Some Girls Bite (Chicagoland Vampires 1)

CADOGAN HOUSE

(312) 555-2046

NAVR NO. 4 | CHICAGO, IL

"NAVR number four?" I asked, card between my fingers.

"That's our registry number," Malik explained, and I remembered the NAVR tag under the announcement in the Sun-Times. "We were the fourth vampire House established in the United States."

"Ah." I slid the card into my pocket. "Thanks. We'll call if something comes up."

"Not that this visit hasn't been educational," Ethan said, eyes on Mallory, "but we need to get back to work. I believe we've had plenty of excitement for one evening." He dismissed Malik and Luc and motioned us toward the training room door.

The gazes of the vampires we passed still edged toward hostility, but at least they were tempered with curiosity. On the other hand, I'm not sure if that was better or worse; I generally preferred staying under the radar of people-sucking predators.

Or I would have, if I'd given that kind of thing any thought.

Ethan escorted us back through the House. When we reached the front door, he put a hand on my arm. "Mallory, could I have a word with Merit, please?"

"It's your pitch," she replied, and bounced through the doorway to the steps below.

He looked at me. "My pitch?"

"It's a soccer thing. What did you need?"

His mouth tightened into a grim line, and I could tell he was preparing to speechify. "What happened tonight is unusual," he said. "For an Initiate to challenge a Master is virtually unheard of, as is the Master not punishing an individual who has challenged his or her authority. I'm giving you a break because you didn't choose to rise as a vampire, because our laws mandate consent, and you weren't in a position to offer it." He gazed down at me with frigidly green eyes.

"That said, should you ever pull a stunt like this again, you will be disciplined. If you ever raise a hand to me again, you'll rue that decision. I am the Master of this House and in command of three hundred and eight vampires. They look to me for protection, and they give me their loyalty in exchange for it. Should any not understand that bargain, I'm fast,

I'm strong, and I'm willing to demonstrate those qualities. Next time, I won't pull my punches. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

The chill in his glare tamped down my instinct for sarcasm. I nodded.

"Good." He held out his hand toward the sidewalk, inviting me out of the House. "You have five days yet before the Commendation. The Canon will explain the oaths, the ceremony and the manner in which I will call you to service. Prepare yourself."

Giving him another acquiescent nod, I stepped down to the sidewalk.

"And do something about your clothes," he ordered, just before closing the heavy oak door behind me.

We silently walked back to the car, where I found a club flyer beneath my windshield wiper. I lifted the wiper, scanned the sheet, which advertised Red, a club in River North. I got into the car, unlocked Mal's door, and stuffed the flyer into the glove box. Partying wasn't really on my agenda right now.

The ride back home was quiet as we both, I imagine, mulled over the night's events. I certainly did, especially the enigma of Ethan Sullivan. For the few seconds I hadn't known who he was, I'd been awed by his face and form, intrigued by his nearly tangible sense of power and determination.

Thinking he was pretty was one thing. Infinitely more disconcerting was the fact that after I discovered who he was - and even knowing what he'd taken from me - I could admit to a lingering attraction. His arrogance was irritating, but he was handsome, intelligent, and respected by his subjects. Ethan wore his power - his mantle of confident self-possession - as well as his designer clothes. But danger, I knew, lurked underneath that perfect facade. Ethan demanded complete and utter loyalty with no exceptions and, it seemed, had little willingness to compromise. He was skilled, strong, fast, limber, and confident enough to prove his mettle against an unknown opponent in front of a gallery of observers. And while he might have found me attractive - his flirting was proof enough of that - he wasn't thrilled about the attraction. Quite the opposite -  he seemed as eager to be rid of me as I was of him.

For all that, I hadn't been able to banish the memory of my first glimpse of him. An after- image of green irises ghosted across my retinas when I closed my eyes, and I knew nothing would wipe away the visual. The impact had been that strong - like a crater furrowed into my psyche, leaving an empty space that a mortal man seemed unlikely to fill.

I muttered a curse when I realized the anatomical direction that line of thought was headed, and renewed my attention to Chicago's dark streets.

Mallory cleared her throat. "So that was Ethan."

I turned the Volvo down a side street as we neared home. "That was him."

"And you're thinking what?"

I shrugged, unsure how much I wanted to admit to my feelings, even to Mallory. "I should hate him, right? I mean, he did this to me. Changed everything. Took away everything."

Mallory stared out the car window. "You were due for a change, Merit. And he saved your life."

"He made me the walking undead."

"He said you aren't dead. It was just a genetic change. And there are benefits, whether you want to admit them or not."

Just a genetic change, she'd said, like it was a small, simple matter. "I have to drink blood," I reminded her. "Drink. Blood."

Mallory slid me an unpleasant glance. "At least be honest about it - you can drink whatever you want. You eat whatever you want, and you'll probably never gain an ounce on those mile-long legs. Blood's just a new" - she waved a hand in the air -  "vitamin or something."

"Maybe," I allowed. "But I can't put toe one in the sun. I can't go to the beach, or drive around with the top down."

And then something incredibly disturbing occurred to me. "I can't go back to Wrigley, Mallory. No Cubs games on a warm Saturday afternoon."

"You're Irish way back. You get splotchy in the sun, and you haven't been to Wrigley in, what, two years? You'll watch the Cubbies from your bedroom television set, just like you always do."

"I can't go back to school. And my family hates me."

"Hon, your parents have always been horrible. At least this way," she gently said, "you get to feed them a steady diet of inappropriate vampire behavior."

Pleasant as that thought was, it didn't completely assuage the grief. I knew I needed to buck up, to let go of what I'd lost and find a way to survive, to thrive, in my new world. But how do you let go of a lifetime of plans? Of assumptions about your life, about who you were and who you were going to be?