© 2023, Vampires Love Garlic, Ashley Chapman. All rights reserved.

16

McKenzie

Flesh and Fangs

I knew she cut herself the second it happened.

I smelled it from the dining room.

Thank God everyone else already left.

And damn it all to hell, but the scent of her blood is killing me.

As soon as I stepped into the kitchen doorway, I knew Heather was in grave danger. Not from her cut, but from me. I’d spent the last two hours struggling with severe blood deprivation and a thirst that bordered on madness. It had taken everything I had to get through that ridiculous dinner and send everyone on their way without running upstairs to my stock of blood bags. Blood bags wouldn’t cut it for me anyway, not when I was this riled up.

My hunting instincts are on full alert, and now, seeing Heather standing with her bleeding hand held out to me, it’s all I can do not to attack her. Her blood smells like honey and…for God’s sake…pralines. I don’t know how. I don’t care how. My mouth floods with saliva, and I have to swallow three separate times to keep drool from trickling down my chin.

She would taste amazing. I just know it.

“McKenzie?”

There’s a real note of fear in her voice now. Good. She should be running. But her face is pale with that pallor that comes from blood loss and shock, and I know she can’t go anywhere.

I rush past her, reach up above the range, and open my medicine cabinet.

Bandages. I need pounds upon pounds worth of bandages to hide that smell.

Even as I gather supplies, I know that covering her wound won’t do anything. It’s already too late. Her blood is in the dishwater, on the counter, on the floor.

My fangs have descended to the point of pain. The tips are cutting into my mouth.

I’m trembling. Violently.

“Is it the blood? Are you squeamish?” Heather asks, her voice quivering. “I made a mess of your kitchen. I can…I can try and bandage this.”

She holds out her uninjured hand, but it’s covered in blood.

Oh. My. God.

If I could just lick that blood off. Just taste it.

She’s really afraid now. Her eyes are wide as she stares at mine. I’m sure my pupils have all but consumed my irises. My eyes are burning, which means what’s left of the white is probably streaked with red.

“I told you I’d give you an explanation of what was going on in the dining room.” I run my tongue over the tips of my fangs and take a step closer. I take her uninjured hand and put it in the soapy water, cleaning it enough that it isn’t a temptation. I’ve got a bigger fish to fry, and I look at her cut, at the blood beading and falling like pearls to the floor. Precious, delicious pearls.

I begin unwrapping a roll of bandages and then take her injured hand.

I can’t. I can’t take this. I’ve been good all night. God knows I’ve tried.

Vampire Rule Number “I’m so fucking screwed,” 15:

Vampires aren’t allowed to tell humans what we are.

Supposedly it would start a mass attack, a witch hunt, or some other horrible ripple effect.

Heather’s already terrified as I raise her hand close to my face.

Her blood is beautiful, a gorgeous burgundy, smelling of sweetness and her, and one taste…

“I’m a vampire.”

I’m relieved to say it, but it doesn’t quench my thirst.

I raise her hand to my face and slide the tip of my tongue over her cut.

Oh God.

Oh sweet heavens.

Oh fuuuuck.

She tastes exactly like I thought she would. Rich, sweet, like a little bit of Savannah poured itself into this woman’s bloodstream. I savor every drop on my tongue, and when I swallow…I can’t help the groan that slips past my lips.

I need more.

One taste isn’t nearly enough.

I seal my lips over her cut, my eyes closing as I draw the first taste of her blood. I swallow one mouthful, then another.

You know how some people get turned on over chocolate?

Yeah.

A hundred times better than chocolate.

Somewhere in the fog of my mind, it occurs to me that Heather isn’t fighting. She isn’t trying to pull away, isn’t begging for me to stop. She isn’t doing…anything. She’s letting me draw from her like a freaking mosquito. That realization cuts through the hunger that’s only beginning to be sated.

I force my eyes open, force them to her face.

Her lips are parted, and she’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before.

And guilt tears through the blood fog, stabbing deep into my chest like a dagger. Or a wooden stake, if you like.

I can’t seem to pull my fangs from her skin. I’m not entirely sure how they got there. Last I checked, I was licking at her blood, not piercing her skin.

“Kenzie,” she whispers, her voice hardly there. “Vampires aren’t real.”

I taste her once more, then step back. She yelps as my fangs leave her skin, and I feel like I’ve had a bucket of ice water thrown over my head. She’s still bleeding, heavily, and I’m standing here with her blood on my lips, on my chin, dripping down my white shirt. I’ve taken advantage of her. Not her intellect or her kindness, but her humanity.

She needed every last drop of that blood.

