Bitten 2 Read online

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT BITTEN

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  DEAR READER

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  MEET THE AUTHOR

  BITTEN

  ~ A Riley Cray Novel ~

  A.J. Colby

  Bitten

  Copyright © 2015 A.J. Colby

  Editorial: Lisa L. Bingham

  Cover Design: A.J. Colby

  Ebook production: A.J. Colby

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  THE RILEY CRAY SERIES

  Hunted

  Bitten

  Unleashed (Coming 2015)

  Midnight Mistletoe – A Riley Cray Short

  Welcome to the Asylum – A Riley Cray Short (Coming 2015)

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  ABOUT BITTEN

  Being a lone wolf could be Riley’s greatest strength, or her greatest weakness...

  After surviving her psychotic ex-boyfriend’s quest for revenge, Riley Cray was ready to settle back into her quiet life and fade into obscurity. The Shepherd of the City, Alexei Cordova, however, has other plans for the lone werewolf. Someone is murdering supernaturals under the master vampire’s protection, and he wants Riley to figure out why.

  Relying on the help of her friends and her paltry knowledge of the supernatural world, can Riley discover who the murderer is before Denver is consumed by a war between vampires and werewolves?

  Watch out. This bitch bites!

  Mum and Dad, thanks for always believing in me, even during that “weird” phase I never really grew out of.

  †

  CHAPTER ONE

  I WAS PICKING at a box of cheap Valentine’s chocolates I’d picked up at the small grocery store in town when a cricket chirped in the middle of my kitchen.

  It took me several seconds to realize that a giant cricket hadn’t crawled through the floorboards with plans of world domination, and it was in fact my shiny new cell phone. My boyfriend, Special Agent Darius Holbrook of the FBI, had gotten me the annoying contraption after my psychotic ex tried to turn me into a piñata. At least, I’d thought he was my boyfriend, given our shared close brush with death and all the sex we’d been having for the past few months. But the distinct lack of flowers, chocolate, teddy bears, or any other clichéd Valentine’s trinket left me in doubt.

  I felt like a sulky teenager, and that pissed me off.

  I didn’t recognize the number flashing on the glossy screen, but that wasn’t surprising since he was out of town on some super-secret, hush-hush case and was probably calling me from the local cop shop or his hotel room.

  “You’d better be preparing those pipes to do some serious serenading, mister,” I said by way of a greeting.

  “Aw, did your Special Agent forget about you on Valentine’s Day?” a sultry voice asked on the other end of the line, the mere sound of it raising my hackles and rousing the wolf deep inside.

  “Chrismer,” I snarled. “How the hell did you get this number?”

  “Really, Cray? What kind of journalist would I be if I couldn’t track down a simple phone number?” she asked, her smugness oozing through the phone. For what had to be the hundredth time during our acquaintance, I felt the desire to pummel her face into a bloody pulp.

  “One with integrity?” I shot back, smirking at her annoyed huff. I sighed when she said nothing. “What do you want, Chrismer?”

  “My master would like to procure your services.”

  Ice ran through my veins at her simple words. Jessica Chrismer, the media darling who had dogged me mercilessly through the trial of my serial-killer werewolf ex-boyfriend, was the Day Servant to master vampire Alexei Cordova. Cordova happened to be the Shepherd of the City for Denver, which was more than just a fancy title. He was the leader and protector for the supernatural community of Colorado, but if the rumors were to be believed it was more like judge and jury. He was not someone I wanted to get mixed up with. I liked my quiet life and wished that everyone would let me get back to enjoying it.

  “I’m not sure what the hell a master vamp would need a graphic designer for, but hey, a girl’s gotta eat,” I said, knowing full well she wasn’t talking about my work as a freelance graphic artist.

  “I hope you’re not looking to become a comedian, Cray,” Chrismer deadpanned. “I wouldn’t advise giving up your day job.”

  Sheesh, does Cordova suck out her sense of humor along with her blood, or did she have to have it surgically removed to become a reporter? She should have asked them to remove the stick in her ass while they were at it.

  I popped another chocolate in my mouth. “You’re no fun. So what does your esteemed Lord Fancy Pants want?”

  Her anger all but vibrated down the phone line along with an irritated sigh, and I relished the mental image of her glaring red faced at the phone, for once not the picture of polished perfection.

  “Against my explicit counsel, he believes that you may be able to assist us with a political matter.”

  For a moment I thought I had heard her wrong. “Did you say political matter?”

  “Yes.”

  Hmm.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m gonna have to agree with you on this one. I don’t know the first thing about politics, and I’m not exactly known for my subtlety.”

