Shane blinked. “No.”
“Wow. Bet she did. Bet everybody who owes her a favor has gone out and trashed your page.” Alyssa executed a perfect twirl and fell back in step, walking forward. “Next thing she’ll try to get her big brother to arrest you or something.”
Richard Morrell was newly hired on at the Morganville Police Department. Shane didn’t know him well, but any Morrell was bound to be worse than he expected. “Great,” he said. “Just what I need, a record.”
“Tough guy,” Alyssa said, and sent him a brilliant, sly grin. “Race you.”
“I’m a tough guy. I don’t run.”
“Loser!” She stuck her tongue out at him and set off, long legs flying, her long brown hair whipping like a flag behind her. It was hot still in Morganville—fall wasn’t making itself felt yet—and heat shimmering off the pavement made it look like she was running through water.
“Crap,” he sighed, and kicked it up to a jog, just to keep her in sight.
Today was a fairly typical day—nobody on the streets, doors and windows closed even during the day. And nobody lurking, at least visibly, to snatch Alyssa off the street. Shane didn’t worry so much about pervs in Morganville—although he was pretty sure they existed—as about vampires.
Because it was just a fact of life. Morganville had vampires. And he and Alyssa were both wearing bracelets—leather, with an embossed symbol—that identified them as being minors under the Protection of a vampire named Sullivan. Not that Sullivan was worth much. For a vamp, he did a crappy job of intimidating people, or taking care of them, or even just showing up when he was supposed to. Maybe he was a drunk, like Shane’s dad was. Who knew?
All Shane knew was that he despised the vampires, and when he turned eighteen, he was not going to sign up with one of the undead bloodsuckers. He was going to live free, live fast, and die young.
Speaking of which . . . “Lyss! Slow down!” Because she was pulling so far ahead now he could hardly see her at all. She waved, jogged backward, and then sprinted around the corner.
He was maybe fifteen feet behind her when something rushed at him from the mouth of a dark alley, and dragged him into the shadows. Shane let out a surprised yelp and immediately tried to get himself on his feet, but whatever was pulling him, it was strong, and fast, and he was off-balance.
A kick hit him in the ribs, and he rolled into a ball. Lyss, he thought, in despair. Keep running. If she looked back and didn’t see him, she might come back. She might get hurt.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Someone yanked his head back, and he felt sharp nails digging into his scalp. The perfume wave hit him a few seconds later, sickly sweet and familiar, and then Monica Morrell smiled nastily down into his face and said, “I forget—where were we? Oh, this is Brandon. He’s my Protector.” She put her free hand on the vampire standing next to her, the one holding Shane’s left arm in a viselike grip. Brandon had that dark, broody thing going, all black leather and pale attitude, and he looked like he really couldn’t give a crap about Shane or Monica, and ripping Shane’s arm out of its socket was just another day at the office. “He wants you to apologize.”
Shane gritted his teeth against a wave of pain from his shoulder, which was complaining it wasn’t supposed to bend that way. “I’m sorry you’re a vicious skank,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t punch you when I had the chance. How’s that?”
Monica’s fingernails dug deep enough in his scalp to cut, and she shook his head side to side, miming a no like he was her puppet. “Not what I was looking for, you jerk. Apologize. Now. And ask me out.”
“Ask you out? Are you out of your freaking mind? Ow!” Because that had made her nails really dig in. “Do you really think we’re going to hit it off, you crazy—”
“I didn’t say I’d say yes,” she said. “Fine. If you won’t apologize, then you’re just going to have to be a tragic cautionary tale for all the rude people. Brandon?”
She said it with a kind of bratty assurance, and she even snapped her fingers, as if she had the vampire right where she wanted him. Shane could have told her—without even knowing Brandon at all, except to avoid him—that she’d just made a serious mistake.
“What?” Brandon asked softly, and Shane felt the pain in his arm start to retreat. Brandon had let go of him. “Are you calling a dog, you spoiled little girl? Because dogs bite.”
Monica, who’d been lost in her own sleazy sense of victory, suddenly snapped back to reality, let go of Shane’s hair, and stepped back, looking very, very alarmed. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, Brandon. I just wanted—”
“I said I’d do you this favor,” Brandon said, with emphasis on the word favor. “I’m finished now. You should put some thought into how you’re going to pay me back.”