Some Girls Bite (Chicagoland Vampires 1)

A little thrilled that this piece of supernatural drama had nothing to do with me, I gave up the pretense of politely ignoring their fight, put down the glass, and gave them my full attention.

Catcher stalked through the kitchen, practically threw the book down on the kitchen counter, then pushed Mallory onto a stool. He pointed at the book. "Read!"

Mallory popped up and stared at him for a long time, her mouth drawn into a tight line, her hands fisted so tightly together her knuckles were white. "Who the hell do you think you are that you can order me around?"

Tension and magic rose and spiraled around the room, tangible enough to raise the hair on my arms and neck. Eddies of it dipped and flowed, the ends of Mallory's hair lifting around her face like she'd stepped into a strong breeze.

"Jesus," I muttered, staring at the two of them.

Without warning, there was a crack of light. My glass, thankfully empty of blood, shattered on the counter.

"Mallory," Catcher warned, a half growl.

"No, Catcher."

The overhead light flickered as they stared at each other, a strobe lighting the battle of the wills.

Finally, Catcher sighed, power dissipating from the room with a tangible whoosh. Without words or hesitation, he grabbed her arms and pulled her against the line of his body. Then he lowered his head to hers, and kissed her. She squealed and twitched, but as his mouth worked at hers, she stilled. When, moments later, he pulled back, he looked at her expectantly.

For a heartbeat, then two, she just stared at him. "I told you we were done."

"Sure you did." He kissed the top of her forehead, turned her body, and pushed her shoulders so she dropped onto the stool. Then he raised her chin to meet his gaze. "I have to get to work. Read the Key."

He walked out of the kitchen. The front door shut seconds later.

For a good five minutes, neither one of us said anything. Mallory, hands in her lap, stared blankly at the book. When I'd shaken myself out of the drama-induced stupor, I went to the freezer and grabbed the carton of Chunky Monkey. I pulled off the top, found a spoon, handed them both to Mallory, then took the stool next to hers. Reciprocal ice-cream therapy, I decided. "So. That happened."

Mallory nodded absently and chewed a giant spoonful of ice cream. "I hate him."

"Yeah."

Mallory dropped the spoon into the container and put her head in her hands. "How does someone that arrogant look that good? It's unfair. It's a crime against nature. He should be . . . punished for being pretentious with pockmarks and hairy warts or something."

I took up the spoon and picked through the ice cream for a square of white chocolate. "He spending the night again?"

"Probably. Not that I have anything to say about it."

I bit back a smile. There were many things I'd come to learn about Mallory. Number one among them was the fact that she rarely did anything by halves. Whatever she was involved in, be it boyfriend or career, she gave a near-obsessive level of attention. So that fake nonchalance heralded something very interesting about one Catcher Bell.

"In love with him, are you?"

"Little bit," she said, nodding. She rubbed her arms, then stared down at the table. "The thing is, Mer, he doesn't let me order him around. Like Mark - if I told Mark to climb the Matterhorn, he'd hop the next plane to Europe. Catcher stands up to me." A corner of her mouth tipped up. "I didn't realize how attractive a quality that was in a man."

Her gaze found mine, and her bright blue eyes were moist. "He doesn't give a shit if I've got a kick-ass job in the best ad firm in town, or if I've got blue hair, or if I'm pretty underneath it. He just likes me."

I stood and gathered her into a hug. "Too bad he's a pretentious ass**le."

Mallory gave a watery laugh. "Yeah, it is. But he's hung like a horse, so that kinda helps."

I pulled away, grimacing, and walked toward the kitchen door. "This house is getting too small for the three of us. Seriously."

Mallory laughed, but I wasn't sure I was kidding.

After showering and dressing in an outfit I knew wouldn't meet Ethan's approval - jeans, Pumas, and a couple of layered tank tops - I decided to head for my grandfather's office. I wanted an update about the investigation, and I was also working to avoid thinking about tomorrow. Day Seven. The Commendation Ceremony, during which I'd be assigned a position in Cadogan House, would take my oaths to Ethan, and would probably be hazed within an inch of my newfound immortality.

I wasn't sure of my welcome at the Ombud's office, or even if anyone would be staffing the building on a Sunday night, so I decided to bring a bribe a la fast-food chicken. After I made the pickup, I parked in front of the Ombud's office, I took my bribe to the front door, hit the buzzer, and waited.

Minutes passed before Catcher strolled down the hall, this time having paired a black Ramones shirt with boots and jeans. He looked surprised to see me, but punched in the code to unlock the door and opened it, his gaze on the paper bucket I cradled in the crook of one arm.

"I brought chicken," I pointed out.

"I can see that. Did she kick you out, too, or is this a humanitarian visit?"

"Neither. I wanted to check on the investigation - "

"And you're scared shitless about tomorrow night."

"And I'm scared shitless about tomorrow night."

Catcher cast a wary glance at the street, then moved aside to let me in. I waited while he relocked and coded the door and grabbed a drumstick from the buckets. Then I followed him back down the hallway and into the office. Catcher immediately moved to his desk, leaning over it to press the button on a Charlie's Angels-era intercom system.

"Merit's here," he said into it.

Jeff jumped out of his chair and made for the bucket that I placed on one of the empty desks after pulling out a piece for myself. Apparently lacking the gene for subtlety, he grabbed a breast, eating it only after he'd pointed at the chicken to point out the symbolism. I couldn't help but laugh, even knowing he didn't need the encouragement.

"Hello, baby girl." My grandfather shuffled into the room, a grand smile on his face. It was nice to be loved, I thought, and basked in the glow of it. "What are you doing here?"

Catcher pulled a chunk of meat from his drumstick. "She's hiding out. Commendation's tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?" Grandpa asked, picking through the bucket until he found a choice piece, then nudging a hip onto the edge of the desk. "Are you nervous?"

Jeff kicked back in his chair and crossed his ankles on his desktop next to his mutant keyboard. "Do they still make the Initiates eat a raw chicken?"