“I will,” he said.
And that was the best détente we’d reach for now.
* * *
* * *
Back at the resort, we gathered outside the RV. It still smelled like feet and Cheetos.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” I said, giving Lulu a hug, then Theo.
“Technically, our rescue,” Connor said, shaking Theo’s hand. “And thanks all around.”
“We’re family,” Lulu said. “You’d probably have done the same for me.”
“Absolutely would have done the same,” I said. “Down to the cheap vodka and spelunking.”
“You do know how to woo a girl,” she said, then slid her gaze to Alexei, just looked at him with raised brows.
He stared back at her wordlessly.
“No emotional goodbye?” she asked.
“We live in the same city.”
Lulu just rolled her eyes, climbed into the RV. Theo followed, giving us a wave before closing the door behind them.
Alexei pulled a candy bar from his pocket, began to unwrap it as he walked to the bike he’d already prepped and loaded. It sat beside Thelma, which held our bags and helmets.
“You sure you don’t want to ride with them in the RV?” Connor asked.
“I’m sure.” I looked back at Thelma. “I want Thelma.”
His smile was broad and very, very pleased. “Grab the helmet and come sit right here.” He patted the leather seat, the look in his eyes suggesting he wasn’t entirely focused on the bike.
I smiled at him. “You misunderstand. I don’t want to ride,” I said with a grin. “I want you to teach me how to drive it.”
He just looked at me for a long moment. “Are you seeing anyone else?”
The sudden change of topic made me take a moment. “I— What? No. Why?”
He cupped my face in his hands, kissed me until the tips of my fingers tingled. “Because I want you all to myself.”
I grinned up at him, watched the answering glow in his eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he said, then kissed me again, sealing the deal.
He threw a leg over the bike, patted the seat in front of him.
“Come on, Elisa Sullivan. We’ve got a long way to go.”
Read on for an excerpt from the first Chicagoland Vampires Novel,
SOME GIRLS BITE
Available now
ONE
The Change
EARLY APRIL
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
At first, I wondered if it was karmic punishment. I’d sneered at the fancy vampires, and as some kind of cosmic retribution, I’d been made one. Vampire. Predator. Initiate into one of the oldest of the twelve vampire Houses in the United States.
And I wasn’t just one of them.
I was one of the best.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me begin by telling you how I became a vampire, a story that starts weeks before my twenty-eighth birthday, the night I completed the transition. The night I awoke in the back of a limousine, three days after I’d been attacked walking across the University of Chicago campus.
I didn’t remember all the details of the attack. But I remembered enough to be thrilled to be alive. To be shocked to be alive.
In the back of the limousine, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to unpack the memory of the attack. I’d heard footsteps, the sound muffled by dewy grass, before he grabbed me. I’d screamed and kicked, tried to fight my way out, but he pushed me down. He was preternaturally strong—supernaturally strong—and he bit my neck with a predatory ferocity that left little doubt about who he was. What he was.
Vampire.
But while he tore into skin and muscle, he didn’t drink; he didn’t have time. Without warning, he’d stopped and jumped away, running between buildings at the edge of the main quad.
My attacker temporarily vanquished, I’d raised a hand to the crux of my neck and shoulder, felt the sticky warmth. My vision was dimming, but I could see the wine-colored stain across my fingers clearly enough.
Then there was movement around me. Two men.
The men my attacker had been afraid of.
The first of them had sounded anxious. “He was fast. You’ll need to hurry, Liege.”
The second had been unerringly confident. “I’ll get it done.”
He pulled me up to my knees, and knelt behind me, a supportive arm around my waist. He wore cologne—soapy and clean.
I tried to move, to give some struggle, but I was fading.
“Be still.”
“She’s lovely.”
“Yes,” he agreed. He suckled the wound at my neck. I twitched again, and he stroked my hair. “Be still.”
* * *
* * *
I recalled very little of the next three days, of the genetic restructuring that transformed me into a vampire. Even now, I only carry a handful of memories. Deep-seated, dull pain—shocks of it that bowed my body. Numbing cold. Darkness. A pair of intensely green eyes.
In the limo, I felt for the scars that should have marred my neck and shoulders. The vampire that attacked me hadn’t taken a clean bite—he’d torn at the skin at my neck like a starved animal. But the skin was smooth. No scars. No bumps. No bandages. I pulled my hand away and stared at the clean pale skin—and the short nails, perfectly painted cherry red.
The blood was gone—and I’d been manicured.
Staving off a wash of dizziness, I sat up. I was wearing different clothes. I’d been in jeans and a T-shirt. Now I wore a black cocktail dress, a sheath that fell to just below my knees, and three-inch-high black heels.
That made me a twenty-seven-year-old attack victim, clean and absurdly scar-free, wearing a cocktail dress that wasn’t mine. I knew, then and there, that they’d made me one of them.
The Chicagoland Vampires.
It had started eight months ago with a letter, a kind of vampire manifesto first published in the Sun-Times and Trib, then picked up by papers across the country. It was a coming-out, an announcement to the world of their existence. Some humans believed it a hoax, at least until the press conference that followed, in which three of them displayed their fangs. Human panic led to four days of riots in the Windy City and a run on water and canned goods sparked by public fear of a vampire apocalypse. The feds finally stepped in, ordering Congressional investigations, the hearings obsessively filmed and televised in order to pluck out every detail of the vampires’ existence. And even though they’d been the ones to step forward, the vamps were tight-lipped about those details—the fang bearing, blood drinking, and night walking the only facts the public could be sure about.