This past few weeks iv been on a total book binge, The series iv got in to is Chloe Neill's Chicargoland Vampires. I cant seem to put the books down and as soon as iv finished one then I start another. I think iv become addicted lol. So again this week my Teaser comes from that series.
Three books out of one of my favourite series.
The boy grinned. He was normal-enough-looking, Clary thought, for Pandemonium. He had electric blue dyed hair that stuck up around his head like the tendrils of a startled octopus, but no elaborate facial tattoos or big metal bars through his ears or lips. "I'm a vampire slayer." He pushed down on the wooden thing. It bent as easily as a blade of grass bending sideways. "It's fake. Foam rubber. See?"
The boy's wide eyes were way too bright a green, Clary noticed: the color of antifreeze, spring grass. Colored contact lenses, probably. The bouncer shrugged, abruptly bored.
"Whatever. Go on in."
The boy slid past him, quick as an eel. Clary liked the lilt to his shoulders, the way he tossed his hair as he went. There was a word for him that her mother would have used -- insouciant.
"You thought he was cute," said Simon, sounding resigned. "Didn't you?"
Clary dug her elbow into his ribs, but didn't answer.
So that’s it, Maia thought. The boy wasn’t a werewolf at all. He was a Shadowhunter, a member of the arcane world’s secret police force. They upheld the Law, backed by the Covenant, and you couldn’t become one of them: you had to be born into it. Blood made them what they were. There were a lot of rumors about them, most unflattering: they were haughty, proud, cruel; they looked down on and despised Downworlders. There were few things a lycanthrope liked less than a Shadowhunter — except maybe a vampire.
People also said that the Shadowhunters killed demons. Maia remembered when she’d first heard that demons existed and been told about what they did. It had given her a headache. Vampires and werewolves were just people with a disease, that much she understood, but expecting her to believe in all that Heaven and Hell crap, demons and angels, and still nobody could tell her for sure if there was a God or not, or where you went after you died? It wasn’t fair. She believed in them now — she’d seen enough of what they did not to be able to deny it — but she wished she didn’t have to.
Clary pushed her hood back, shaking hair out of her eyes, and rummaged in her pocket for her keys. "Where have you been? I've been calling you all afternoon."
Simon got to his feet, shoving the blinking game cube into his messenger bag. "I was at Eric's. Band practice."
Clary stopped jiggling the key in the lock -- it always stuck -- long enough to frown at him. "Bandpractice? You mean you're still --"
"In the band? Why wouldn't I be?" He reached around her. "Here, let me do it."
Clary stood still while Simon expertly twisted the key with just the right amount of pressure, making the stubborn old lock spring open. His hand brushed hers; his skin was cool, the temperature of the air outside. She shivered a little. They'd only called off their attempt at a romantic relationship last week and she still felt confused whenever she saw him.
"Thanks." She took the key back without looking at him.