Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(36)
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, f*ck 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 f*cking 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