Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(15)
All Shane knew was that he despised the vampires, and when he turned eighteen, he was not going to sign up with one of the undead bloodsuckers. He was going to live free, live fast, and die young.
Speaking of which . . . “Lyss! Slow down!” Because she was pulling so far ahead now he could hardly see her at all. She waved, jogged backward, and then sprinted around the corner.
He was maybe fifteen feet behind her when something rushed at him from the mouth of a dark alley, and dragged him into the shadows. Shane let out a surprised yelp and immediately tried to get himself on his feet, but whatever was pulling him, it was strong, and fast, and he was off-balance.
A kick hit him in the ribs, and he rolled into a ball. Lyss, he thought, in despair. Keep running. If she looked back and didn’t see him, she might come back. She might get hurt.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Someone yanked his head back, and he felt sharp nails digging into his scalp. The perfume wave hit him a few seconds later, sickly sweet and familiar, and then Monica Morrell smiled nastily down into his face and said, “I forget—where were we? Oh, this is Brandon. He’s my Protector.” She put her free hand on the vampire standing next to her, the one holding Shane’s left arm in a viselike grip. Brandon had that dark, broody thing going, all black leather and pale attitude, and he looked like he really couldn’t give a crap about Shane or Monica, and ripping Shane’s arm out of its socket was just another day at the office. “He wants you to apologize.”
Shane gritted his teeth against a wave of pain from his shoulder, which was complaining it wasn’t supposed to bend that way. “I’m sorry you’re a vicious skank,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t punch you when I had the chance. How’s that?”
Monica’s fingernails dug deep enough in his scalp to cut, and she shook his head side to side, miming a no like he was her puppet. “Not what I was looking for, you jerk. Apologize. Now. And ask me out.”
“Ask you out? Are you out of your freaking mind? Ow!” Because that had made her nails really dig in. “Do you really think we’re going to hit it off, you crazy—”
“I didn’t say I’d say yes,” she said. “Fine. If you won’t apologize, then you’re just going to have to be a tragic cautionary tale for all the rude people. Brandon?”
She said it with a kind of bratty assurance, and she even snapped her fingers, as if she had the vampire right where she wanted him. Shane could have told her—without even knowing Brandon at all, except to avoid him—that she’d just made a serious mistake.
“What?” Brandon asked softly, and Shane felt the pain in his arm start to retreat. Brandon had let go of him. “Are you calling a dog, you spoiled little girl? Because dogs bite.”
Monica, who’d been lost in her own sleazy sense of victory, suddenly snapped back to reality, let go of Shane’s hair, and stepped back, looking very, very alarmed. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, Brandon. I just wanted—”
“I said I’d do you this favor,” Brandon said, with emphasis on the word favor. “I’m finished now. You should put some thought into how you’re going to pay me back.”
And he turned and walked off into the shadows, avoiding the sunlight, heading who knew where.
Shane rolled up to his feet. He was tall, and even if he still felt awkward in his body, he knew he wasn’t a pushover. And Monica—Monica wasn’t even a big girl.
He didn’t threaten her. His heart was pounding, and he saw red, and he wanted nothing more than to make her pay for scaring him that bad, but . . . he couldn’t. He just stared at her for a long, hostile moment, then said, “Leave me alone, bitch,” as he turned and walked away, heading for the sunlight.
At the end of the alley, he saw a tall girl’s shadow, hovering uncertainly near the entrance. Lyss. She’d come back, which was stupid. “Go!” he yelled at his sister, and waved her off. “I’m fine! Go on!”
Behind him, he heard Monica Morrell say, in an ice-cold whisper, “Nobody does this to me, Collins. Nobody.”
He swung around, intending this time to scare the hell out of her, but . . . she was running the other way. Chasing after her pissy vamp boyfriend, maybe. Not that Shane cared.
He got to the end of the alley. Alyssa was standing there, looking wan and scared and suddenly younger than twelve. “What happened?” Her eyes were big and round. “Shane, you’ve got dirt all over—”
“It’s nothing,” he interrupted, and put a hand on her shoulder to move her off down the sidewalk, fast. “Let’s just get home.”
? ? ?
Home wasn’t that much of an improvement, but after having run into Monica—violently—Shane didn’t feel real good about letting Lyssa stay home alone. Mom was out doing mom-things—he didn’t really know what—and Dad, well. Dad would be over at one of the two bars, pounding back boilermakers and pretending like life was good.
“I thought you were going to the game shop,” Alyssa yelled from behind her closed bedroom door as she changed clothes. “You don’t have to babysit, you know! I’m not a kid!”
“You are, and I do, and shut up,” Shane said. “I’m opening a can of SpaghettiOs. Better hurry up.”
She made a vomiting noise, which made him grin. He went downstairs and, true to his word, opened up the can, microwaved the SpaghettiOs, and started wolfing them down. When Lyss finally showed, he tossed her the can opener. “Make yourself something.”