“Damn it,” I hiss between my teeth and wipe my mouth on the back of my arm. I reach for the bandages, then carefully wrap them around Heather’s hand.

Now doesn’t seem like the time for an apology. The poor woman’s too stunned, and why shouldn’t she be? A man she’s seen for the past several weeks, drinking coffee, reading a newspaper, walking her to her car, was just sucking from her arm like a…well, like a monster.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” I say, grabbing a washcloth, dampening it, and wiping the blood still exposed on her skin. “You’ll need stitches.”

“Can’t you heal it?”

My eyes shoot to her face.

She has a tiny smile there, just the faintest bit of humor, even though her eyes are telling a totally different story. She’s afraid and confused.

“Vampires can heal, can’t they? The stories.” She pauses, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. “The vampires drink their fill, then close the wound.”

“Your cut wasn’t caused by my fangs.”

“Oh.”

I make her sit down as I grab a jacket and wrap it around her.

“I just told you I’m a vampire, and you’re focused on my healing powers?” I ask, hurrying into the adjoining corridor and grabbing another coat for myself. “That’s really what you want to know right now?”

“I don’t really know what to think.” She’s careful with each word. “You haven’t killed me, or bitten into my neck, so I don’t think I need to be afraid. I think I’m actually a little bit disappointed.”

Just a little? She should be running for the nearest exit screaming. And she’s just a “little bit disappointed?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, helping her to her feet and leading her through the house to one of the side doors. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I’ve been fighting my need to drink all night, and you were hurt. I’m disappointed in myself. Actually, I’m furious with myself. You deserve better.”

“I’m not disappointed in your mistake, Kenzie.”

Her voice is soft, gentle, and now I’m the one going into shock.

“What?” I ask, opening her car door and then closing it once she’s inside. I slip into my seat, turn on the vehicle, and then stare at her.

“We all fall short sometimes,” she says with a shrug. “I’m disappointed with the bite itself.”

“I don’t understand.”

I pull away from the house, driving a bit faster than I should be because now, on top of her blood loss, I’m afraid she may be slipping into delirium. Or at least lethargy.

“I thought a vampire’s bite was supposed to be deeply sexual.” She’s all but squeaking the words, and her honesty nearly pulls a smile from me. We’re in a terrible, horrifying situation here, and she’s talking about romantasy novel tropes.

She leans back and closes her eyes.

“You know,” she drawls, tired. “Vampire bites girl. Girl loses her mind to pleasure. Your bite hurt. Like, really hurt. No eroticism or wild hormones there. Just pain.”

“Doesn’t the vampire usually bite the girl’s neck?”

I can’t believe we’re talking about this.

How is it after ten o’clock at night, rain is pelting down, thunder is rumbling overhead, Heather’s bleeding profusely, and we’re discussing vampire sexuality? This girl. I swear she’s going to be the death of me.

“I suppose so,” she agrees, looking at the bandages wrapped around her hand. “So, if you bit me on the neck, would it hurt or would it feel amazing?”

“I’d rather not think about that.” I frown at the windshield. “Heather, you just found out I’m a vampire, and this is where your mind goes?”

“I would prefer to think of the romanticism that comes with vampirism over the alternatives.” She closes her eyes and leans her head against the window. “Death by pleasure is better than being drained into a corpse and left in a gutter somewhere. You could kill me easily. I’m stuck in this car with you because I can’t drive myself to a hospital. Panicking won’t do me any good. If anything I know about vampires is right, then you are super fast and super lethal. So, yeah.” She smiles again, nearly asleep now. “I like the idea of you causing intense pleasure over intense pain.”

“I would never kill you, Heather.”

“I know.” Her words are slurring, and a fresh wave of concern washes through me. She’s drowsy. Her injury is pulling from her energy. I didn’t help with that. “Just…if you have to drink again…if you can’t help it…” Every word is slow. “Make me feel…safe.”

She slips into sleep, and I’m left bewildered.

I’m the vampire here, and yet I feel as though I have more to learn about humans than Heather does vampires. I just feasted on her like an animal, and she simply doesn’t want to be in pain. She isn’t grossed out. Her heartbeat tells me she’s exhausted and calm, perhaps calmer than she should be.

She’s going to come out of the hospital so afraid of me that I’ll never see her again.

I park in front of the emergency room and wait for one agonizing minute, studying her face.

I do like Heather.

She’s funny, sweet, and kind. I enjoy her company every time I am with her. The grief I’m feeling now isn’t only that I hurt her, but that I don’t think I’ll see her again.

I reach over and trace the backs of my fingers down her soft cheek.

She sighs in her sleep.

If this is the end of our friendship, then I hope she’ll walk away from it knowing I cared about her.