He winked and slowly widened his grin, trying to charm me the way I’d seen him charm countless other girls. Finn was cute, but I wasn’t stupid enough to get suckered in by a pretty face. Still, it was easier to go along with him than it was to protest. Besides, he was right. He’d already done all the work and called everyone, so it wasn’t like he could cancel the party. Not without looking like a complete loser in front of his friends, something Finn would do anything to avoid. Being cool and popular was more important to him than anything else.
“All right,” I muttered. “But you can tell Fletcher that it was all your idea.”
Finn grinned again, knowing that he’d won. “Sure. I’ll tell him that very thing. Now, grab the tape and help me with the lights.”
I sighed, thinking that no party was going to be worth the weeks of no TV, extra chores, and other punishments we’d get from Fletcher, but I helped Finn finish stringing up the lights.
We’d just taped the last strand to the mantel when a knock sounded on the front door.
Finn gave me a sharp look. “Just be cool tonight, okay? Or as cool as you can be. As long as you don’t act like a whiny Goody Two-shoes, everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
He gave me one more warning glare, then hurried down the hallway and opened the front door. “Hey, Steve! Tony! Glad you guys could make it. Come on in . . .”
Over the next hour, more and more kids arrived, streaming into Fletcher’s house like it was the site of the greatest party ever. Maybe it was. More than a hundred kids packed into the house, smoking, drinking, laughing, talking. The stereo was cranked up so loud that you could barely hear what anyone else was saying. Then again, everybody was too busy drinking, smoking, and making out to care about having a real conversation.
All the kids were older than my fourteen years, and many of them were older than Finn’s sixteen. In fact, several guys with facial stubble and girls with big hair and even bigger breasts looked like they should have been in college, rather than hanging out at a high-school party. And beer and cigarettes weren’t the only things they’d brought with them. One of the downstairs living rooms reeked of pot, with thick, hazy, suffocating smoke filling the air. And it wasn’t just that folks were drinking and smoking things they shouldn’t. They were bumping into furniture, breaking dishes, and making a mess of everything.
One guy staggered out into the hallway right in front of me. He grinned, his eyes bright and glassy, then bent over and puked all over the floor. I jumped back so I wouldn’t get any of it on my sneakers, but I couldn’t escape the hot, sour stench, and my nose wrinkled in disgust.
Once he was finished, puke boy lurched over, grabbed a random can off one of the tables lining the hallway, and chugged back all the beer inside. Several cheers sounded, and people gathered around and clapped him on the back, as if puking your guts out and then immediately guzzling down more beer was totally awesome. Whatever.
Enough was enough. I wasn’t going to get kicked out of Fletcher’s house because Finn had decided that he just had to throw a stupid party for all his stupid friends.
I shoved through the kids crowding the hallway, searching for Finn. It took me forever to move from one part of the house to the next, and more than a few guys were drunk enough to throw their arms around my shoulders and hit on me, even though I was as flat-chested as a girl could be. But I supposed all that beer had already soaked into their puny brains, making me look prettier than I actually was.
I sidestepped another guy with grabby hands and pushed my way into the den. Finn was standing in front of the fireplace, a red plastic cup in his hand, talking to a gorgeous blond girl who looked a year or two older than him. Finn had his elbow propped up on the mantel and the collar of his black polo shirt popped up, like he was supercool. I rolled my eyes. Super-idiot was more like it.
I went over and tugged on Finn’s arm. The music was so loud in here that I could barely hear myself think.
Finn glanced over his shoulder. When he realized it was me, he narrowed his eyes and jerked his head, a clear leave-me-alone-right-now signal. But I tugged on his arm again.
“People are throwing up everywhere!” I yelled over the music. “And they’re breaking things and going through Fletcher’s stuff. You need to tell them to leave. Now. We’ll have a hard enough time as it is cleaning up this mess before he gets home.”
Finn looked out over the den as if he were just now noticing how many kids were packed inside and what a colossal mess they were making. The drinking, smoking, and puking were bad enough, but one particular drunk idiot was standing on top of the coffee table, scuffing his boots all over the wood as he tried to do some sort of lame-ass cowboy line dance.
Finn winced. For a second, I thought he was going to tell people to start clearing out. But the girl he’d been talking to peered around his shoulder at me.
The girl’s nose wrinkled in disgust, the same way mine had a few minutes ago. “Who is this? And why is she at your party? I didn’t think you had invited any losers, Lane.”
I looked at Finn, expecting him to tell the girl that I was his cousin, since that was the cover story Fletcher had concocted to explain my living here.
But he gave me a sneer that was even crueler than the girl’s. “I didn’t invite any losers, Ella. She must have snuck in.” He flapped his hand at me, like I was a bug he was trying to shoo away. “Am-scray, kid. Go away and leave us alone.”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open and hot tears stinging my eyes. For a moment, guilt flickered in Finn’s eyes, but then his face hardened into a cold, uncaring mask, and he made that shooing motion again.
“Go on,” he growled. “Get out of here. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Then he deliberately turned his back to me and started talking and laughing with Ella again, as if I had never been here to start with.
