Vampire Biology 101

Vampire Biology 101
"My house. You look like you could use some time away from pack politics and family drama."

I look at his outstretched hand, then back at his face. "Rowan, I can't just disappear. My parents are expecting me back. They want to have a conversation about recent events, and I'm pretty sure that conversation doesn't include a field trip to your house."

"They'll survive without you for a few hours," he says. "Besides, don't you want to see where I live?"

I do want to see where he lives, actually. I've been curious about vampire domestic arrangements since I first realized what he was. Do they really sleep in coffins? Do they live in creepy mansions filled with cobwebs and gothic architecture? Do they have normal furniture or is everything made of stone and decorated with skulls?

"Okay," I say, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. "But just for a little while."

"Just for a little while," he agrees, but there's something in his tone that suggests he has a broader definition of "little while" than I do.

His hand is cool against mine, and when he helps me up, I'm struck again by how effortlessly graceful he is. Like gravity affects him differently than it affects the rest of us.

"So how do we get to your house?" I ask, brushing dirt and leaves off my jeans. "Do you have a car, or do vampires just... walk everywhere really fast?"

Rowan smiles, and there's something almost mischievous in his expression. "We don't walk."

"You don't walk?"

"We teleport."

I blink at him. "You what now?"

"Vampires can teleport," he explains, like this is a perfectly normal thing to mention casually during conversation. "Short distances, anyway. It's one of our abilities."

"Teleport," I repeat, because apparently my vocabulary has been reduced to parroting back supernatural revelations. "Like, disappear in one place and appear in another?"

"Exactly like that."

I stare at him for a moment, trying to process this information. "That's how you all vanished from my living room this morning. You didn't sneak out. You just... poofed away."

"'Poofed' is not the technical term, but essentially, yes."

"And you can take me with you?"

"I can take you with me."

I look around the forest, then back at Rowan's expectant face. "This isn't going to hurt, is it? Because I've had enough physical trauma for one day."

"It doesn't hurt," he assures me. "You might feel a little disoriented for a second, but that's all."

"Define 'a little disoriented.'"

"Like you're falling, but in a good way."

"There's a good way to fall?"

"You'll see."

Before I can ask any more questions or adequately prepare myself for supernatural travel, Rowan wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest.

"Hold on," he says softly.

And then the world dissolves.

One second, I'm standing in the forest with my back against a tree trunk, and the next second, I'm... not.

There's a moment of absolute darkness, of feeling like I'm falling through space at impossible speeds, of my stomach dropping so far it probably ends up in my shoes. It's like being on the world's most disorienting roller coaster, except instead of tracks and safety harnesses, there's just Rowan's arms around me and the sensation of reality rearranging itself.

And then, suddenly, we're somewhere else entirely.

I blink rapidly, trying to focus my eyes and get my bearings, and realize I'm standing in what appears to be a bedroom.

Not just any bedroom. Rowan's bedroom.

My tears stop abruptly as shock takes over, because this is absolutely not what I was expecting.

I was expecting something gothic and dramatic. Stone walls and candles and maybe a few strategically placed suits of armor. Dark, heavy furniture and tapestries depicting scenes of medieval warfare. At the very least, I was expecting a coffin.

Instead, I'm standing in what looks like a perfectly normal bedroom that could belong to any well-off teenager. There's a large bed with a dark blue comforter and way too many pillows. A dresser with a mirror above it. A desk with an actual computer on it. Bookshelves lined with what appear to be novels rather than ancient tomes of dark magic.

The walls are painted a soft gray, and there are windows—actual windows with curtains, not shutters or boards or whatever vampires are supposed to use to keep out deadly sunlight.

"This is your bedroom?" I ask, my voice coming out higher than normal.

"This is my bedroom," Rowan confirms, letting go of me and stepping back to give me space to look around.

"Where's your coffin?"

He raises an eyebrow. "My what?"

"Your coffin. For sleeping. Don't vampires sleep in coffins?"