Some Girls Bite (16 page)

I lifted the glass to my lips.

I drank.

It took mere seconds for me to empty the glass, and it still wasn’t enough. I drained two more bags that I pulled straight from the refrigerator—bags I hadn’t bothered to heat or prepare. I drank the liquid—more than I’d ever put into my body at one time—in minutes, finally stopping when I felt my own blood slow again. Three bags of blood, and I’d ingested them like I’d been starved for food and water, denied sustenance for weeks.

When the hunger was sated, I caught sight of the discarded bags on the floor. I was appalled at the act, at the substance, at the fact that I’d actually drunk—willingly drunk—blood. But I clamped a hand over my mouth, willing myself not to bring it up again, knowing that if I did, I’d just have to drink more. I slid to the floor, my back against the side of the island, and clutched my knees to my chest, forcing myself to breathe. Forcing my brain to catch up with my body—to accept what it needed.

To accept what I was.

Vampire.

Cadogan Initiate.

That was where Mallory found me—sitting on the kitchen floor, empty medical bags at my feet—minutes before the sun began to rise. She was prepped for work—black suit, heels, chunky jewelry, sassy handbag, blue hair a frame around her face.

Her smile faded. She crouched in front of me. “Merit? Are you okay?”

“I just drank three bags of blood.”

Dropping her purse at my feet, Mallory picked up an empty plastic bag with the tips of two fingers. “So I see that. How do you feel?”

I giggled. “Fine, I think.”

“Did you just giggle?”

I giggled again. “Nope.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you drunk?”

“On blood? No.” I swatted the idea with a hand. “It’s mother’s milk to me.”

Mallory picked up the other bag, then walked them both to the trash can and tossed them in. “Uh-huh.”

“And how are you? Feeling witchy?”

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a soda, then popped the tab. “I’m adjusting. I guess I can say the same for you?”

I frowned, considering, then began counting off the events on my fingers. “Well, I found out my grandfather’s been lying for four years about his job. I met a sorcerer, met a shape-shifter of indeterminate origin, got propositioned by said shifter, found out I was almost the victim of a serial killer, almost got hit by these magical electric blast things, made out with Ethan, rejected Ethan, was threatened by Ethan.” I shrugged. “Pretty average day.”

Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at me until closing it with a click of teeth. “I don’t know where to start on all that. How about, your grandfather’s been lying?”

I pulled myself up from the floor, hands on the countertop to steady myself. It took a moment for my head to stop spinning—the aftereffects, I presumed, of drinking so much blood at one time. “Drink, please?”

Mallory went back to the fridge and grabbed another soda, held it up for my approval, and when I nodded, popped the top.

After she handed it over, I took a long pull, discovering to my delight that diet grape soda was a refreshing chaser to three pints of human blood. I thanked her for the drink, then filled her in on the Ombud and his slate of employees. I didn’t tell her about Catcher’s recommendation that Mallory get training. I decided the safer course of action was just to put the two of them in a room together—all that beauty and stubbornness—and watch the fur fly.

“I have to train tonight,” I told her. “I’m meeting Catcher at a gym on the Near North Side. You want to come along?”

She shrugged. “I could do that.”

“Do we need to talk about something? I mean, are we okay?”

Mallory smiled ruefully. “We’re fine. It’s not your fault I’m . . . whatever I am.”

“I bet Catcher has some answers for you.”

“That’d be nice.”

I finished my drink and tossed the can. “I need to be at the gym by eight thirty. But first I have to sleep. Dawn’s coming, you know.” I yawned, pointed out, “You haven’t asked me about kissing Ethan.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I need to? It’s obvious you have the hots for him.”

“No, I don’t.”

She gave me an obviously skeptical glare, in response to which I shrugged, lacking the energy to argue the point . . . and it would have required a heavy bit of lying and thickly laid self-denial anyway.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll indulge you since you recently became the walking dead. Was he good?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Technique? Skill? Hands?”

“High passes in all categories. Of course, after four hundred years, the boy’s gonna have some skills.”

