Sun Poisoned (The Sunshine Series) Read online

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  “So you like it?”

  “I love it.” And I don’t so much as hug him as tackle him, kissing him on the cheek as I do.

  He laughs. “I’m glad.”

  “How did you hide something like this from me for so long?” I ask once we’ve become more or less vertical again, his arm still lingering at my back.

  “I kept it mainly at Ava’s house, where I would work on it from time to time.”

  I don’t want to go back to that conversation, so I tread lightly. “She paints?”

  He nods. “Mainly watercolors,” Myles says. “She’s good with paper too.”

  I don’t have anything to say. I’m not jealous, exactly, but it’s kind of weird that he would paint with her and not, I don’t know, me?

  That feeling melts away when Myles kisses my forehead. For a brief moment, I’m caught trying to convince myself that this is my life.

  But when Myles’ lips brush mine for a real kiss, I give him one.

  My pulse begins to drum out a steady, heavy beat into my temples, my chest rises and falls a little bit faster than normal as my breathing quickens, my hands struggle to stay at my sides, then at his sides, then they’re in his hair, and his hands are in mine as well. The question is, which part of me will win this time?

  Myles backs away first, taking the choice away from me completely.

  “What's wrong?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.

  Myles doesn't seem to be breathing evenly either as he buries the bridge of his nose into my shoulder. “Nothing,” he whispers.

  I try to comfort him the best I can, placing a hand on his back. “You can tell me,” I say after a long few minutes.

  Then another silence follows. The only thing that fills the air is our semi-heavy breathing as it slowly steadies and becomes normal.

  “My fangs,” he says so quietly that I almost don’t catch it. He gulps once before continuing. “They came out.”

  “Oh.” My voice shakes only for a second.

  “I didn’t want to scare you,” he explains.

  Several more seconds pass between us.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He nods, his face not leaving my shoulder. “I didn't want you to see.”

  “Why not?” I want him to look at me, but he doesn’t move.

  “I thought it would freak you out.” He pauses, becoming slightly braver by resting the back of his head on my chest. I still can’t see him, but at least his face isn’t covered. “Does it?”

  “No,” I answer quickly, almost not having to think about it. “They’re a part of you, so they shouldn’t scare me. Right?”

  He finally faces me, but he says nothing.

  “Can I see?” I ask.

  He blinks a few times and for a few moments, doesn’t respond, as if he’s weighing his options and their outcomes. Then he slowly nods.

  We both get up to sit on the couch. I can tell he’s a little nervous by the way his arms have tensed up, and I’m a little nervous too because no one’s ever shown me something like this. Obviously.

  The left side of his lips pulls up in a smirk for a moment before disappearing. I wait patiently for him. And slowly, like he’ll regret it any minute, he smiles with his teeth showing this time.

  I didn’t know what I was expecting, but whatever it was, what I’m seeing doesn’t match up. His teeth look the way they always have: white, straight—like anyone else’s teeth—but his canines have elongated the tiniest bit. They look sharper, sure, but not as menacing as any of the vampires in the movies, not as gross as any from books.

  “That’s it?” I blurt out.

  Myles’ mouth instantly snaps shut.

  “Sorry,” I back track. “I. . .didn’t mean to offend you, or whatever.”

  “You didn’t,” he says, almost laughing. “It’s just not what I was expecting.”

  I shrug.

  “It’s not weird?”

  “Well, yeah,” I say. “But that’s okay.”

  He smiles again, unafraid of his teeth showing.

  I stare at my hands in my lap. “So. . .”

  “So. . .you have questions?”

  I smile in response, nudging him. He nudges back. “How do you make them go back?” I ask.

  “Watch.”

  I turn my attention back to his face and he opens his mouth again. I blink, and they’re gone. His usual canines are in their place.

  “I just have to want them to go away, and they normally go back.” He smiles a little, almost embarrassed.

  “Where do they go?”

  He shrugs, points to above his top lip. “I think somewhere up here.”

  “And what happens to your other teeth when they’re out?”

  “They stay where they are,” he says. “The fangs just come out on top of them.”

  I stifle a cringe. “Does it hurt?”

  “No.” His body finally seems to relax and his arm reaches behind my back so we can be closer. “It used to.”

  I nod.

  “Is that all you want to know?” Myles asks. “Just the mechanics of it?”

  I sigh, because that's honestly not all. I was just trying to avoid the inevitable uneasiness that's sure to follow the answers he gives me. “Did they come out because you want to bite me?”

  His chin is resting on my shoulder, so it’s impossible not to hear him swallow hard. I guess he wasn't expecting that. “A part of me, yes.”

  I nod.

  “But I wasn't going to,” he adds on quickly. “It's not some uncontrollable urge. It's just that when we're. . .closer, physically, I mean, they come out.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “The monster in me wants something from you.” Then he shakes his head like that's not a good enough answer. “I don't know if I'm explaining it right.”

  “No. I think I get it.” And I do. I understand how a monster can live inside of a person, dormant until something happens in that person’s life that makes it come out. I’ve always had to live with my monsters; it never occurred to me that Myles had his own. “I get it.” I kiss him on the cheek before settling my head under his chin. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Yeah. For making you think about it and have to explain it.”

