Some Girls Bite: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel by Neill Chloe

Author:Neill, Chloe [Neill, Chloe]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2009-02-20T16:00:00+00:00

I was asleep when they came back at five thirty a.m. They fought at first—Mallory screaming at Catcher, Catcher yelling back. The topic was magic and control and whether Mallory was mature enough for Catcher to leave her to her own devices. Mallory rued his arrogance, and Catcher rued her naïveté. The argument woke me, but it was the making up that kept me awake. They slammed into her bedroom, and that was when the grunting and moaning began. I loved Mallory, and I was beginning to appreciate Catcher’s sarcasm. But in no fathomable way was I interested in listening to the two of them engage in a rowdy bout of makeup sex. When she screamed out his name for the third time—Catcher was apparently a machine—I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and stumbled groggily through the still-dark house to the living room, where I swaddled myself and fell asleep again.

The second time I woke it was almost noon. The house was quiet and dappled in sunlight, and I was just dazed enough—just stupid enough—to attempt to stumble back to my bedroom. I resituated the blanket, only one forearm, a few toes, and my face visible above the quilting, and began the trek back upstairs. I made it through the living room unscathed, unaware of how lucky that made me. With only a few days of vampiredom under my belt, I’d yet to come into contact with that terrible little vulnerability known to all who’ve ever seen an episode of Buffy—the sunlight allergy. I was just conscious enough to tread carefully through the dining room, and it wasn’t until I’d made it halfway to the stairs that I felt the pinch and sudden burn. I’d walked directly across a shaft of sunlight, my uncovered forearm catching the full exposure. I gulped in air, the pain of it nearly bringing me down into the beam—it stung like a burn, but tipped to unfathomably painful levels. The heat was astounding—like punching my arm into an overheated oven—and the skin immediately began to redden and blister. I yanked it back and clutched at the blanket with my safe hand, searching frantically for some way back into the dark, realizing that I’d trapped myself in a tiny sliver of shadow. I felt behind me for the doorknob, and pulled open the door of the tiny hallway closet, careful not to push myself back into the sunlight. When I’d maneuvered it open, I stepped backward into cool darkness, hunkered down on the hardwood floor, tears streaming from my eyes from the needle-sharp pain in my arm, and fell asleep.

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