“Quite a résumé,” she agreed. “And it wouldn’t matter if he was inexperienced and inept. Just being in the same room, you two melt the drapes. All that heat, it’s not surprising you came to blows again,” she added. “Didn’t land one, did you?”

I went silent.

“Merit?”

“He asked me to be his mistress.”

She just stared at me, openmouthed.

“Yeah.”

We stood quietly for a moment, until she moved to the refrigerator and grabbed a pint of ice cream from the freezer. She found a spoon, popped the ice-cream top, and handed the duo to me. “No one has ever deserved this more.”

I wasn’t sure that was true, but I took them both anyway and helped myself to a dose of Chunky Monkey.

Mallory leaned against the countertop, tapped a manicured finger against it. “You know, it’s kind of flattering in an ass-backward way. Even if he’s conflicted about it, he clearly finds you attractive.”

I nodded around a spoonful of ice cream. “Yeah, but he doesn’t like me. He admitted it. He’s just . . . kind of . . . accidentally attracted.”

“Were you tempted?”

I shrugged.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Merit.”

What could I have said? That even in the midst of it, some tiny bit of me, some little secret room in my heart (or more accurately, my loins), wanted to say yes? To finish out that kiss with caresses and something more, anything more, than a lonely day beneath cool, empty sheets?

“Not really.”

She cocked her head at me, seemed to evaluate that. “I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

“Neither can I,” I admitted around another spoonful of ice cream.

She sighed and rose, patting my back before grabbing her purse and heading toward the front door. “You give that some thought while you’re hibernating. I’ll see you tonight. I’ll go with you to train.”

“Thanks, Mallory. Have a good day.”

“I will. You sleep good.”

Maybe unsurprisingly, I didn’t.

 

 

 

I
t was raining when I woke the next evening, the fourth day of my new life, tucked beneath the ancient quilt that covered my bed. I stretched and rose and walked to the window, flipping back the black leather curtain that kept sunlight off my body while I slept. The evening was gray, the window cold against the flat of my palm. Heavy drops of spring rain patted against the glass. It was seven thirtyish, and the evening stretched before me. I had only one thing planned—training with Catcher, as arranged the night before.

I made myself stop obsessing about the kiss. After all, I should have been thrilled to death that I hadn’t been weak enough to say yes to Ethan’s offer. I was still Merit, still Mallory’s friend and still my grandfather’s granddaughter. So when I rose, I put it behind me and focused on the night ahead.

I wasn’t sure of the appropriate dress code for my first night of training as Cadogan House Initiate, especially given the weather, so I opted for black yoga capris, a T-shirt, running shoes, and a fleece jacket to ward off the chill. When we met in the living room, Mallory was out of her business suit and tucked into jeans and a T-shirt. She linked her arm in mine as we stepped onto the stoop, nodding to the guards at the door before darting to the garage.

Mallory flipped open the garage door and we walked inside. “You ready for your big vampire adventure?”

“You ready to find out who you are?” I countered.

“Honestly, I’m not yet sure if knowing is better than not.”

I made a sound of agreement, unlocked the car, and slid inside. Mallory joined me after I reached over to pop the lock. The car started on the first try—not always a guarantee with a car nearly older than I was—and I backed her carefully out of the garage and onto the street.

“Can you believe we’re wrapped up in this?” she asked. “Not even a month ago, no one knew vampires existed. Now we’re in the middle of it, as deep as you can get. And this Catcher. He’s what?”

“He said he was a fourth-grade sorcerer until he was kicked out of the Order. I don’t know what that—”

“It’s the governing body for sorcerers,” Mallory interjected.

I slid her a quick glance. “And you’d know that because?”

“I’ve done some homework. I made some calls.”

“I see. And a fourth-grade sorcerer? That would be what, exactly?”

“Top of the line.”

Not really surprising given the fireworks display. A little scary, but not surprising. “Gotcha.”

