The Deadliest Bite

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“The Deadliest Bite is not the one you get from the nest of vipers striking at you from the top of an angry gorgon’s head. It comes from the demon that’s sunk its teeth into your soul, the one that refuses to let go because, oh baby, your blood is like red, red wine.”

—Jaz Parks interview with Jennifer

Rardin, August 2007

CHAPTER ONE

Wednesday, June 13, midnight

I’l say one thing about walking around with a rubber band up your asscrack—it helps train you for torture.

“They cal them thongs,” the girl at Victoria’s Secret had told me, doing her best not to look at me like I’d experienced major brain damage sometime between high school and col ege.

“I know what they cal them,” I’d said as I picked at the flimsy material and tried not to wince. “I just don’t understand why…” I’d looked around the store. They were everywhere, like fluffy pink bunnies that multiply while you aren’t looking and then blow your foot off the second you step on them.

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