BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows Series
Chapters (154)
  1. THE HOLLOW SERIES BOOKS 1–4
  2. Contents
  3. Dead Witch Walking
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-One
  27. Twenty-Two
  28. Twenty-Three
  29. Twenty-Four
  30. Twenty-Five
  31. Twenty-Six
  32. Twenty-Seven
  33. Twenty-Eight
  34. Twenty-Nine
  35. Thirty
  36. Thirty-One
  37. Thirty-Two
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Acknowledgements
  41. The Good, The Bad and The Undead
  42. Dedication
  43. One
  44. Two
  45. Three
  46. Four
  47. Five
  48. Six
  49. Seven
  50. Eight
  51. Nine
  52. Ten
  53. Eleven
  54. Twelve
  55. Thirteen
  56. Fourteen
  57. Fifteen
  58. Sixteen
  59. Seventeen
  60. Eighteen
  61. Nineteen
  62. Twenty
  63. Twenty-One
  64. Twenty-Two
  65. Twenty-Three
  66. Twenty-Four
  67. Twenty-Five
  68. Twenty-Six
  69. Twenty-Seven
  70. Twenty-Eight
  71. Twenty-Nine
  72. Acknowledgements
  73. Every Which Way But Dead
  74. Title Page
  75. Dedication
  76. Contents
  77. One
  78. Two
  79. Three
  80. Four
  81. Five
  82. Six
  83. Seven
  84. Eight
  85. Nine
  86. Ten
  87. Eleven
  88. Twelve
  89. Thirteen
  90. Fourteen
  91. Fifteen
  92. Sixteen
  93. Seventeen
  94. Eighteen
  95. Nineteen
  96. Twenty
  97. Twenty-One
  98. Twenty-Two
  99. Twenty-Three
  100. Twenty-Four
  101. Twenty-Five
  102. Twenty-Six
  103. Twenty-Seven
  104. Twenty-Eight
  105. Twenty-Nine
  106. Thirty
  107. Thirty-One
  108. Thirty-Two
  109. Thirty-Three
  110. Acknowledgements
  111. A Fistful of Charms
  112. A FISTFUL OF CHARMS
  113. Dedication
  114. Contents
  115. One
  116. Two
  117. Three
  118. Four
  119. Five
  120. Six
  121. Seven
  122. Eight
  123. Nine
  124. Ten
  125. Eleven
  126. Twelve
  127. Thirteen
  128. Fourteen
  129. Fifteen
  130. Sixteen
  131. Seventeen
  132. Eighteen
  133. Nineteen
  134. Twenty
  135. Twenty-One
  136. Twenty-Two
  137. Twenty-Three
  138. Twenty-Four
  139. Twenty-Five
  140. Twenty-Six
  141. Twenty-Seven
  142. Twenty-Eight
  143. Twenty-Nine
  144. Thirty
  145. Thirty-One
  146. Thirty-Two
  147. Thirty-Three
  148. Thirty-Four
  149. Thirty-Five
  150. Acknowledgements
  151. Keep Reading
  152. Also by the Author
  153. About the Author
  154. About the Publisher

I nodded, starting to feel sick. This was going to hurt. Holding my breath against the wash of pain, I let her take my shoulders and ease me down. Knee bent, I clamped my hand to the part of my leg that hurt the most, making it hurt more. While she took her God-given sweet time, I listened to the sounds of panic and stared at the darkening sky framed by the bridge’s cables, holding my ribs and trying not to look like they hurt lest she wanted to poke them too. I thought of my pain amulet, praying it had eased Peter when nothing else had. I deserved to hurt.

She muttered at me to hold still when I turned my head to look at the passing traffic. A black convertible was parked just inside the closed northbound lane. Hers?

I jerked at the ugly ripping sound and the sudden draft on my leg. “Hey!” I shouted, putting my hurt palms against the pavement and levering myself up. I held my breath as my sight grayed at the pain, then got mad when I realized she had cut my jeans up the seam to my knee. “Damn it, those were fifty bucks!” I exclaimed, and she gave me a cold look.

“I thought that would get you up,” she said, moving my bloody hand back to my leg and taking my blood pressure and pulse a second time.

I could tell she was a high-blood living vampire despite her trying to hide it in the old way, and I felt safe with her. Her blood lust would be carefully in check while she worked on me. That’s the way living vamps were. Children and the injured were sacred.

Still mad about my jeans, I took a shallow breath, staring at the chaos lit by the orangey yellow glare of the setting sun. “Let’s see it,” she said, and I released my hold on my leg.

Worried, I peered down. It didn’t look bad from a bleeding-to-death standpoint—just a slight oozing and what looked like a huge bruise in the making—but it hurt like hell. Saying nothing, Dr. Lynch opened her tackle box and broke the seal on a small bottle. “Relax, it’s water,” she said when I stiffened as she went to pour it on me.

She had to hold my leg still with an iron grip as she poked and prodded, cleaning it while muttering about torn arterioles and them being a bitch to stop bleeding but that I’d survive. My three-year-old tetanus shot seemed to satisfy her, but my stomach was in knots when she finally decided I had been tortured enough and slipped a stretchy white pressure bandage over it.