Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(74)

Amelie. The Founder of Morganville.

She was pretty, but in a cold kind of way that made Shane shiver; there was something about her eyes that wasn’t quite . . . right. Not even the other vamps had eyes like that.

“You did this?” she asked, and looked at the burning body. There wasn’t much of an expression on her face, no hint how she really felt about the whole thing. Shane traded a look with Michael.

“Yeah,” Michael confirmed. “Sorry. We had to.”

“Oh, indeed,” she said. “It’s good you did. For his sake. Had I caught him in this situation, I might not have been quite so . . . merciful.” She paused, then shifted her gaze directly to Shane. “Who staked him?”

Before Shane could answer, Michael jumped in. “I did,” he said. “Shane saved the kid.”

Amelie didn’t blink. “It’s good it was you,” she said. “Were it Mr. Collins, I might have to convene a Council meeting and order punishment. Humans don’t stake vampires in Morganville, Mr. Collins. Not without consequences. But of course it wasn’t Shane at all, was it, Michael?”

“No,” Michael said. “It was me.”

Shane opened his mouth, got a cold glance from Amelie, and shut it, fast. He didn’t nod. He decided that maybe it wasn’t a lie, exactly, if he didn’t move. Or breathe.

Amelie turned away, toward one of her guards, who leaned toward her expectantly. “Take care of this,” she said. “No one finds out about this. See to it that my father goes back where he belongs. And don’t be in any hurry to remove the stake.”

“Ma’am,” he said. He looked over at Michael and Shane. “What about them?” Meaning, Shane realized with a sinking feeling, that they were security risks. Not that they’d hurt Michael. But he was just a breather. Nothing to lose sleep over, assuming Amelie actually slept.

She hesitated a moment, one pale, elegant hand smoothing down the girl’s red hair, and then said, “I think we can trust Shane and Michael to understand the importance of keeping this to themselves.”

“And the girl?”

Amelie looked down at the kid. “Clea,” she said. “Her name is Clea. I’ll take her home. I’m sure her parents will also understand how to keep quiet as well.” She looked at Shane. “You have something to say?”

He shook his head. “Just surprised. You know her name.”

Amelie’s pale lips curled into a smile, and there was a shadow of warmth in her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “I know all the names.”

She didn’t look back at Bishop. With a nod to Michael, she turned and carried Clea out of the building, into the night. Probably to a limousine, with a driver. Which beat the hell out of the little motorcycle Shane had ridden in on.

“We should go,” Michael said. “Need a ride?”

“Are you kidding?” Shane asked. “Do you know what Rad does to people who don’t bring back his bikes?”

? ? ?

The sun was just coming up when Shane sat down on the edge of Claire’s bed. He didn’t wake her up, not right at first. . . . She was curled on her side, the morning glow turning her skin gold, making her hair burn red at the ends. Shane curled a strand of it around his finger, and it felt like warm silk.

He let the hair fall away, and moved his finger gently over her cheek, then lightly over her lips. Claire’s eyelids fluttered, and she made a soft, vague, pleased kind of sound deep in her throat.

And then she focused on him.

Her brown eyes went all gold in the sun, and he felt golden inside, too. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

He bent over and kissed her, and her lips were warm and sweet, and he thought, Worth living for.

When he finally sat up, she smiled at him, and it was so beautiful he forgot whatever he was going to say to her. Probably something lame, like Good morning.

“What did you do last night?” she asked, and scooted over.

Shane slowly lowered himself down next to her, never looking away from her warm, sunlit eyes. And that smile. “You know,” he said. “The usual.”

She knew better, but she didn’t argue. Besides, they had more to think about . . . and none of it involved vampires.

And all of it was . . . good.





DRAMA QUEEN’S LAST DANCE


This was an important missing scene between books, and for some reason, I ended up selling it as a short story to an anthology: Eternal, the follow-up to Immortal, also edited by P. C. Cast. I love writing in Eve’s point of view, particularly when she’s snarky, and there is a lot of that on display here. There are also fancy gowns, jealousy, dancing, Michael in distress, DANCING OLIVER (I cannot stress this enough, because I always wanted to write that scene), and, most of all, a spontaneous proposal. So if you haven’t read it, here’s your chance to see the tale of Michael, Eve, Gloriana, and the last dance of the drama queen.





My name is Eve, and I am a drama queen.

I don’t mean like any old garden-variety teen throwing a tantrum, oh no. I am a Drama Queen, with big initial capital letters and curlicues on top. I work hard at it, and I resent anybody lumping me in with a bunch of wannabe poseurs who haven’t even qualified in Beginning Pouting, much less Champion Fit Throwing.