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she could no longer see the broken wagon. Roots and thick
undergrowth made digging even a shallow grave a risky
waste of time, so she shoved the body under the densest
bush she could see, and then looked critically at her work.
It had been wise not to drain the woman, even though
she wouldn’t have minded a second meal. The ground was
barely disturbed, and there would be no telltale trail of blood
to lead anyone to the corpse.
Rebekah ran lightly back to the clearing, turning her full
attention to the dead man. The bite marks were small, but
a more obvious cause of death would be an improvement.
Eyeing his neck critically, she slashed a knife across his
throat, severing an artery and hiding the marks from her
teeth. It wasn’t perfect—and he didn’t have nearly enough
blood left to make it as dramatic as she would have liked—
so she added a few extra cuts to his hands and arms to tell
a more detailed story.
Finally she lifted him from the cart, propping him against
an oak tree in what she cheerfully imagined was a valiant—
if hopeless—last stand. Her rescuers might notice how
quickly she healed if she injured herself, but she carefully
ripped at her own clothing, creating a few artistic tears in
the powder-blue fabric. She rubbed her hands in the dirt.
Wrinkling her nose a little, she smeared some on her high
cheekbones, streaking her delicate collarbone and where
her torn dress revealed a creamy slice of abdomen. She
could hear hoofbeats now, so she tousled her hair roughly