Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(130)

I shut the water off and dripped for a minute, leaning against the wall, before I slid the curtain back . . . and found Claire standing there, holding up a towel. Poker-faced.

“Well,” I said. “This is nice.”

“It gets better,” she said, and when I took the towel, she held out a beer in her other hand. Ice-cold. I dried off fast and reached for the beer, but she pulled it out of reach. “Uh-uh. Not until you tell me you missed me.”

Stepping forward put me solidly against her, and pushed her back against the tiled bathroom wall near the sink. I grabbed the beer from her upraised hand, started to drink, and then put it down on the window ledge.

Then I picked her up and sat her on the bathroom counter and kissed her. Sweet and hot and slow, lots of tongue, and she tasted like heaven to me. Heaven, and home.

“I missed you,” I whispered in her ear, as I trailed kisses down her jawline and up to nibble on her lobe. I felt her gasp and shiver. “Can you tell?”

“I’m convinced,” she said. I liked that she had a shirt with buttons on the front. They opened nicely. She’d also switched to front-hook bras, which was extra fun and convenient. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed,” I said. “How about you?”

“I should . . . do the . . .”

“Laundry?” I nipped at her neck, licked lightly at the barely visible scars where Myrnin had once bitten her. Bastard. “Really?” I unzipped her jeans. “You should probably put these in, then.”

“Probably,” Claire said, and helped me slide them off. “Probably should put my panties in, too.”

“Seems logical.”

From that point on, there wasn’t much talking, really.





A WHISPER IN THE DARK


This one is a late addition to the Web site’s free stories; it’s another one I started, restarted, edited, and abandoned for a while, only to return to it with fresh eyes and a new story line. I loved the interplay between our gang, especially with Michael still odd-vampire-out at this time in the universe. I really loved the idea that Eve’s background and family tree end up being the central focus of this story, too.

It has a bit of a horror story twist to it, but I think it’s still firmly within the Morganville county lines!

Fun factoid: I also hate cleaning out my fridge. I do it, but I have to force myself. Also, I hate leftovers. You have to forget them in the back only once to have nightmares forever.





Michael Glass leaned against the kitchen counter and thought about the end of the world. Had to be the end of the world, because his best friend, Shane Collins, had on a pair of latex CSI-style gloves and was . . . cleaning.

“Dude, what’s with all the crap in the refrigerator?” Shane asked. He held up one sports bottle after another for his housemate Michael’s benefit, because they were all Michael’s. “Can’t you write an expiration date on these or something?”

Michael snatched one out of Shane’s hand, sniffed it, and said, “It’s good. What’s your problem?”

“My problem? Our fridge is full of bottles of human blood and I can’t find any place to put a Coke. That’s my problem. And what the hell, are you binge eating now? How many of these do you actually need?”

“How many Cokes do you need? I know you’re trying to work up to a diabetic coma, but still, give it a break, man.” Michael kept the bottle he was holding, popped the cap, and took a healthy swig. Shane shuddered, shoved two cans of Coke into the open space, and swung the door shut. “What crawled up your ass and made you worry about housekeeping, anyway?”

Shane gave him one of his classic Keep talking looks, grabbed a bag of chips off the counter, and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. It was a mess, piled with dirty dishes, half-full glasses, and junk mail. “Check the schedule,” he said. “You’re on kitchen duty. I’m supposed to do laundry. Eve said if we didn’t get our shit together before she got home, she was going to get extreme. I’ve seen her get extreme. It’s not pretty.” He stripped off the latex gloves, popped some chips in his mouth, and said, “Besides, man, she’s right. This place is a sty. I think I saw a roach crawling into the Lysol bottle this morning. It’s your house, too. Have a little pride.”

“Trade you for laundry,” Michael said. Shane gave him the universal sign for Blow me, and Michael had to grin. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Unless you want to be explaining that to both our ladies, real good idea.” Shane tossed him the bag of chips, and Michael took a handful. No garlic, thank God. “Not that I wouldn’t pay good money to see you try.”

Michael threw the bag back at him, hard, but Shane got it before it attached itself to his face. Had to give it to him, the boy was quick, for somebody who wasn’t vampire-enhanced. “Don’t you have to go sort some underwear or something? Because if I have to do the kitchen, you’re up in my way. Get your chip-eating ass out of the chair.”

“File the attitude, bro. I’m going.” Shane ate more chips as he stood up, then froze in midchomp. Michael was way ahead of him, turning toward the door as he put his sports bottle carefully down on the counter. Shane’s tone, when it came, was way different this time. “Guests?” he asked.