Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(113)

His eyebrows rose, then settled back to a flat line. “Have it your way,” he said. “The canned blood had an effect on you, yes, but not as much as you might believe. That was mostly you, boy. And you need to find a way to control that, because one day, you may find yourself covered in blood that doesn’t come from a punctured can.”

The way he said it chilled me, because it wasn’t angry; it wasn’t contemptuous; it was . . . sad. And all too knowing.

I let it drop into the silence before I said, “Eve wants to see me.”

“Perpetually, apparently.”

“I think I’m ready.” Was I? I didn’t know, but I ached to see her, tell her how sorry I was.

Oliver shrugged. “It’s someone’s funeral, if not yours.” He moved fast, out the door before I could make any comeback, not that I could think of a good one anyway, and I clutched the guitar for comfort. My fingers went back to picking out melodies and harmonies, but I wasn’t thinking about it anymore, and it didn’t feel comforting.

I was afraid I wasn’t ready, and the fear was a steady, hot spike that made my throat dry and, horribly, made my fangs ache where they lay flat. I didn’t know if I was ready to see her. I didn’t know if Oliver would care to stop me if I went off on her.

But when Eve stepped in the door, the fear slipped away, leaving relief in its wake. She was okay, and back to her fully Goth self, and what I felt wasn’t hunger, other than the hunger anybody felt in the presence of someone they loved.

The shine in her eyes and her brilliant smile were the only things that mattered.

I had just enough time to put the guitar aside and catch her as she rushed at me, and then she kissed me, sweet and hot, and I sank into that, and her, and the reminder that there was something else for me other than hunting and hunger and lonely, angry music in the night.

“Don’t you do that again,” she whispered, her black-painted lips close to my ear. “Please, don’t. You scared the hell out of all of us. I didn’t know what to do.”

I relaxed into her embrace, and breathed in the rich perfume of her hair, her skin, the subtle tingle of blood beneath her skin. I didn’t like to think about that last part, but maybe Oliver was right. Maybe I needed to stop denying it, or I’d end up in an even worse place, in the end.

“I didn’t know what to do, either,” I whispered back. “I’m sorry. I could have—”

“Stop.” She pulled back, staring at me fiercely. “Just stop it. You could have hurt me, but you didn’t. You didn’t hurt anybody, except that stupid machine. So relax. That’s not you, Mike. That’s some B-movie monster.”

But I was the B-movie monster, too. That was what Oliver meant, in the end; I was exactly that, and I had to remember it. It was the only way any of this would work.

I forced a smile. “I thought you liked B-movie monsters,” I said. My girlfriend punched me in the arm.

“Like, not love,” she said. “You, I love.”

I held out my hands, and she twined her fingers with mine. Warm and cool, together. “I don’t know how to do this,” I said.

She laughed a little. “Dating? Because, news flash, big guy, we’ve been doing it awhile.”

“Being this. Being me. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

She stepped closer, looking up into my eyes. “I know who you are. More importantly, I know what you are,” she said. “And I still love you.”

Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she’d never looked into the heart of the red and black tormented thing that lurked deep inside me. But looking at her now, at her utter sincerity and fearlessness, I couldn’t help but think that maybe she did, after all. Know me, and love me.

Maybe, in time, she’d be able to help me understand and love my monster, too. Because, in the end, it was always Eve. And always had been.

And I bent close, put my forehead against hers, and whispered, “You make me real.”

From the doorway, Oliver cleared his throat, somehow managing to make it sound as if he wanted to gag at the same time. “You’re free to go,” he said. “Congratulations. You’ve passed.”

“Passed what?” Eve asked, frowning.

“They wanted to see if I’d hurt you,” I said. I focused past her, on Oliver. “You were my test. And I won’t hurt her, not ever. You can count on that.”

He raised his eyebrows, without any comment at all, and left.

? ? ?

The vending machine suffered another accident the next day. And then the next. It wasn’t just me. My best friend, Shane, took to the idea of vandalism with frightening enthusiasm. So did Claire (surprisingly), and Eve . . . but it wasn’t just the four of us sabotaging the damn thing, because at least twice when I went to enact some mayhem, I found it was already nonfunctional.

The last time, I saw someone walking away from the machine, which had a snapped electrical cord. He was wearing a big, flaring coat, but I knew him anyway.

Oliver paused at the door, looked back at me, and nodded, just a little.

And that was the last time they fixed the machine. The next day, it was gone. I felt a little tingle of phantom hunger, of disappointment . . . and relief.

Because some things just aren’t meant to come out of a can.