Fall of Night The Morganville Vampires - By Rachel Caine Page 0,25

know?’

‘I know lonely. Lonely is a good friend of mine. No harm, Claire. I’m not going to go curl up in a fetal ball and cry for more than, you know, six hours, max.’ He flashed her a ridiculously funny smile, and she laughed in return. ‘See you around, then.’

‘See you.’

He walked off, hands in his pockets, all loose angles and baggy jeans. The only thing he and Shane had in common, she thought, was the confidence. Shane could sling a casual nerd reference, but Nick probably couldn’t string together more than a few sentences without one; Shane knew his way around a fight, and Claire was fairly certain that she could take Nick with one hand tied behind her back. Maybe two.

And yet, there was that traitorous little tingle of interest. Probably just because he represented everything that wasn’t Morganville – a normal world, where the biggest thing most people had to worry about was the latest episode of their favourite show, or whether or not a girl would give up her phone number for a winning smile.

She liked that world. She just wasn’t sure that she was part of it … or ever would be. That was, Claire realised, what Nick represented to her: a world where a guy could just be amusing and interesting and funny, and not fight for his life every day against overwhelming odds. A life with a home, and kids, and just the usual, mundane worries.

No vampires and monsters. No wonder she felt some tingle of attraction.

Claire unlocked the front door, smiling quietly to herself, feeling oddly relaxed now, off her guard, and when she heard the scrape of footsteps behind her she turned, still smiling, and said, ‘Nick, I thought—’

It wasn’t Nick.

She didn’t know this guy. He was tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in a heavy kind of way that was probably going to turn unpleasant on him in a few years. He was Monica Morrell’s type, she thought, and all that went through her head in the same second as her threat assessment. No gun, no knife, but he carried himself as if he was ready to move at her, and alerts flashed red somewhere deep inside her.

She braced, ready to move.

‘Hi,’ he said, and stopped a few steps below her, but blocking the way down. ‘So, you’re Liz’s new roommate, right? She said she had an old friend moving in with her. I’m Derrick.’

‘Derrick,’ she repeated. Liz hadn’t mentioned him, but then, that didn’t necessarily spell trouble. Nevertheless, Claire edged one foot into the doorway, and calculated ahead what her body needed to do next in a hurry. Shift weight, swing right, complete the turn, slam the door, lock it. It was a one, maybe one-and-a-half second movement. Derrick didn’t look that fast, but she’d been fooled before. ‘If you’re looking for Liz, I think she’s already asleep.’

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I’m not coming in. Just wanted to say hi.’

‘Hi,’ Claire said, without any warmth; she still felt weird about this. She didn’t like being doorstepped, especially by someone with that odd look in his eyes. ‘Look, it’s late. Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I—’

He held up his hands, but somehow, she didn’t take it as an apology, or a sign of surrender. ‘No problem. Just wanted to find out what your name was.’

‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

She kept her eyes on him as she stepped inside, closed the door, and shot the bolts. For the first time, she was grateful for all the locks. Derrick didn’t move, at least until the door closed, but she felt a weird tension in him, as if every muscle was shaking with the desire to rush her.

Claire slid aside the small metal flap over the peephole and looked out.

Derrick’s face loomed huge, right there, staring as if he’d known she’d do it. She let out an involuntary gasp, let the flap slip down, and backed away until she bumped into the stairs. Honestly, she’d faced down vampires on her doorstep, and they generally weren’t that creepy.

She sat down on the steps, and in the dark next to her, in the shadowy space between the stairs and the hall table, she heard a breathy whisper. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? Derrick.’

Somehow, Claire wasn’t surprised it was Liz, huddled there with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was wearing fuzzy pyjamas that were a pale grey in the dimness, and she looked like a terrified little girl.

Claire got up, sat down in the narrow,

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