  “That is precisely what I conveyed to my master, but he insists.” Somehow, she managed to make her agreement sound like an insult.

  “And if I say no?” I asked, sure that I already knew the answer.

  Chrismer’s voice crackled with cool energy when she replied. “That would be most unfortunate.”

  The hollow echo in her voice, as if it was coming from somewhere deep underground where darkness reigned and monsters slept, sent a shiver down my spine. I was grateful for the bright winter sunlight st
reaming in through the window above the kitchen sink.

  Cordova. Shit.

  “Unfortunate for whom?” I pushed, trying to hide my unease behind a layer of bravado, though I still had to bite the side of my tongue to keep the scared tremor out of my voice. “You or me?”

  A rich chuckle oozed through the phone, making me shudder. As sexy as some people might have found it, there was not a single molecule in my body that was titillated by the sound.

  All I wanted to do was run far away. So why was I teetering on the edge of agreeing to whatever this job might be?

  Rubbing my fingers along the crease in my brow I asked, “Is this a paying gig?”

  “I’m sure we can come to some sort of mutually agreeable arrangement,” came the silken reply as Cordova stopped pretending that he wasn’t hijacking his Day Servant’s mind to convey his message.

  Ew, I’m being hit on by an undead perv.

  Before Chrismer, or rather her master through her, could get any funny ideas I replied, “I’m only interested in cash.”

  “So, are you in or not?” Chrismer asked, her voice holding its usual irritation and none of the otherness that had made my skin crawl mere seconds before.

  “I know I’m going to regret this, but...” I began, sparing a glance for the refrigerator that I knew held only a half-empty bottle of ketchup, three slices of cheese, and a slice of pizza that was starting to grow hair. It had been a slow couple of months in the graphic design business, no doubt thanks to my recent resurgence into the public eye. I guess no one wanted to hire someone associated with the state’s most renowned serial killer. The fact that I’d been the one to end his reign of terror evidently didn’t win me any brownie points. I was beginning to scrape the bottom of the barrel when it came to my savings and I was glad my grandparents had paid off the cabin or I’d have been reduced to sleeping in my Jeep weeks ago. “Yeah, I’m in.”

  “Great,” Chrismer said, though her tone implied that she thought it was anything but. Again, I had to agree with her. “Katarina will draw up the papers and courier them to you later today.”

  “Papers?”

  “Employment contract, non-disclosure agreement; just the standard paperwork.”

  “Vamps being legit and above board. Who’d have thunk it?”

  “Like I said, don’t give up your day job, Cray,” she said before hanging up on me.

  Looking wide-eyed at my large Siamese, Loki, who was watching me from the back of the couch, all I could say was “That bitch hung up on me. Can you believe it?”

  If the lazy swish of his tail was any answer, it came as no surprise to him. Then again, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to me either. I set my phone down gently, still afraid of breaking the damn thing. Leaning back in the chair I popped another chocolate in my mouth while pondering my current predicament.

  “This can’t be good, buddy. Not good at all.”

  After several minutes of wondering just how much shit I’d signed myself up for, I blinked and looked down at the phone resting innocuously on the tabletop.

  I really shouldn’t have answered the damn thing.

  A sudden flare of irritation tore through me, bringing the wolf dangerously close to the surface, the telltale itchiness in my eyes letting me know that they had begun to bleed over to wolf gold. Squeezing them shut I drew a deep breath, holding it for the count of three before exhaling in a long, ragged rush. I repeated the action four more times before springing up to my feet and pacing back and forth in my sunny kitchen, flexing my hands at my sides.

  “This is all his fault!” I declared. “If he hadn’t insisted on getting me that god damned thing she couldn’t have called me!”

  Stalking past the kitchen table again, I studiously ignored the avocado green phone hanging on the wall.

  It’s not like she couldn’t have called the landline or anything, the snide voice in the back of my mind added.

  I resisted the urge to snatch up the cell phone and shove it down the garbage disposal. Holbrook probably wouldn’t be too keen on buying me another one so soon. He’d replaced the first one after I’d left it in my jeans pocket and run it through the washing machine. And the dryer. Apparently water resistant does not mean washing machine and dryer proof. The time after that it had fallen out of my pocket and I’d run over it with my Jeep before realizing it was missing. As far as I was concerned, the damn thing was more of a liability than a convenience.

