Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(13)

Michael Glass. He was my grandson, but as I watched him grow, watched him settle into a kind, thoughtful, gifted boy with loving parents to guide him, he felt more like my own child. And I tried to give him the guidance I hadn’t been able to give Steven. From time to time, it even felt like I succeeded.

Amelie—Amelie and I are complicated. I love her; I know that. I would do anything for her, anything at all, and that’s dangerous to her as well as me. So we keep our distance, for the most part. She has to play the ice queen, especially now that Oliver’s in town and pressing her for control, and I understand that. I make her vulnerable.

I hate being her weakness.

When she turned Michael, I agreed with her decision, but I hated that, too—seeing his mortal life end, and my grandson being dragged headlong into this world of ancient politics and power. I wanted to protect him. I always thought that I could protect him from everything, but not even a vampire can promise that.

Not even a vampire should, in Morganville.

One thing about it, though: I don’t feel as alone.

Selfish as that is, I can’t tell you what it means to me.





GRUDGE


I wrote this story again as a kind of backstory exercise. . . . This one was done to get on paper the story behind the death of Shane’s sister, Alyssa, and his family’s flight from Morganville, which was such a pivotal event in his life. I also wanted to see who Michael, Shane, Eve, and Monica were before and after those events, and before they met Claire—because even though Claire is the main character of the Morganville series, relationships between the other characters formed long before she arrived.

So here, in its entirety, is the story of that night told mainly from Shane’s point of view.





“Heads up,” Michael Glass said, and jerked his chin at something over Shane’s shoulder. “Incoming.”

Shane didn’t even need to look. Michael’s expression said it all—the kind of amusement only a best friend can have when your life is about to hit a brick wall. And there was only one brick wall who’d be walking toward him during the break between classes. (Well, two, but he didn’t think Principal Wiley was out to get him this week. So far.)

“Oh, hey, Shane!” said a girl from behind him. He already knew it was coming, but the voice still gave him cold chills. She was just being so nice. It was completely weird. “Funny running into you here.”

Shane slammed his locker door, spun the lock, and turned to face Monica Morrell, the crown princess of Morganville High School—at least in her own mind. And he wasn’t really all that sure she was wrong, which sucked. He didn’t like her. In a big way, actually. But she did have power, and power was important everywhere in Morganville . . . even in English class.

“What, in the same hallway we both walk every day?” he asked. He managed to keep most of his sarcasm out of it, though. “You need something?” He was hoping he was giving off enough not interested, go away vibes to drive off a dozen Monicas, but from the glow in her eyes and the smile on her face, she was definitely not picking up the clue phone. She’d gotten some tanning thing done, and he had to admit, Monica was beautiful, in that predatory mean-girl kind of way. The kind that owed more to product than personality.

She stepped up very close, close enough he could smell the expensive perfume she’d drenched herself in, and dropped her voice to a low purr. “I definitely need something,” she said. Monica was his age, sixteen going on seventeen, but she acted like she’d jumped over the teen years and straight to being some oversexed middle-aged cougar. Not that he had anything against oversexed middle-aged cougars; he’d take one of those over Monica any day. “Let’s find someplace quiet and discuss it.”

Somewhere behind him, Michael—who was unconvincingly sorting through books at his own locker, killing time and shamelessly gawking—made a choking sound. Shut up, man, Shane thought, but he couldn’t look away from Monica. She was too dangerous. “Yeah,” Shane said slowly. “About that. I’m—I’ve got class.” And he tried to back up and move around her.

She got in his way. Her smile stayed on, and stayed bright, but he saw a little flicker of impatience in her eyes. “Oh, come on. Since when is Shane Collins concerned about class?” she practically cooed. And before he could stop her, she came at him, backed him up against the lockers with a bang that attracted the attention of the fifty or sixty MHS students currently in the hallway, and . . .

And then all of a sudden she was all over him, hands in the wrong places, sliding up under his shirt, and she was kissing him, and for a long second his body was mostly saying, Mmmm, girl, warm, before his brain yelled, Monica! and the whole thing went very wrong.

Shane grabbed her by her shoulders and shoved her back. Hard. Monica stumbled, shock all over her pretty face, and for a second he saw genuine hurt . . . but only for a second.

Then it was anger, turned up to eleven.

“Oh, sorry—didn’t know you were gay, Collins! I should have known you and Glass—”

“Hey!” Shane said sharply. “Back off.” Because she was already drawing a crowd, and there was nothing Monica liked better than a stage for her personal drama. Michael slammed his locker door, and when Shane glanced over at him, he saw that his friend’s face had gone very still. Michael could get really cold when he wanted, but the last thing he needed right now was Michael weighing in, especially when Monica was bound to push buttons. “Walk away. Look, I’m already doing it.” And he did, shouldering his backpack and pushing past her in the general direction of his next class.