Free Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) by Suzanne M. Sabol Page A

Sabin, I don’t. I also don’t want a war with anyone back East,” he said. His lips narrowed and his jaw tightened in a grimace.
    It made me feel both relieved that Patrick was so feared and frustrated that I was still affiliated with that world. I’d thought I could escape it, forget. I couldn’t, and Jarvis was undead proof of that in a dingy white cowboy hat in the middle of Las Vegas.
    Reaching for his hat, he slipped it back on his head with a cool grace. He tipped it to me again as he stood. “Ms. Sabin.”
    “Jarvis,” I acknowledged just as curt with a quick nod back. I had to be polite. I had a feeling Jarvis might take it personally if I wasn’t polite. He strode out of the restaurant like he’d left his horse hitched outside. I flagged down the waitress and asked for my bill. I wasn’t hungry anymore and the urge to get the hell out of there was making me antsy.
    Revving my bike’s engine, I jetted out of Terrible’s parking lot in a squeal of tires, heading to Enza’s house. I had a lot to think about considering the vampires were now aware of me. I had to get away from Enza and find somewhere else to stay. I couldn’t endanger her too.
    Coming here had been a mistake.
    I made the turn onto the strip and zoomed past the bright lights of Las Vegas at night, making my way into the darker and more residential neighborhoods. I cruised along the still surprisingly busy streets at a speed just a bit faster than the posted speed limit, weaving in and out of traffic with the ease that only a motorcycle could provide. I hit a straightaway with almost a mile between lights then let out the throttle. The engine roared through the gears as I hit 80 mph.  
    My back tire slipped and skidded beneath me as it blew in an explosion popping behind me. My pulse quickened and my breath caught in a hard lump in my throat as the bike swerved and the loud pop of exploding rubber pierced through the helmet. Skidding and fishtailing across the lane, I fought for control. Sparks lit up the night as the rim ground into the pavement. I gripped the brakes as tight as I could, feeling the ground beneath the bare rim rumble up through the metal of the bike.
    Shit, it would suck to have survived all the vampire and werewolf bullshit only to die because of a blown tire.
    The back rim sparked against the pavement with a sound resembling fingernail on a chalkboard, forcing the bike off in unpredictable directions. I took a quick breath and thrust forward, forcing all my weight and the momentum of the bike onto the front tire. Popping the bike onto the front wheel, I hit the front brake and skidded to a stop in a squealing mess of smoke and sparks.
    The bike plopped down onto the front tire and a bare back rim. I held the bike up by sheer force of will, my chest heaving as I panted to slow my heart. I tried not to cry as moisture from sweat made my palms slick. My heart thundered in my ears and my stomach churned with fear.
    “SHIT,” I whispered, my voice quaking. I flipped the visor on my helmet up. My hands shook and I gripped the handlebars harder to hide my trembling fingers as I straddled the bike, my feet flat on the ground.
    A rickety old Ford drove up next to me and clanked to a stop.
    I lifted my helmet off my head and shrugged my hair out of my face, waiting, as the window cranked down.
    “Howdy,” a graveled male voice with a slight cowboy drawl said from inside the truck’s cab. He leaned out of the passenger side window, resting his elbow on the door as he grinned at me. Somewhere in his mid-forties, he glared at me with a scar running under his chin across his neck in a thin line of translucent pale skin. It had been long healed and maybe I was jaded but it looked like a slash from something similar to my bowie knife. The old wound could’ve been innocent but I doubted it.
    I miss my bowie knife.
    His hair fell over his right shoulder in a soft fall of coal black hair shining in the lights from the streetlamps