Reckoning by Jeaniene Frost Page A

staring in horror at the blood around her mouth when she smiled at him again. His tongue throbbed like it was on fire.
    â€œCrazy bitch,” he tried to say, but it came out sounding like “’aaazy ’itch.” Blood was still pouring from his tongue, and when he felt the tip of it…there wasn’t one anymore.
    â€œYou fucking whore!” Eric spat, not caring if she understood the garbled words or not. His fist came up—and then he was falling end over end, until he reached the bottom with a thud that made his head feel like it had split.
    For a stunned second, Eric lay there. Stairs, it occurred to him. Bitch pushed me down a flight of stairs. He felt the first stirrings of fear mixing with his anger.
    A light flicked on in the room and Eric jerked, blinking for a minute at the brightness before the images focused.
    There was a tall, thin man standing over a mannequin. He looked like he was assembling it, since its leg was on the ground next to the man and its arm was in two pieces farther away. Then the mannequin’s head turned. Its eyes blinked, mouth opened…
    Eric screamed, trying to scramble to his feet, but a scalding pain in his leg prevented him. The tall man ignored Eric’s screams and frantic attempts to back away as he gave an inquiring glance up the stairs.
    â€œ Mon amour , I was getting worried.”
    The girl appeared at the top of the stairs. “Why? No one knows we’re here.”
    Eric managed to stand. Agony shot up his leg even though he had most of his weight on the other one.
    â€œDon’t either of you fuckin’ touch me,” he gasped, looking around for something, anything, to use to fight them off.
    The girl smiled as she came down the stairs. With his blood still around her mouth, it looked more like a hideous leer.
    â€œTouch you? Mon cher , I already told you—I am going to eat you.”

Chapter 1
    B ones didn’t spare a glance around as he strode rapidly up the streets of the French Quarter. Scents assailed him; countless perfumes, body odor from all manners of hygiene, food cooking—or rotting in the trash. Centuries of decadence had given the Quarter a unique, permanent stench no vampire could completely ignore.
    A close second to the cacophony of scents was sound. Music, laughter, shouts, and conversations compounded into a constant white noise.
    As he rounded a corner, Bones wondered again why Marie had summoned him. He didn’t have to come; he wasn’t under her line, so he owed her no loyalty. But when the queen of New Orleans called, Bones answered. For starters, he respected Marie. And he reckoned his head wouldn’t enjoy sitting atop his shoulders much longer if he snubbed her.
    Though chances were, what Marie wanted would involve Bones killing someone.
    He had just rounded another corner when instinct told him he was being watched. He jerked to the side—and felt searing pain slam into his back in the next instant. Bones whirled, knocking people over to dart into the nearest door. With his back safely to a wall and the only entrance in clear view, Bones looked down at his chest.
    An arrow protruded, its broad head hooked on threesides where it had punched through his chest. The shaft was still sticking out of his back. He touched the bloodied tip and swore.
    Silver. Two inches lower and it would have gone through his heart, ending his life the permanent way.
    â€œHey, buddy,” someone called out. “You okay?”
    â€œCapital,” Bones bit off. He looked around and realized he’d stumbled into a bar. The patrons were goggling at his chest.
    He paused long enough to pull the arrow out of his chest before ducking out the door, moving at a speed that would have been only a blur to the onlookers at the bar. He wasn’t concerned with them, however. His attention was focused on finding whoever had fired that custom-made arrow. From the angle it skewered him, it had been fired