I bit my lip, trying to focus on that small, sharp pain, instead of the much larger ache in my heart, but it didn’t work. Two tears streaked down my face before I could blink them back. Ella noticed and laughed again. Finn turned to see what she thought was so funny, but I scrubbed my hands over my face, whirled around, and shoved my way out of the den before he realized just how much he’d hurt me.
It was bad enough that he’d humiliated me in front of that girl. I didn’t want him to know that he’d made me cry too. Especially since I had promised myself that I would never cry again. Not after my family had been murdered and I hadn’t been able to save them.
Besides, Finn insulting me wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t anything compared with living on the streets. I could put up with a little humiliation, as long as Fletcher let me stay here, as long as I had a warm, safe place to sleep and enough food to eat. At least, that’s what I told myself as I pushed through the dancing, laughing kids in the hallway, twisted the front doorknob, and staggered outside.
I stumbled all the way across the porch over to the wooden railing, clutching one of the posts for support as more tears traitorously trickled down my face. A sob rose in my throat, but I choked it down. It was bad enough that Finn had made me feel so small, so stupid, so worthless. I wasn’t going to start bawling like a little kid too. Finnegan Lane wasn’t worthy of my tears.
I stood there, clutching the railing with one hand, wiping away the tears with the other, wishing that I could stop them completely, when a sharp bang sounded over the loud, thumping music.
I froze, wondering if I’d only imagined the sound, but the bang came again, followed by some cursing.
Curious, I let go of the railing, walked the length of the porch, and peered around the corner.
Three guys were at the side door, hauling a safe out of the house—a safe that was filled with guns and silverstone knives, along with other valuables. I sucked in a breath. They were using the distraction of the party to steal from Fletcher.
This was bad—so very bad.
But instead of being afraid, anger roared through me. Anger that these lowlifes were stealing
something that didn’t belong to them. Anger that someone would do that to Fletcher, who had been nothing but good to me. And especially anger at Finn for being stupid enough to throw the party in the first place. He was the one who’d invited all these people over, he was the one who was getting the house trashed, and he was the reason Fletcher was getting robbed.
Well, fuck Finn. I wasn’t going to get into any more trouble. Not for him. Finn didn’t deserve my silence. Not anymore.
“Hey!” I called out. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The three guys stopped and stared at me. For the first time, I saw that they were much older than the other kids, well into their twenties. I frowned. Maybe Finn hadn’t invited them after all.
The three guys looked at me, then at one another. They set down the safe and hurried in my direction, their lips pulling back into snarls, revealing the fangs in their mouths. Vampires, all of them. The men came closer, and I suddenly realized that Fletcher getting robbed wasn’t the worst thing that could happen tonight . . .
I woke up wrestling with my blankets, as though the soft layers of fabric were the three vamps closing in on me. Several seconds passed before I realized that I was safe in Fletcher’s house and that the party was just another one of my ugly memories.
I flopped back against the pillows and closed my eyes. This wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed about the awful things that had happened to me, but this particular nightmare hadn’t bothered me in a long, long time. But my subconscious was tricky like that, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that this dream, this memory, had everything to do with Finn.
I wondered if he remembered the night of his first—and only—party. We’d never talked about it afterward. Sadly, it wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to either of us. It wasn’t even the worst thing that had happened in this house—
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
My eyes snapped open. I lay there, waiting and listening. Five seconds later, another creak sounded. Not only that, but I realized that the stones were muttering. The bricks that made up parts of the walls and floors whispered of danger and dark, deadly intent.
Someone was in the house.
11
I grabbed the knife under my pillow, slipped out of bed, and tiptoed across my bedroom. I eased the door open, making sure that it didn’t creak and give away the fact that I was awake and alert. I wasn’t surprised that someone was here. More than a few of the underworld bosses had sent their minions to kill me, although most of them waited in the woods outside, rather than trying to break into the house.
But someone had stepped into my parlor tonight, and it was going to be the last fucking thing he ever did.
I sidled down the hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs, listening all the while. The creaks had definitely come from the first floor, but I didn’t hear any more as I tiptoed down the stairs, hugging the wall so as not to make the floorboards moan under my bare feet. I’d been creeping around this house long enough to know just where to step.
But the intruder also knew where to step, because I didn’t hear any more creaks, cracks, or pop-pops of wood that would tell me what room he was in. Maybe he’d found a comfortable spot to hide. Maybe his plan was to break in while I was asleep, lie in wait the rest of the night, and then take me out when I woke up and came downstairs in the morning. Not a bad idea and certainly more creative than most of the other folks who’d been foolish enough to come here over the past few months.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked left and right, searching for the telltale glow of a flashlight, but I didn’t see one. If my intruder was smart, he would be wearing night-vision goggles so that he wouldn’t need a flashlight.
I could have started searching the house, winding my way through the labyrinth of rooms and hallways until I came across my would-be killer. But eventually, I would make some sort of noise doing that, so I stood at the bottom of the steps, my back against the wall, and waited—just waited. My intruder might be quiet, but he wasn’t a ghost, and he had to make a sound sooner or later. I had the patience to wait him out all night if that’s what it took.
