Rocenz, separate the pieces, and carve Brude’s name on the gates of hell, I believe it will reduce him to the dust to which his original body has already fallen.” Bergman shot me a look. Pure suspicion. He stared back at Vayl and said, “Are you sure we should be talking this way in front of—” He jerked his head at me. But he meant Brude, who’d be listening intently.
Unless he was an idiot. Which he wasn’t. Dammit.
“Of course,” Vayl replied. “If he knows how great the odds are that he will end up as fodder, perhaps he will voluntarily release Jasmine.”
More conversation followed. Details I really should’ve paid attention to. Brude was probably taking notes and making flashcards. But Vayl’s costume kept distracting me. Because it made him look like a rock star. I hadn’t expected the jacket to be so… oh-baby! It was the kind you wear when riding a Harley. That offset, silver-zipper style that makes a woman’s mouth water when it’s worn open to reveal the broad chest of a vampire at the height of his powers.
“Jasmine?” Vayl asked. “Were you going to say something?”
I realized my mouth was hanging open and cranked it shut. My head started to itch. Great. Not only had the rash spread, now I’d look like I had dandruff while I was relieving the irritation. “I’m covered in bumps,” I said glumly.
“Some more interesting than others,” he replied softly as he reached my side.
“Would you shut up ? Bergman’s, like, five feet away!” My eyes darted to our techie, but he’d opened his backpack and appeared to be rummaging through it as happily as a kid in a toy box.
“You look, how do you say?” He dropped that crooked smile on me that makes my knees unlock.
“Hot.” The last word, barely a whisper, lost itself in my hair as he pressed his lips to that spot just below my ear that can, apparently, flip the off switch in my brain. Before I realized it my hands were inside that jacket, stroking the hard planes of his chest and stomach. And then, as if moving without any prompting from me they reached down, undid his belt, pulled it loose, and…
“Ahhh, that feels great,” I moaned.
“I am completely grossed out over here!” Cassandra informed us.
Vayl, who’d been peering down at me with an expression of utter disbelief, stared at Cassandra over the top of my head. “It is not what you think,” he assured her.
“As if I’d do something that disgusting,” I said, pulling away from him, but keeping the belt, because the buckle relieved the itching so much better than fingernails. I continued using it to scratch the inflamed skin across my stomach as I sat down by Cassandra.
“You are pathetic,” she told me.
“I’d get all offended, but I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
I ignored Vayl’s glare, after all he probably had a spare belt in his suitcase, and concentrated on Miles, who’d found his treasure. “Here it is!” he said triumphantly. “The new, improved party line!” He’d invented the group-communications devices years ago, so the chances of them blowing out an eardrum or melting off parts of our faces had decreased over time. Still, the fact that he’d tinkered with what I saw as the perfect system worried me. He opened up the silver case and handed us each a smaller box containing the set of items we needed to send and receive messages.
“What’s different about them?” I asked without opening mine. Who knew? Maybe they were rigged to explode when you said a code word. Like “different.”
“They work on the same general principle,” Bergman explained. “A transmitter that resembles a beauty mark, which you should place near your mouth. And a receiver, which, before, was wired into an earring and then tracked into your ear. Now we have this.”
He pressed his finger into his own box and lifted it up. Stuck to the end was what looked like a narrow piece of tape, only slightly thicker. More like the What’s-in-Our-Oceans?
Unless he was an idiot. Which he wasn’t. Dammit.
“Of course,” Vayl replied. “If he knows how great the odds are that he will end up as fodder, perhaps he will voluntarily release Jasmine.”
More conversation followed. Details I really should’ve paid attention to. Brude was probably taking notes and making flashcards. But Vayl’s costume kept distracting me. Because it made him look like a rock star. I hadn’t expected the jacket to be so… oh-baby! It was the kind you wear when riding a Harley. That offset, silver-zipper style that makes a woman’s mouth water when it’s worn open to reveal the broad chest of a vampire at the height of his powers.
“Jasmine?” Vayl asked. “Were you going to say something?”
I realized my mouth was hanging open and cranked it shut. My head started to itch. Great. Not only had the rash spread, now I’d look like I had dandruff while I was relieving the irritation. “I’m covered in bumps,” I said glumly.
“Some more interesting than others,” he replied softly as he reached my side.
“Would you shut up ? Bergman’s, like, five feet away!” My eyes darted to our techie, but he’d opened his backpack and appeared to be rummaging through it as happily as a kid in a toy box.
“You look, how do you say?” He dropped that crooked smile on me that makes my knees unlock.
“Hot.” The last word, barely a whisper, lost itself in my hair as he pressed his lips to that spot just below my ear that can, apparently, flip the off switch in my brain. Before I realized it my hands were inside that jacket, stroking the hard planes of his chest and stomach. And then, as if moving without any prompting from me they reached down, undid his belt, pulled it loose, and…
“Ahhh, that feels great,” I moaned.
“I am completely grossed out over here!” Cassandra informed us.
Vayl, who’d been peering down at me with an expression of utter disbelief, stared at Cassandra over the top of my head. “It is not what you think,” he assured her.
“As if I’d do something that disgusting,” I said, pulling away from him, but keeping the belt, because the buckle relieved the itching so much better than fingernails. I continued using it to scratch the inflamed skin across my stomach as I sat down by Cassandra.
“You are pathetic,” she told me.
“I’d get all offended, but I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
I ignored Vayl’s glare, after all he probably had a spare belt in his suitcase, and concentrated on Miles, who’d found his treasure. “Here it is!” he said triumphantly. “The new, improved party line!” He’d invented the group-communications devices years ago, so the chances of them blowing out an eardrum or melting off parts of our faces had decreased over time. Still, the fact that he’d tinkered with what I saw as the perfect system worried me. He opened up the silver case and handed us each a smaller box containing the set of items we needed to send and receive messages.
“What’s different about them?” I asked without opening mine. Who knew? Maybe they were rigged to explode when you said a code word. Like “different.”
“They work on the same general principle,” Bergman explained. “A transmitter that resembles a beauty mark, which you should place near your mouth. And a receiver, which, before, was wired into an earring and then tracked into your ear. Now we have this.”
He pressed his finger into his own box and lifted it up. Stuck to the end was what looked like a narrow piece of tape, only slightly thicker. More like the What’s-in-Our-Oceans?
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