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"Flowers. That's what's missing in your house. You always have flowers."
"The last arrangement wilted early. I was going to pick up more when I was out today, but I didn't get the chance."
He seemed to cheer at that, as if reading some hidden message in my words.
"Here then," he said. "I'll get some for you now."
I arched my brows. "And carry bouquets on a hunt?"
"Think I can't? Sounds like a challenge."
I laughed and laid my fingers on his forearm. "We'll get some tomorrow."
He took my hand and looped it through his arm as we resumed walking.
"We're going to Paris this spring," he said after a moment.
"Are we? Dare I ask what prompted that?"
"Flowers. Spring. Paris."
"Ah. A thoughtful gesture, but Paris in the spring is highly overrated. And overpriced."
"Too bad. I'm taking you. I'll book the time off when I get home, and call you with the dates."
When I didn't argue, he glanced over at me, then gri
We bickered over the choice of victim. Aaron wanted to find one to suit my preference, but I insisted we select his type. Finally, he capitulated.
The fight dampened the evening's mood, but only temporarily. Once Aaron found a target, he forgot everything else.
In the early years, Aaron had struggled with vampiric life. He'd died rescuing a stranger from a petty thug. And his reward? After a life spent thinking of others, he'd been reborn as one who fed off them. Ironic and cruel.
Yet we'd found a way for him to justify-even relish-the harder facts of our survival. He fed from the dregs of society, punks and criminals like those youths in the park. For his a
As he said, I'd found his first victim. Now, two hundred years later, he no longer scoured newspapers or tracked down rumors, but seemed able to locate victims by intuition alone, as I could find the dying. The predatory instinct will adapt to anything that ensures the survival of the host.
Tonight's choice was a drug dealer with feral eyes and a quick switchblade. We watched from the shadows as the man threatened a young ru
We tracked the man for over an hour before Aaron's hunger won out. With no small amount of regret, he stopped toying with his di
As Aaron's fangs sank into the drug dealer's throat, the man's eyes bugged in horror, unable to believe what was happening. This was the most dangerous point of feeding, that split second where they felt our fangs and felt a nightmare come to life. It is but a moment, then the sedative in our saliva takes hold and they pass out, those last few seconds wiped from memory when they wake.
The man lashed out once, then slumped in Aaron's grasp. Still gripping the man's shirtfront, Aaron began to drink, gulping the blood. His eyes were closed, face rapturous, and I watched him, enjoying the sight of his pleasure, his appetite.
He'd been hungrier than he'd let on. Typical for Aaron, waiting that extra day or two, not to practice control or avoid feeding, but to drink heartily. Delayed gratification for heightened pleasure. I shivered.
"Cass?"
He licked a fallen drop from the corner of his mouth as he held the man out for me.
This was how we hunted-how Aaron liked it, not taking separate victims but sharing. He always made the disabling bite, drank some, then let me feed to satiation. If I took too much for him to continue feeding safely, he'd find a second victim. There was no sense arguing that I could find my own food-he knew that, but continued, compelled by a need to protect and provide.
"You go on," I said softly. "You're still hungry."
He thrust the man to me. "Yours."
His jaw set and I knew his insistence had nothing to do with providing sustenance.
As Aaron held the man up for me, I moved forward. My canines lengthened, throat tightening, and I allowed myself a shudder of anticipation.
I lowered my mouth to the man's throat, scraped my canines over the skin, tasting, preparing. Then, with one swift bite, my mouth filled with-
I jerked back, almost choking. I resisted the urge to spit, and forced-with effort-the mouthful down, my stomach revolting in disgust.
It tasted like… blood.
When I became a vampire, I thought this would be the most unbearable part: drinking blood. But the moment that first drop of blood touched my tongue, I'd realized my worries had been for naught. There was no word for the taste; no human memory that came close. I can only say that it was so perfect a food that I could never tire of it nor wish for something else.
But this tasted like
blood, like my human memory of it. Once, before I'd completed the transition to vampire, I'd filled a goblet with cow's blood and forced it down, preparing for my new life. I could still taste the thick, metallic fluid that had coated my mouth and tongue, then sat in my stomach for no more than a minute before returning the way it had gone down.
Now, after only a mouthful of this man's blood, I had to clamp my mouth shut to keep from gagging. Aaron dropped the man and grabbed for me. I waved him aside.
"I swallowed wrong."
I rubbed my throat, lips curving in a moue of a
The bleeding had already stopped. I bit his neck again, my nails digging into my palms, eyes closed, letting the disgusting taste fill my mouth, then swallowing. Drink, swallow. Drink, swallow. My nails broke my skin, but I felt no pain. I wished I could, if only to give me something else to think about.
It wasn't only the taste. That I could struggle past. But my whole body rebelled at the very sensation of the blood filling my stomach, screaming at me to stop, as if what I was doing was u
I managed one last swallow. And then… I couldn't. I simply couldn't. I hung there, fangs still in the man's neck, willing myself to suck, to fill my mouth, to finish this, mentally screaming, raging against the preposterousness of it. I was a vampire; I drank blood. And even if I didn't want to, by God, I would force every drop down my throat-
My stomach heaved. I swallowed hard.
I could sense Aaron behind me. Hovering. Watching. Worrying.
Another heave. If I took one more sip, I'd vomit and give Aaron reason to worry, to panic, and give
myself reason to panic.
It was the victim. God only knew what poisons this drug dealer had swimming through his veins and, while such things don't affect vampires, I am a delicate feeder, too sensitive to anomalies in the blood. I've gone hungry rather than drink anything that tastes "off." There was no sense asking Aaron to confirm it-he could swill week-old blood and not notice.
That was it, then. The victim. Just the victim.
I sealed the wound with my tongue and stepped back.
"Cass…" Aaron's voice was low with warning. "You need to finish him."
"I-" The word "can't" rose to my lips, but I swallowed it back. I couldn't say that. Wouldn't. This was just another temporary hurdle. I'd rest tonight and find a victim of my own choosing tomorrow.