When we reached the warehouse district, we found parking in front of the brick building bearing the address Catcher had provided. The building was four squat stories tall and ringed at the top with equally spaced square windows, like a coronet of glass. A substantial red door sat in the middle of the facade. We dodged raindrops to reach it, then pushed it open, revealing an impressive atrium that stretched the full height of the building. The room itself was shaped like an inverted T, with a long hallway punched through the middle. An empty demilune reception desk stood in the juncture.

Having gotten no instructions beyond the time and address, I gave Mallory a shrug, and we ventured toward the hallway. Doors marked both walls, but there was no sign of our sorcerer or a gym. Rather than testing each door, which felt a little too Alice in Wonderland, we decided to wait and hope that someone would eventually come looking for us. We debated whether they’d come from the right or the left.

“Left side?” I offered.

Mallory shook her head. “Right. Loser buys dinner.”

“Done,” I agreed, seconds too early. Mallory nailed it—a door opened on the right, and Jeff’s head popped out of the doorway. He grinned at me, waved, and widened his eyes when he saw Mallory.

“You brought magic,” he said, his voice a little dreamy, and beckoned us in. Mallory grumbled a few choice words about “magic,” but we followed obediently.

The room was enormous. The walls were concrete, the floor dominated by blue gymnastics mats. A gauntlet of punching and speed bags hung in one corner. The contrast between this room—sterile, equipped for precision training—and the Cadogan sparring room—ceremonial, equipped for flashy moves—was easily apparent. This place lacked the gravitas, but it also lacked the ego. There, you showed off. Here, you worked out. You prepared. The music, though, was weirdly mellow—John Lee Hooker’s “You Talk Too Much” flowed through the space.

“I’m Jeff,” he said, sticking out a hand toward Mallory. She shook it.

“Mallory Carmichael.”

“I’m a shifter,” he said. “And you’re magic.”

“That’s what I hear,” she flatly said.

“Have you joined the Order yet?”

Mallory shook her head.

Jeff nodded. “Talk to Catcher. But don’t let him blind you to the benefits of being unionized.”

As if on cue, a door on the far side of the room opened with a metallic scrape. Catcher emerged, stalking toward us in bare feet, jeans, and a T-shirt that read
Real Men Use Keys
. It was a good look for him—sexy, rough, a little dangerous. It was the look of a man who’d just crawled out of bed, leaving a very satisfied woman beneath the sheets.

I watched his eyes survey the room, saw his gaze move from Jeff, to me, to Mallory. And that was when I saw the blink, the tiny hitch in his composure when he took in the petite frame, the blue hair, the gorgeous face. I turned, saw the same awestruck expression on her face, and watched them stare at each other. The force of the attraction seemed to warm the air. I grinned.

“You’re late,” Catcher said when he reached us, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jeff, the sweetheart, defended my honor. “She was here on time. I found ’em standing in the hallway, staring at the architecture.”

“It’s a great building,” I said.

“Thanks,” Catcher replied, his gaze on Mallory. “I don’t have time to deal with you tonight.” I guessed introductions were unnecessary.

Mallory huffed. “I don’t recall asking you for help.”

The air seemed to prickle around us, drawing goose bumps along my arms. Jeff took a couple of steps backward. Since he undoubtedly knew more than I did, I followed suit.

“You don’t have to ask,” Catcher said. “You’re practically drenched in power, and you obviously have no clue what to do with it.”

Mallory rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’re a fourth-grade,” Catcher said, gazing at her through half-lidded eyes. “And I know you know what that means. I know you put in a call. But Merit doesn’t have magic, and I need to make sure, first and foremost, that she can handle what’s coming. So not now, okay?”

Mal’s eyes flared, blazed. But after a moment, she nodded.

Catcher inclined his head, then looked me over. He pinched the sleeve of my fleece jacket. “This won’t work. You’re wearing too many clothes. You need to watch your body move, learn how your muscles work.” He crooked a thumb toward the door in the back of the room. “Head back. There’re clothes in the locker room. And lose the shoes.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Do you want a speech, too?”