  He turns my face to him, looking me directly in the eyes now. “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I’m okay talking about it with you.”

  We both smile.

  “So…” I say.

  “So?”

  “Does this mean we have to stop kissing every time this happens?”

  His mouth twitches in a smirk. “No, not unless you want to.”

  “Well that depends. Are your fangs going to graze my tongue or anything?” I joke.

  He laughs softly. “Not unless you want them to,” he jokes back.

  With that, we pick up where we left off.

  Old Friends

  Chapter 5

  “The henchmen came and knocked down the door to my never, never world”—The Misfits

  Myles is knocking on my door the next morning, just as I’ve slipped on my skeleton tights and boots. When I open the door, the painting he made me is leaning against the wall in the hallway.

  “Where do you want me to hang it?” he asks before I even say hello.

  I take a sweep around my living room. “I guess above the couch?”

  “That’s perfect,” Myles says, grasping onto either side of the painting and hauling it through the doorway.

  I only notice that he has a hammer strung through his back belt loop when I’m shutting the door behind him.

  Myles stands the painting against the couch and slips off his shoes so he can stand on top of it, taking a handful of nails out of his front pocket.

  “You want coffee?” I ask because I have nothing else to do. “Or,” I add. “You know, help?”

  He simultaneously shakes his head and starts banging the nail into the wall above my couch. “
But coffee sounds good,” he says, taking another nail out of his pocket.

  Somewhere between brewing the coffee, getting two mugs from the cabinet, and pouring it, last night flashes through my mind. It’s like the whole fang thing wasn’t exactly a dream, but maybe a really distant thought, one I couldn’t quite grasp between sleep and waking.

  “Thanks.” Myles’ voice breaks me out of whatever road my mind was about to go down.

  He holds his mug in one hand and sets the hammer on the counter with the other. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Do you like it there?”

  Above the sofa, the colors on the canvas swirl into and out of the house, around the piano. My painted form plays a song that I probably haven’t even written yet, but I can tell that she’s happy. If not happy, at least free.

  I smile. “It looks at home here.”

  Myles is behind me, an arm around my waist. “Good,” he says into my ear.

  I gulp some coffee and my smile grows even wider when his lips brush my temple.

  “I like that dress,” he says casually, once we’re apart again.

  It’s nothing special: plain white with an open back so there isn’t fabric rubbing against my healing tattoo. I mock curtsey. “Thanks,” I say.

  Myles takes a step forward with one hand behind me. “I particularly like how it shows your wings.” His fingers travel down my spine between them.

  I get brave, and in the back of my mind, I hope to someday not think of it as a brave gesture, but a normal, healthy one to kiss my boyfriend on the cheek when he smiles at me like that.

  “So,” I say to distract myself from the wave of heat that floods my face as I sit on the sofa. I set my mug on the coffee table, grab a pillow, and hug it to my chest, hoping that it’ll muffle the sound of my heart pounding.

  “I have a free day today,” I say. “No Boo or Trei. No practice, no anything.”

  “You wore a nice dress for me then?” He sits next to me and places his mug near mine.

  Suddenly, I feel slightly self-conscious. Did I?

  I shrug. “I have to wear something that doesn’t rub against the tattoo,” I say defensively.

  Myles cups the side of my face. His lips are cool and smooth and soft on mine. “So if you’re free,” he says, changing the subject. “What would you like to do today?”

  Brave. Again. I kiss him back. “I don’t know,” I say, almost keeping the nervous tremor out of it. Why am I acting like such an ass?

  Myles responds by kissing me again. “I’m sure we can think of something.” He moves away fractionally. “Do you want to go out?” he asks, one arm still around my shoulder.

  “That depends,” I say. “How hot is it outside?”

  “Ninety three degrees.”

  I make a sound that embodies my disgust.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Myles laughs.

  “Well,” I say, “At some point, we’re going to have to eat.” I pretend to not be distracted by his hand on my arm. “Unless you want to eat coffee and Ramen.”

  “Okay,” he says. “So you want to go out?” For some odd reason, I get the feeling he may be stalling, though for what I have no clue.

  “Yeah,” I answer anyway. “Just later. You know, when it’s cooler.”

  His index finger traces around the edge of my wings on my left shoulder blade. “It must get really hot under all of those layers,” he says.

  “You have no clue,” I say. “Wait.” I suddenly realize that he told me that he used to be “like me”. I know now that it’s not true, obviously, but now have the chance to ask him if there was any truth to his story. “Do you?”

  Myles carefully withdraws his arm from around me so his skin doesn’t rub my still semi-raw tattoo. He folds his hands in his lap, but he doesn’t move away any farther. Our thighs touch.

  “Not really,” he says simply. “When I was first turned, I obviously didn’t know what I was.” He runs a hand through his hair slowly, like he’s thinking. “When we’re new, we’re more sensitive. I got burned a few times.” He shrugs like it means nothing. “Pretty badly once, but I heal fast.”

  I nod. ”It’s weird.”

  “Weird?” he asks, but I can hear the sarcasm behind it.

