Free Endless Night by R. M. Gilmore

shit list. “I’m trying to have fun and get a better understanding of this culture.”
    “Culture? Just three months ago , you were a jaded bitch, cursing the name of many of those fucking idiots. And now, it’s culture? And what happened to the research? Hardcore journalist on the hunt for a killer story? Nope. You’re out for understanding.” His deep voice lowered, “Why don’t you just fuck him already?”
    A shrill scoff flew from my throat before I could control it. The ridiculous comment, no matter how true I’d like it to be, actually hurt my feelings. As if I was some kind of slut. “What’s to say I haven’t?” I let those words sting as best I could. “Haven’t you learned by now not to challenge me? You’ll always lose in that department. Because, in the end, you have zero control of what I do.”
    He didn’t say anything for a long time. I knew I’d hurt him. And really, I kind of felt bad. But he really should know better by now. I didn’t do well with challenges and ultimatums. I liked to have it my way and rarely gave in to the will of others. Unless of course, the other was walking a few feet ahead of me in a sexy midnight-black suit, tailored just to his amazing body…
    “I know,” he said finally. His voice cracked as if from a cry and I instantly felt terrible.
    No matter how much Mike annoyed the shit out of me, I really did love him. I couldn’t stand him. I couldn’t date him. And I sure as hell couldn’t live with him, but it didn’t mean I wanted him to hurt. Especially not on my account.
    “I’m fine. I know who I’m dealing with. I know how dangerous people can be.”
    “These people.”
    “No. People. All people,” I rebutted.
    “If you need anything, call me.”
    “You mean if I know anything, call you.” I made it a statement because I already knew it to be true. It didn’t matter how much Detective Michael Petersen said he loved me, he was always after the bottom line. And in this case, the bottom line was a shit load of missing heads.
    “Sure.” He hung up without another word.
    Hanging up angrily on a cell phone, with only a little button on a screen, is nowhere near as effective as the old-fashioned receiver being slammed into the base. There was always a little aftershock from that. Like you got to hear the ringer clang from the force of it. On both ends, much more satisfying. Damn technology.
    I was damned irritated and fairly certain my mother and Michael Petersen were gabbing on the phone about how much trouble I was getting myself in to. Apparently, it never dawned on either of them that I am twenty-seven years old and am perfectly capable of handling myself. Mike always got my mom in an uproar. It had only gotten worse since the whole ‘killed two vampire boys thing’. Granted, that was pretty scary, but he didn’t have to tell my mom everything. I’d saved his fucking life for God’s sake! Okay, I shot Cyrus in the process, but I did the best I could under the circumstances. Shit, I should’ve gotten a medal.
    Alright, I guessed I should just be happy not to be locked away up in Chowchilla with the other murderesses of California. But all that should go to show I could take care of myself. Mostly.
    Cyrus had turned to see if I was keeping up and I gave him a fairly innocent grin. He waited for me to catch up and the two of us walked together, separated by a good fifty feet from the rest of the crowd.
    “Should we catch up?” I asked. A bit worried we might get lost without the others to lead the way. “Wouldn’t wanna get lost out here.” As if we were wandering around in the open wilderness or something.
    “I know the way.” He looked straight ahead as if seeing things in his head that I was deliberately unaware of. “Been the same for a long time. Not far now.”
    I was glad to hear that. My feet were killing me and I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass and ask to stop so I could change my shoes again.
    With the others so far