Boys That Bite by Mari Mancusi

for the card, hardly able to wait to read what I'm sure will be cleverly written poetry, professing his undying love for— Damn it, the flowers are from Magnus. I stare at the card, at first so lost in my fantasy world that I think maybe the florist just delivered the wrong bouquet. But no, the card says my name. It's just signed by a vampire instead of my prom date. So disappointing. I glance over at the flowers. He probably freaking stole them from the graveyard or something. Jerk. Why would he send me flowers anyway? I glance at the card again.
    Dear Sunny, I'm so sorry for all you've had to go through due to my dreadful mistake. I'm sure last night was especially traumatic for you. Please accept this tiny token of my apology and meet me at Club Fang tonight, to discuss your situation. Yours truly, Magnus
    I release an exasperated sigh. Now I have to go back to Club Fang? I'm already way behind on my homework, having gone out the past two nights. You know, turning into a vampire is bad enough without me flunking out of school as well. But what choice do I have? If I want to reverse this process, I've got to do what he says. "Sunny, dearest, would you like to come and sit on Miss Rose's lap?" the secretary invites, while fluttering her white eyelashes. "I've been dying to talk to you." Ugh. That settles it. Club Fang, here I come!
    13
    The Donor Chicks
    I arrive at Club Fang at around eight p.m. Unlike last Sunday, tonight there's no DJ in a bondage cage and no one's doing the foot-stuck-in-the-mud dance to suicide-inducing music. No, tonight, the club's been transformed into a hip-looking coffeehouse and wine bar, with its inhabitants lounging at various cafe tables, looking trendily bored as they suck down frothy cappuccinos and glasses of wine. I check a few of them out, trying to decide which are the vampires and which are the humans who love them. Since everyone's pale faced, red lipped, and dressed uniformly in black, it's surprisingly hard to tell the creatures of the night from those still among the living. I see Magnus at the back of the room, sitting at a small table, accompanied by two hot girls. He catches my eye and motions me over. I realize I'm strangely excited to see him, which is very annoying, since that's not the kind of power I want him to have over me. It's probably just the anticipation of me turning back into a human that's got my heart beating faster and my breath catching in my throat, I remind myself. It's not like Magnus turns me on in any way, shape, or form, that's for sure. Especially, I note, as I get closer, not in that outfit. I mean, who would get turned on by a fitted black T-shirt that perfectly molds itself to his sculpted six-pack abs or a pair of tight black leather pants that showcases— Okay. Fine. I admit it, I'm attracted. Very attracted. In fact, I'm willing to bet I'm more attracted to this vampire hottie than I am to Brad Pitt, Jude Law, and Orlando Bloom put together. So sue me. Bottom line, attraction does not equal wanting to remain someone's blood mate for all of eternity. Period. End o' story. As I reach the table, the two girls, pierced and tattooed out to the max, look up and stare at me with unfriendly, black-rimmed eyes. Oh, let me guess, more jealous Magnus disciples, hating me 'cause I'm the guy's blood mate. As if I signed up for the stupid gig. "Hi," I say, looking straight at Magnus and ignoring his groupies. The guy should consider becoming a rock star like the vampire Lestat did in that Anne Rice book Queen of the Damned. He'd probably do very well in the screaming teenage fans department. "Hey," Magnus greets back, glancing at the girls with a smug smile, looking oh-so-proud of himself. I frown. Does he expect me to be jealous of his fan club or something? Puh-leeze. "Urn ..." I shuffle from foot to foot. Should I sit down? There's no extra chair. "Sit," Magnus suddenly instructs, almost as if he's read my mind. OMG, he can't do that, can he? That would