Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 1)

Screw the books. I’d rather avenge Beatrix.

I whirled around and scrambled over the bed, heading for the small window on the other side. Sweating, I eased it up as quietly as I could and slung my pack over my shoulders. It took a moment to fumble with the iron bars. This was the fire escape, and I could open the bars like a door, but it always made a squeaky noise.

The lock was horribly rusty, and when I pushed open the window, the metal made the familiar soft, terrible screech. It sounded louder than ever before. Every inch of me stiffened. Had the cops heard?

No. Get a move on.

Quickly, I scrambled out of the window. Was that the murmu

r of voices out in the hallway, or was I imagining things?

No, they were out there. I could hear them at the door.

Carefully, I closed the window behind me—they had no way to know I was definitely here. No point in leaving them a big blinking arrow indicating which way I’d run. I left the iron bars open because of the betraying squeak, but they weren’t visible unless someone stuck their head out the window. Besides, loads of people in the building kept their bars open at the fire escape—it was the best place to smoke.

With a last, brief look back at my old home, I stared down at the alley. I was only one level up, and I could lower the ladder to get down. But that would make more noise.

I should just jump it.

“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,” I whispered to myself.

Then I jumped, landing hard in a crouch. I couldn’t head toward the front street—there would definitely be cops out there. But the back street might be okay.

I hurried down the alley on swift, silent feet. The cold night air kept my head clear and my senses alert. As I neared the main road, I slowed and stuck close to the wall.

At the end, I paused and peeked around the corner.

Looked clear.

Even better, a drunken hen party was headed my way. Ten girls, all dressed in sparkly dresses and boas out to celebrate. The bride wore a crown and a sash that said Last Night A Free Woman.

“Don’t get married then, idiot,” I muttered, then cringed. I was being a total Bitter Betty, and these girls were just having fun.

If I were being honest, I was lonely and a bit jealous of their easy friendship. I missed Beatrix.

I joined them as they passed me, trying to blend with the crowd. It was the tail end of the night, closer to dawn than midnight, and they were probably headed home.

Though the hen party was too wasted to notice that I’d joined them, no one else would buy it. I didn’t fit in with my black jeans and battered black leather jacket. More like a dour cousin forced to celebrate with them, but it was better than nothing.

I huddled amongst them and let them carry me down the street, glancing back to see a cop car pull around to the back of the building.

They should have covered this exit before going into the front.

Thank God they hadn’t.

When the girls turned into a club that was blasting Bon Jovi, I felt my eyebrows rise. Apparently, I’d been wrong. The party girls were still partying, even at this insanely late hour.

I need to get more of a life.

I added it to my to-do list, putting it right after clearing my name of murder. Easy peasy.

I followed them into the packed club, where music blared and colored lights flashed. The whole place smelled of booze and sweat, and the crowd was heaving on the dance floor. My group surged toward the long bar at the back, and I split off, veering toward what I hoped was the rear exit.

Honestly, I’d rather follow the hen party to the bar. I’d have a quick shot of vodka—which I hated, though it definitely got the job done—and then I’d dance the night away and forget my current troubles. Getting lost in the oblivion of this place sounded a hell of a lot better than being on the run from the law.

But that wasn’t my life. And I was on the run.

“Better pick up the pace,” I muttered.