Quotes de Black Dawn – TMV
A Rachel Caine tem postado uma quote por dia do seu próximo lançamento, Black Dawn, da série The Morganville Vampires. Como eu estou atrasada e nem li o penúltimo livro, eu não vou nem ler! Mas como nem todo mundo tem uma vida que te afasta dos vampiros, estou aqui postando! Enjoy!
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This one comes to you courtesy of a scene between Myrnin, Michael, Shane, Eve and Claire …
Myrnin led them down a maze of corridors into a storeroom, small and dark, that stank of chemicals. Claire remembered it. It seemed a whole lot smaller with the five of them packed inside, but Myrnin squirmed past her, shut the door, and flipped on the overhead bulb, which swung in true horror- movie fashion back and forth above their heads. Just barely above Shane’s, in fact; he hunched to avoid it.
“Great,” Shane said. “Look, I’d rather not be on janitorial duty. I have allergies to cleaners.”
“And to cleaning,” Michael said.
“Look who’s talking. Didn’t they do one of those Animal Planet documentaries about the roaches in your room?”
Today’s quote comes to you from Team Shane. You’re welcome.
The pickup idled slow and deep, and the bed of the thing was approximately the size of a blue whale. The interior of the cab could hold a soccer team. It even had a handy— though empty— gun rack in the back window.
The bumper sticker read: you can have my guns when you pry them from my cold, dead hands. Some joker—possibly the owner of the truck—had added “UN” before “dead” with a black marker. Claire cast a glance at Naomi, who was focused on the same words. There was an odd, vaguely amused smile on her lips that was not just a little creepy.
Shane leaned out the window of the truck and said, “God, I love rednecks. Who wants to drive this bad boy?”
“Not me,” Claire immediately said, at the same time that Naomi said, “I do not know how.”
Shane jumped down from the cab, paused, and stared at the two of them with a blank expression. “Don’t want to?” he asked Claire, and then swung his attention to Naomi, looking even more stunned. “Can’t? Seriously, there’s something wrong with the two of you.”
Michael came walking in, looking rumpled, tired, and about as depressed as she’d ever seen him. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he walked over to the center table and tested the carafes.
“That’s AB,” Myrnin said helpfully. “It’s still warm. Oh, and there’s a hint of sweetness in it. High triglycerides. I think the donor needed a bit of medication.”
“Are you high?” Michael asked him, in a totally colorless voice.
Myrnin blinked, and looked at Claire for help. “He means, are you on drugs.”
“More than usual.”
“Oh. No, no, just the usual doses, and where is Shreve?”
“Eve,” they all said, in unison. Wearily.
I gave my new vamp friend a thumbs-up, passed him my gun, and unclipped the jars. My hands were cold and wet, and I had to concentrate to make sure I didn’t slip and drop them. And then it occurred to me that my brilliant plan was to run right into the middle of the draug.
It was suddenly not so brilliant.
The vampire bumped my shoulder and gave me an encouraging nod. He had a shotgun in each hand, like something out of a badass Old West movie; all he really needed was a big hat and bandoliers over his chest to complete the picture. And maybe a poncho. Ponchos are cool.
I got the message. He’d be right behind me, firing on the draug coming from the sides. Plus, they wouldn’t be nearly as interested in me if there was hot, tasty vampire within reach.
I gave him a firm, calm nod (and didn’t feel that way at all). Then I ran forward.
Claire shook off Michael’s hand. He let her. “Then let’s go, before Myrnin gets himself killed.”
Shane probably didn’t mean it when he said, “Wait, that was an option? Because I could still stay.”
“I will be in the center of the first floor, main control room at the far east end of the building. I will be there to disable the startup panels and program the system to reverse the flow of the pipes. That process is going to take the longest,” Myrnin said.
Shane raised his hand. “Uh, question?”
“You didn’t design this plant, did you? It’s not made out of— I don’t know, cow entrails and flywheels or anything?”
Myrnin gave him a cool, blank look and said, “In fact this was built by an engineering firm from Houston, I believe. In the 1950s. There is a sad lack of entrails, cow or otherwise. Are you finished?”
“Suppose so.” Shane shrugged. “Hey, is it okay if I wear the flamethrower this time?”
“Can anybody stop you?” Myrnin asked. “By all means.”
Monica made a show of smoothing down her entirely-too-high-priced dress, which ended just below illegal. “My brother’s all I have left, and he came running back here out of some misguided sense of loyalty to the little people. I couldn’t let him face danger without me, could I?” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Besides, I ran out of money. And my credit cards were frozen.”
“So you came back here?” Claire stared at her for a second, stunned by the magnitude of the void that was Monica.
Monica said, “Bite me, preschool. I don’t care what alligators you’re swimming with, anyway. I hope they eat all the best parts.”
Eve’s latest gift to me, which I wore on a chain around my neck, was a blood vial. Some Goths were into it, keeping each others’ blood as either mementos or trophies, but she’d gotten it mainly because it was, as she put it, my “break glass in case of emergency” supply. It was Eve’s blood. I’d never really planned on drinking it, because it was just a taste, really, but this was a true emergency, after all.
I uncorked it and drained it in one small gulp. The taste of her essence exploded on my tongue in a rush, and I felt my pupils contract and my fangs come down in response. It’s hard to describe what it feels like, except that it’s a whole lot like wanting something you know isn’t good for you. Craving, lust, hunger, fear, all balled up inside a sense of wonder, because you can actually feel the person the blood came from, at least a little. The fresher the blood, the sharper that sensation.
Myrnin bent over the microscope and clucked his tongue. “I am honestly mystified by how you humans get anything done with the primitive equipment at hand. This is useless.” He took the slide off and, before Claire could stop him, removed the glass top and licked the sample.
She fought the urge to gag. He didn’t seem at all bothered. He stood quite still, closing his eyes, and then said, “Hmmm. A bit salty, bitter aftertaste . . . iron . . . hydroxide.” He smiled then, and looked at her as if he was quite proud of himself. “Definitely iron hydroxide. That is a binding agent, is it not?”
“You are insane,” she said. “You can’t go around . . . licking things that come out of a water treatment plant. That’s just . . . unsanitary!”
“Life is unsanitary,” he said. “Death more so, as it turns out.”
“Hey,” he said, and tipped her chin up. “I didn’t get to say hello properly last night. Sorry. Mind if I—”
She lunged upward and captured his lips in midsentence, and the kiss was fierce and sweet and hot. His mouth felt soft and hard at the same time, and he sank into a chair and pulled her onto his lap, which was a relief from standing on tiptoe to reach him. It was a long, needy, almost desperate kiss, and when she finally broke it, it was to gasp for air.
He combed through her hair with his fingers, gentle with the snags, and searched her face with a dark, intense stare. She didn’t know what he was looking for.
The urge to scream was coming back, fast. Claire yanked against the ropes convulsively. She just couldn’t help it. “You’re using me as bait! It’s not an honor!”
“Well, not if you equate yourself to a worm. That’s a terrible self-image, Claire.”
For a moment, the queen was there, gazing at me, her vassal. “You will save them, Oliver. You must. No matter the cost. Do you understand?”
I smiled thinly. “It has always been my goal. We have simply had differences of opinion about what it meant to save them.”
“Humans, too. Don’t betray my dreams. My promises.” Her eyes slowly closed. “I am very tired now. So tired. It has been a long fight, has it not?”
“Ages,” I said. “Against Bishop. Against me. Against a thou¬sand foes, all laid at your feet.”
That got me a dry rustle of a laugh. “I never laid you at my feet, Oliver. Never you.”
She was wrong in that.