sensed the magic we’d spilled into the air. Two strong women in strategic combat.
“Business,” I said.
For a moment, I considered repeating the fear she’d managed to dig free, the thorn she’d so neatly uncovered, that I’d been ignoring since I’d returned to Chicago.
Connor was mortal. I was not.
But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t capable of considering that weakness right now. So that particular trauma would have to wait.
“All done here,” I said. “Let’s go to your town house. I thought I could spend the night—just the two of us. Assuming that espresso machine has been installed.”
His eyes flashed gold, and then his body was against mine, his mouth on mine, inciting and teasing as he slid his hands into my hair. He was strong, beautiful, and already powerfully aroused. Darkness a cloak around us, he deepened the kiss, throat grumbling with pleasure.
“As delicious as this is,” I murmured, my own breath ragged, “getting arrested for public indecency isn’t how I’d like to spend the evening.”
His teeth found my earlobe, tugged. “The Pack won’t report me. And even if they did, it would be worth every damned second.”
I had absolutely no doubt, and felt like I was riding a wave of magic, of infatuation.
No, that wasn’t fair. This wasn’t either of those things. It was simpler and more complex.
It was love.
Connor kept staring at me with that look on his face. The look of victory—and anticipation.
“What?” I asked, feeling defensive.
“Is there anything else you’d like to say?”
I narrowed my eyes; Connor just beamed. “Do you want to say it at the same time?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t agree to that deal because I’d end up putting myself out there and you’d say you like graphic novels or pickles or carburetors or something.”
“That’s quite a list,” he said, lips twitching. “And I think an attack on my character.”
“Well deserved,” I said dryly, but kept looking at him, kept smiling at him. Kept marveling that we’d gotten here. And could see the same wonderment in his eyes.
He brushed a lock of hair from my face, tucked it behind my ear. And looked at me as if I was a miracle.
“I love you,” I said, and felt tears shimmer again, but pushed them relentlessly back.
“I love you, too. And pickles, apparently.”
I rolled my eyes. “Predictable.”
“No, I’m not. And you certainly aren’t. And I love you in spite of it.” He leaned down, pressed his forehead to mine. “Who would have thought, brat?”
“Not me, puppy. Not me.”
He traced a finger along my shoulder. “Let’s go home. I have plans for you.”
I was entirely on board.
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.