  I had never wanted—or needed—a cell phone before. When my psycho ex attacked me, turning me into a werewolf in the process, the media blitz during the ensuing trial had left me running for the hills to live like a hermit. All of my family was gone, and the few friends I’d had before the trial fled from the media hounds as soon as my face started showing up on every news outlet across the country. Since then, my social interactions had been limited to guild mates in the online gaming community where, if I was being totally honest, I spent way too much of my time. Those friendships were easy, safe, and free of the risk of anyone actually getting to know me.

  Recent events had forced me to shed some of my recluse tendencies, allowing a select few people into my life. Still, besides Holbrook, Alyssa, and the few work contacts I had, there was no one else to call, making the fancy phone he had insisted on buying seem like a pointless extravagance. The wolf resented the loss of freedom she felt it represented, and I felt silly toting the damn thing around.

  And now Chrismer has the number. Dammit.

  Snatching up the phone again, I brought up the call log and entered her into my contacts under the name ‘Coffin Whore,’ before setting it back down with a self-satisfied smile.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE CRUNCH OF tires on gravel several hours later drew me out of my cat video marathon. With business being slow for the past couple of months, I’d been left with far too much time on my hands and not enough to occupy my mind. Smothering the self-pity that threatened to drag me down, I peered out of the window as a white delivery van come to a stop in the driveway.

  I guess he didn’t forget about me.

  Bouncing up from my chair, I raced out of my office into the living room, my sock-clad feet sliding on the wooden floor. Scrabbling towards the door in excitement, I already had my fingers on the door knob when the first knock landed on the other side. Wrenching the door open I startled the delivery man, his thick brows rising high above dark glasses while his hand remained suspended in midair, poised to knock again.

  “Ah... Ms. Cray?”

  Rocking back and forth on my heels I fought against the excitement bubbling inside me. I was on the verge of beaming like an idiot and figured I needed to tone down my exuberance a little before the delivery guy fled. “Yup, that’s me.”

  Scribbling something on his clipboard he extended it to me. “Sign here, please.” Keeping a tight rein on my enthusiasm, I scrawled my signature on the line and handed the clipboard back.

  I’d been throwing myself a serious pity party for the past couple days. The fact that Holbrook was going to be out of town for Valentine’s Day had left me more than a little disappointed. When the morning came and went without any sappy messages, or even a simple hello, I’d sunk deeper into my maudlin thoughts. An examination of the mailbox at the end of the driveway hadn’t turned up any declarations of love either. I’d slunk back towards the house like a scolded dog, the snow soaking through my Killer Bunny slippers. Loki hadn’t emerged from the relative safety of my closet until I had settled myself at the kitchen table to single-handedly devour a Deluxe XL Hearts of Love box of chocolate—“Guaranteed to make your love’s heart melt for only $19.95!”

  The arrival of the delivery van had given new life to my hope that Holbrook hadn’t forgotten about me after all. My excitement, however, was to be short-lived. A flicker of doubt took root as the driver pulled a slim envelope from under his arm and handed it to me.

  “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

  “Yeah, thanks. You too,” I murmured, tur
ning the envelope over in my hands as I went back into the house, pushing the door closed behind me.

  Shuffling into the kitchen I tore the envelope open, hope withering with each step. The logo of Cordova’s club, Asylum, was emblazoned across the top of the first sheet I pulled out of the envelope, and I felt the sting of rejection lance through my chest. There hadn’t been any professions of love between us yet, but that hadn’t stopped me from eagerly awaiting the moment when he’d say those three little words.

  We’d been thrust together three months ago when Holbrook and his partner, Agent Johnson, had been assigned to protect me after Samson—my psycho ex-boyfriend—escaped White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary. He’d been intent on hunting me down and finishing what he’d started almost nine years before, and I’d been determined to do everything I could to stop that from happening.

  Johnson’s unexpected and untimely betrayal had tightened the bond between Holbrook and me, leading to several very steamy bouts of sex born of the need to seek comfort in the touch of another. Now, as I stared down at the phone on my kitchen table, surrounded by crumpled candy wrappers, I couldn’t help wondering if I’d been a fool to open myself up to him.

  Dropping the envelope on the table, its contents spilling across the old wooden surface that bore the dents and scars of decades, I curled my hands into fists. Anger and hurt were bubbling up from my gut, threatening to erupt in a fit of rage that was certain to leave at least one plate smashed. I knew of only one thing that would help to burn off my anger.

  I didn’t bother going into the bedroom to undress: I stripped on the spot. Used to such theatrics, Loki didn’t even bat an eyelash as my clothes tangled in a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor. Instead, he stretched out in the shaft of sunlight that fell across the back of the couch and gave me a wide yawn to show just how uninteresting my tantrum was.