  “Having certain things in common with you like this,” I try. “But not being alike at all.”

  He smiles a little. “Does it bother you?”

  I snort. “No. Why should it?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he corrects. “Being with me, a vampire, when you’re human. It doesn’t bother you? You don’t ever think about it?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes,” I admit. “But not really.” I take his hand and he smiles again when he looks down. “I don’t think of us in terms of you being a vampire and me being human, Myles.”

  “What do you think of us in terms of?” I shouldn’t notice, but his face has moved a centimeter closer.

  It takes a second for me to make sure that I won’t trip over my words when I speak next.

  “I think of us as Myles and Sophie.” I shrug again. “Two people trying to figure this relationship thing out.” I pause. “Why? Does it bother you?”

  Myles leans back against the couch and I do the same, but I don’t take my eyes off of him. “Not at all,” he says. “But sometimes I worry that one day you’ll decide you’ve had enough of this strange situation.” He smiles to cover up some other, more obvious emotion that may have bled through. “Which I wouldn’t exactly blame you for.” His tone turns to joking.

  “I don’t think that’ll happen.” I stare at our hands clasped together between us. “You’re the only person I can do this with,” I say softly. “I don’t think I could do this with anyone else.”

  He smoothes the hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I feel the same way,” he murmurs.

  Myles’ lips are on mine again, and somehow, this time, it’s different. Deeper, hungrier.

  He seems to notice the shift as well, pulling away so he can ask, “Okay?” His breath is on my lips, around my nose.

  I nod. “I’m fine.” The last part gets muffled between my pulse, him, and me.

  I run a hand through the hair at the back of his head, my other arm bracing my weight behind me. I lean back as Myles leans forward. All the while, our eyes are on each other when we’re far apart, closed when our faces are together again.

  Suddenly, his arms are on either side of mine and his thighs are pressed against the outside of my knees, caging me in. Myles’ chest is almost against mine. I tell myself that this is okay, but I realize that I don’t have to. This is what I want. Him. Me. Closer.

  I start to lose track of time, what day it is, my name. Of course I know them all, but they’re fading more into the background the longer we’re pressed together. None of that matters anyway. Not now.

  How can time expand so much that is swallows us up and makes nothing else matter? How can all sound be drowned out except ours?

  A slight creak of the couch breaks me out of the trance and my eyes open. Myles stares back at me. I want to tell him that I’m okay, but I show him instead. My hand snakes up his back and I kiss him, starting the whole timeless process over again.

  His hands start to travel too. First they’re on either side of my face, his elbows leaning into the cushion near my head. Then one of his hands cups the side of my jaw while the other runs its way up my shoulder, coming to rest at the thin strap of fabric of my dress before his fingers find the skin of my collar bone, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

  I wonder, vaguely, if my touch has the same affect on him as they wrap around his shoulders, only pushing him closer so I can feel every muscle in his back contract and expand as he moves with me.

  Why can I never stop the thoughts?

  Why is it, that when I feel so happy, comfortable, and so into this, my mind wanders to things like my heart pounding too loud. My breath hitching.

  A cold car in an empty parking lot.

  Iron
Maiden playing.

  Hands crushing my body, pushing me down.

  And grey eyes hunting me. Closing in.

  I want to punch myself in the face when my body tenses up. I want to hurl myself off a cliff or just go back to bed and hide under the blankets for a while. Alone.

  Myles pulls his head away, but other than that he doesn’t move.

  I close my eyes. I try to breathe like a normal person.

  His hand is on my cheek. “What is it?”

  I swallow. “I’m sorry.”

  Myles waits patiently; he moves away so he isn’t on top of me anymore, but one of his arms is behind my neck.

  “I just…” I can’t tell him. “It’s so stupid,” I think out loud. I’m so stupid.

  “It’s okay,” he says gently, cautiously. Now I look at him, and his blue eyes are searching my expression like I’m injured. “Just tell me.”

  “I…” I stare directly at his chest.

  “You’re thinking about him,” he says quietly, no hint of harshness in his voice.

  “I don’t mean to,” I’m quick to defend. “It’s just that…” I take in a breath, let it out slowly so I can concentrate. I can tell him. “I think about it when I don’t want to…”

  “When did you start thinking about it?” he asks suddenly, his voice not changing in tone. “When we first sat down, or when we started kissing…or when we moved?”

  My voice comes out small when I answer. “When you were on top of me.”

  He shifts again, and I’m afraid he’s going to move farther away.

  “I’m okay now,” I add on quickly, wrapping my arms around him tighter so that my head is against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I repeat.

  “Don’t apologize,” he says, his voice firm. “It isn’t your fault.” His hand cradles the back of my head.

  “I shouldn’t be thinking about it,” I say into the soft cotton of Myles’ shirt. “Not when I’m with you. Not when I want to do this.”

  He sighs, maybe trying to make himself stop thinking about it as well. “The only experiences you have with this kind of thing were with him, right?” It sounds like it takes a lot of effort to ask the question.

  I nod.

  “So it would make sense that being close like this—feeling out of control with me above you—would cause you to think about it and make you uncomfortable.”