I Bite She Sucks, Bloom, Penelope [recommended reading TXT] 📗

others seemed shocked. Every time he didn’t bite my head off for talking back to him, I caught them all staring openly, like I was sticking my head inside a lion’s mouth and laughing.

The doctor handed the prescription he'd written to Riggs with shaking hands.

"Call it in to her pharmacy," Riggs said, handing the doctor a phone. "I want to hear it confirmed that they'll give us the pills."

I thought the doctor was about to cry with relief when Fang finally hooded him and was instructed to take him back to where he'd found him.

"Thank you!" I called out as Fang led the doctor back out of the room.

"You don't have to be such an asshole to people," I said. "You know that, right?"

"I'm not being an asshole. I'm making my expectations and the consequences of failing to meet them clear."

"And you're doing it with all the tact of a barbarian."

I thought he was going to blow me off, but Riggs looked thoughtful, then he came closer and sat down. "Did you know your sister was turning?"

I swallowed. "Well... She kind of told me as much the night you showed up. I believed her, but I don't think I really accepted it until I saw her teeth."

"Why would she do that?"

"She wanted to save me. From my condition. She thought she could turn herself, then turn me and cure me."

He sat back, looking at Maisey with a little less of the hatred that seemed to color his expression when he noticed her lately. "What an idiotic plan," he finally said.

"You don't think it would work?"

"It would fix your condition, yes," I said. "But you'd be a vampire. Would you cut off your arm to stop your finger from hurting?"

"It's not the same thing," I said.

"You don't know shit about it. Do you? You have no idea what it means to be one of them."

"Enlighten me, then. Because right now, I see my options as continuing to be a useless burden to everybody who cares about me, or I let Maisey do what she was planning and maybe I can have some semblance of a life. Assuming I survive this mess," I added.

"I'm protecting you, so you will survive.”

“Yeah? Are you going to growl, intimidate, and punch the next virus that tries to wipe me out?”

“I’ll keep you alive. It’s my job. And you will not let Maisey do what she was planning."

"That's not your choice to make," I said.

Anger flashed across Riggs' face. "I'm in charge of protecting you right now. That means it is my call. Vamps have a hierarchy. You get turned by a mutt and you'll be less than a mutt. You'll be trash to them. Like a rat they'd sooner step on than have to tolerate scurrying around under their feet."

"A mutt?" I asked. "Did you just call my sister-"

"It's a ranking system, and it's not important right now. We have less than a week before we're forced to leave here. But the sooner we can go, the better. If anyone figures out we're hiding a vamp in here, all hell will break loose."

"Why can we only stay here a week?"

"There are rules." Riggs sounded impatient, but I didn't understand his rush.

I could barely sit up without my head spinning, and I doubted I could do a whole lot of walking. Unless he planned to carry me and Maisey, I didn't think we were moving for the time being.

"Like what?" I asked, faking a sweet smile.

He chuckled. "Your sister is turning into one of them. Anything I tell you might as well be getting handed straight to their kind. That means you don't get to know more than you have to. Deal with it."

"Maybe she'll join in with those rebel people you talked about. Then you wouldn't need to worry, right?"

"I told you. They're going to turn on us as soon as they get what they want. The werewolves helping them are fucking idiots. Including Felix."

"So is there something like 'the coven' for werewolves? Some big leadership structure?"

"There are packs. Each has an alpha who leads them. Some packs have smaller sub clans, like this bar. Full-blooded werewolves are called hunters, and the half-bloods are howlers, which-" he laughed softly, wagging his finger at me in irritation. "And there's no reason for me to be telling you all of this. Stop asking so many questions."

"Why do you try so hard to convince people you're an asshole, Riggs? Would it be so bad if you were nice every once in a while?"

"Yes," he said, voice completely flat. "Being nice gets people killed."

"That's not always true."

"And you know this from your vast life experience?" he snapped. "Or did you read it in one of those thousand ridiculous books that were on your bed in that apartment?"

His words stung, but I did my best not to let it show. "That's what you do, isn't it?" I asked. My voice shook a little, but I shoved down the hurt feelings and steadied my nerve. "Somebody cuts through your bullshit and you try to push them away by being a dick?"

"I'm trying to do my job," he said. "This isn't social hour. It's that simple. And I don't need to be lectured by a little girl who only knows what she has read between paperback covers or seen on TV."

"I'm twenty-three," I said, feeling silly as soon as I said it. Riggs might've been in his early or mid-thirties, but it might as well have been eons older than me. He had obviously lived through more than I could've ever imagined. I could see it in the depth of his eyes.

"And you don't know what you're talking about. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will get."

He got up and went to the door. "I'm going down to get you more food from the bar. Any requests?" he hesitated, then turned to face me, looking a little less like an arrogant, grumpy prick. "I'd suggest the tortilla soup. They make