Fair enough,” he said.
    I met Rastus halfway down the hill. He didn’t even bother to hide the Makarov he held, which told me two things. The son of a bitch could pick his handguns. And I’d just hopped on a thin, shaky wire. Was it a bad thing that the head-banging, mosh-pit groupie in me craved a showdown? Maybe. It’s not such a big deal when your only weapon is an emery board and your greatest skill is accessorizing. But given time and a little luck I could take out a small village if I freed that wild child inside me. And the fact that I could feel her clawing so close to the surface? Not a good sign.
    On my back I carried the black bag holding my miniature armory plus Dave’s pack. My left hand gripped the handle to my ratty old traveling trunk; my right held Vayl’s suitcase minus an outfit for Kozma. I tightened my fists until it hurt. Maybe the pain would help me think straight.
    “What’s all this?” asked Rastus, waving his gun at me as if he thought I might be concealing several more Special Ops types in Vayl’s Samsonite. His voice had roughened since its encounter with my sverhamin ’s sword. And I knew, from the look in his eye, he’d love to use me for payback. I hoped I wasn’t about to give him an excuse.
    I shoved my trunk at him so hard he either had to grab it or be trampled. “What’s it look like?” I demanded. “Disa said you were coming twenty minutes ago. Where’ve you been?”
    “I . . .” He gestured back toward the garage, realized that was a story he shouldn’t tell. His eyes strayed toward the wagon house. “I have some—”
    “Here.” I unloaded Dave’s pack, hung it over that waving arm, making it sag enough that if the Makarov went off it would take a chunk of my thigh with it. “You know where our suite is, right?”
    “I’m kind of busy . . .”
    I dumped Vayl’s suitcase at Rastus’s feet. Then I got in his face, started poking him in the chest. “You vamps think you’re so special, don’t you? Think you’re better than everyone else on the planet! Too good to do dishes or take out the trash or carry luggage for mere humans!” I gave him a push that nearly toppled him over. “Well, you and your Trust can go fuck yourselves for all I care!”
    I stomped into the courtyard, deposited myself in a chair, and ignored him as he spent thirty seconds trying to figure out what to do with his gun, finally decided it would be okay in the pocket of