Page 26 of Bitten Vampire
“Come on, that was funny.”
Not remotely. I thought you were dying! I have put the water on timeout for lying.
“It wasn’t a lie,” I protest, grinning. “It was theatre.”
Then take a bow.
“Please? It tastes horrific.” I deploy my best puppy-dog eyes, stolen from Baylor, who is probably digging holes in the garden.
Water grudgingly flows. I rinse and spit.
“Thank you. Right, Experiment Four: chin-ups. I’ve always wanted to do proper ones. Like a soldier. Can you…?”
I can put a bar in the doorway.
“That would be perfect, thank you.” A bar appears high enough that I have to stretch. I haul myself up. Easily. My chest clears the bar without effort.
“Yes! This is brilliant.” After a hundred reps, I drop to the floor. Not hot. Not sweaty. I could get used to that.
What next?House asks, surprisingly patient.
“Experiment Five: skin. I want to cut my finger to see how strong my epidermis is.”
You want to deliberately cut yourself?
“Yes.”
A balanced throwing knife shimmers into existence. “Nice. Ooh, can I throw it after this?”
Experiment Six? Certainly. I’ll prep a target.
“That’s awesome, thank you.” First, I press the blade to my fingertip. It’s like trying to nick Kevlar or what I imagine Kevlar feels like. The edge barely dimples the skin.
If someone really tried, they could cut you,House notes.
I lean harder. A bead of blood wells—ruby bright—and seals again in two seconds.
“Handy,” I murmur. “Now, the throwing knives.”
The garage is set up.
I trot to the pedestrian door. The garage has become a miniature range, racks of knives gleaming under soft lights.
“This is great. Thank you. Don’t judge me. I was rubbish at throwing as a kid.” I flick my wrist. The knife spins, misses, and clatters. “Hm.” Again. And again. Holding by the blade (probably stupid, but Kevlar fingers) gets me a stick… and a slow fall.
“Guess I need more force.”
More force just bounces.
Throwing knives in real life is stupid,House says dryly.The best way to lose a weapon. If it does not stick, someone throws it back.
“Point taken.” I tidy the knives.
Ishouldtry eating something else, but the peach and garlic have ruined me. Vampires boast they do not eat, claiming derivative superiority—so efficient, so tidy, unlike shifters and their meat mountain. Vampires can twist anything into a virtue.
Somewhere outside, Baylor yodels triumph at a freshly excavated hole. I smile despite myself.
“All right, Experiments Seven through Ten can wait.”
