© 2026 by Ashley Chapman. Vampires Love Garlic. All rights reserved.

25

What a Delightfully Wretched Evening

McKenzie

The dancing ends and, thank God, everyone goes home.

I’ve got a bottle of 1692 Blood Rum upstairs in a desk drawer. I know Heather needs help cleaning the kitchen. I’ll get back down there and help her soon. But for right this second, I need blood. Thicker, heavier than a blood bag with a bite of alcohol. If Heather knew the year of this particular vintage, she’d probably faint. Golden Age of Piracy. Yep. Guess those suckers needed it as badly as I do.

I fling off my jacket and pull open my desk drawer.

There she is. A gorgeous black bottle nearly full of my particular brand of poison.

This shirt is killing me. I’m overheating. I’ve been watching everyone drinking their fill of alcohol and lemonade, and I’m dying of thirst. Unfortunately, it’s not rum calling for me. It’s blood. Fresh blood. Hot blood. Her blood.

“Holy shit,” I snarl, tugging at my tie and all but ripping it off.

The way we danced.

Holy shit.

The way she fucking moved.

“Damn it!” I hiss, a stream of blood trailing down my face.

It’s so incredibly hot in here.

Damn shirt!

I tear it off, buttons flying.

I shouldn’t have danced with her like that. I’m torn between rage and want at the moment. Not a healthy seesaw to try and balance on. How dare Derrick try and hurt her, try and force her away from me or convince her to go against the sweetness that she is to protect others? How dare he mess with someone I consider under my protection? How dare she feel so incredibly soft in my arms… her breath warm against my collar… her lips, full, parted, tormenting…

I bite into the rum cork and rip it out with my fangs.

They’ve been long and wanting for the last forty-five minutes.

Vampire Rule Number 19:

And Heather would love this. Yes, we get hungry when we get aroused. And we can’t usually be satiated unless it’s by the person who drove us crazy to start with.

I lift the bottle and start chugging. It’s never worked before. I don’t expect it’s going to work now. I’ve had more shots tonight than I think a human could handle, and I’m hardly buzzed.

“Do you need a transfusion?” Narcissa asks, stepping into my office and shutting the door behind her.

“Not now, Narcissa,” I growl.

“You going to leave Cinderella to clean up all by herself?”

“You can help her. You knew what you were doing when you had me dance with her.”

“Did I?”

Her innocence is usually adorable. Tonight it’s infuriating.

“Derrick told her I’m after her blood. He encountered her last night and fed her filthy lies. She told me she wants to stay away because she doesn’t want to just be food.”

“It makes sense,” Narcissa says, sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. “He’s just jealous of you, like always. And he was playing with Heather because that’s what he likes to do with humans.”

I place the bottle on the desk and rub my temples. I groan. My head is killing me. All the fun symptoms of being drunk without any of the benefits. “Now Heather thinks I only see caviar when I look at her. A precious tender leg of lamb. Damn it all to hell, Cissa. She said she’s falling in love with me. She startled herself, so I pretended I didn’t hear. I didn’t want to hurt her more. What am I supposed to do with all this?”

“Looks like you could use some blood,” Narcissa says.

“You know damn well what I need.”

“You get so moody when you’re hungry.” She rolls her eyes. “You’ll be able to think clearly tomorrow morning. You’ve got too much alcohol in your system. If I were you, I’d go downstairs and help clean. It’ll help.”

“Being close to Heather won’t help.”

“Why is that?” Narcissa’s smirking. “Did dancing do something?”

“I got all the answers from her I needed. Don’t push it, Cissa. I’m already irritated with you.”

“With me?” she gasps, a hand falling over her heart. “Why?”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Why do you think?” I ask.

“Did Heather say something about me?”

“Heather didn’t have to. You’re pregnant. How far along?”

She feigns shock for all of ten seconds before she sighs in surrender.

“Oh, all right,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Three months.”

“Mazel tov.”

“You really are in a mood.”

“Well, shit, Narcissa. Vampire politics, someone potentially trying to avoid me, and now a pregnant fiancée who, I’m pretty sure, isn’t pregnant with my child. Unless I missed something somewhere. You’re tricky enough.”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of taking advantage of you,” she growls, putting a hand on her stomach. “That’s low, McKenzie.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I stand and walk to the French doors. I look out at the dark courtyard and close my eyes. “I’m sure Robbie’s ecstatic. How am I supposed to do all this?”

I can hear her stand. The gentle swish of her dress is somewhat comforting as she walks behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Wait until tomorrow before you think anymore,” she says gently. “I know it’s a lot. I’ll think about things tonight, and perhaps we’ll have some answers in the morning. For right now, go downstairs and help with the kitchen.”

My back stiffens, and she taps her fingers on my shoulder.

“I know you’re afraid of hurting Heather. Her blood calls to you, just like she does. The way you two danced was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. You fit her, and you care for her. You won’t hurt her.”

“I’m so fucking hungry.”

“Yes, but you’ll get through tonight and feel better in the morning.”

“How will I feel better if I’ve killed Heather? She’s down there cleaning my kitchen while I’m up here thinking about tearing her throat out.”

“She calms you,” Narcissa says as though that’s supposed to solve all my problems.

“Not if it’s her blood I want.”

“Trust me. Go down there.”

I sigh, a resigned, exhausted breath.

“I can’t afford to hurt her, Cissa. I have enough on my plate. I just tore through a perfectly decent shirt, and I’m sweating blood. She doesn’t need to see me like this.”

“So don’t let her see you,” she reasons. “Go down there, keep your face turned, and work. Sometimes physical labor helps an overwhelmed mind. She’s going to try and wash dishes when her left hand doesn’t need to be submerged. It’s still healing. I’m going to start work on the basement. If you need me, you can just yell. You won’t hurt her.” She squeezes my bicep, then chuckles. “Well, if you don’t put a shirt on before you go down there you might just make her short-circuit again, but she’ll live.”

I feel like a child reluctantly going to do his chores as I walk to my room, pull on a clean black button-down, and head downstairs.