A minute ticked by, then two, then three. All around me, the stones kept muttering, whispering about the intruder and his ill intentions, but their dark murmurs didn’t increase in volume, which meant the intruder wasn’t nearby and getting ready to strike. So I held my position and waited. Another minute, then two, then three. Finally, my patience was rewarded with another faint creak.
He was in the den.
I headed in that direction, still hugging the wall and being as silent as possible. I reached the den entrance and carefully eased up so I could peer inside. Moonlight streamed in through the white lace curtains, painting the room a shadowy silver, which was more than enough light for me to spot the giant standing in the corner.
He was dressed all in black, a gun clutched in his right hand. A pair of night-vision goggles were clamped over his face, hiding his features, but his shirtsleeves were pushed up, revealing a tattoo on his left forearm: a snake biting into a dollar sign.
Santos.
The bank robber was here to kill me. I wondered why. Because I’d ruined his plans earlier tonight? Was this just about payback for costing him a sweet score? Or was it something else, something more?
Either way, I was going to carve the answers out of Santos.
The giant thought I was asleep, and he had settled in to wait, leaning against the corner of the fireplace and looking at the framed drawings lined up on the mantel. I grinned. If he was so curious about the drawings, then I should turn on the light so he could see them in all their glory. Those night-vision goggles only gave him an advantage while it was dark. Any sudden influx of light would temporarily blind him.
So I crept forward another step, then reached my arm around the doorjamb, feeling the light switch under my fingers—
My shoulder cracked at the motions.
Damn.
Santos snapped around in my direction. I hit the switch, but he realized what I was up to and yanked off his goggles. Light flooded the den, and we both squinted against the harsh glare.
Black hair slicked back into a ponytail, cold brown eyes, a puckered white scar that zigzagged like a lightning bolt down his left cheek, marring his bronze skin. I cataloged Santos’s features even as I darted forward, slashing my knife down toward his gun hand.
But he was quicker, and he whirled out of the way, spinning around in a tight circle and snapping up his gun so he could shoot me in the face. I reached for my Stone magic, hardening my skin, especially my head, neck, and shoulders—
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Two bullets slammed into my throat, while a third clipped my right cheekbone, before they all rattled off my body and ping-ping-pinged through the den. All of them would have been kill shots if I hadn’t been protecting myself with my Stone power. But the close range and the force of the bullets still threw me back against the wall, hard enough to rattle the framed photos of Finn, Fletcher, and me hanging there.
Santos cursed and raised his gun again, but I flung out my left hand and sent a spray of Ice daggers shooting across the room at him. He cursed again, turned to the side, and hunkered down, protecting his head with his arms. He might be lean and lanky, but he was still a giant, with more than enough tough musculature to survive my magic strike.
Too late, I realized he was wearing a protective vest, probably lined with silverstone, since my Ice splattered against the garment and fell to the floor in harmless chunks. Still, Santos grunted as one long needle of Ice punched through his right shoulder, outside the vest. Even better, the needle must have clipped a nerve, because his fingers spasmed, and his gun slipped from his hand and thumped to the floor.
I rushed forward, trying to drive my knife into his other shoulder to make both of his arms useless so I could question him and then finish him off. But Santos raised his forearm and blocked my blow. I lashed out with my left hand,
trying to sucker-punch him in the throat, but he blocked that blow too and responded with a head-butt that made stars explode in front of my eyes.
This time, Santos surged forward, grabbed my wrist, and bent it back, forcing me to drop my knife or risk getting my wrist broken. I let go of the weapon and twisted into his hold, ramming my elbow into his stomach.
It was like hitting a brick wall. Pain jolted up my arm, but I gritted my teeth and followed up that first elbow strike with another, harder one. Santos let out a loud oof of air and let go of my wrist, and I whipped around, raised my fists, and went at him again.
Santos lurched to his left, grabbed the photos off the mantel, and chucked them at me. I ducked again and again, the sounds of the frames crashing to the floor and the glass splintering making me growl with rage. The bastard was destroying my rune drawings.
He was going to pay for that.
Santos ran out of pictures. I expected him to pull out another gun, but the photo bombs had just been a distraction. He sprinted forward, leaped up onto the coffee table, grabbed the ceiling fan with one hand, and swung himself right past me.
It was truly an impressive move, worthy of a world-class gymnast, especially given his seven-foot frame. But Santos was faster and far more limber and flexible than most giants. Even more impressive, he landed on his feet as nimbly as a cat and sprinted down the hallway.
I growled again, whirled around, and charged after him, but I stepped on a couple of broken bits of my own elemental Ice rolling around on the floor. My bare feet slipped, and I had to windmill my arms back and forth to keep from falling on my ass.
It only took me a few seconds to regain my balance, but it cost me dearly. I staggered out into the hallway to see the front door slamming shut. A few seconds later, a car engine roared to life in the driveway. I cursed again and picked up my speed, even though I knew I was already too late.
I yanked open the front door and raced out onto the porch. A dark, anonymous sedan was already zooming down the driveway, fishtailing wildly through snow, ice, and gravel. I hadn’t even made it to the porch steps when the taillights disappeared. I cursed, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to hop into my own car and catch up with him.
Bitter Bite Page 10
