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

28

Bloodlust

McKenzie

Vampire Rule Number 20:

We don’t initiate romance with humans.

They’re below us, remember. When we need blood, we’re allowed to ask for it, add a little bit of dirty talk, play the part of popular media vampires. We don’t touch, we don’t embrace, we don’t kiss humans without them prompting it.

Heather’s not prompting anything.

She’s standing in my doorway, all innocence and uncertainty. I can see the conflict in her eyes. She wants me. Our moment in the hallway before bed clarified that. I could feel it in her breathing, in the pounding of her heart, in the way she looked at me. She wanted me to kiss her. I’m almost sure of it. I could feel the struggle between honor and want, and I took that struggle with me to bed. She came here to make sure I was safe, yes, but she also came because she feels the same electricity I do. It’s humming between us like a live wire.

She’s breathing so quickly, her eyes wide, her cheeks pink, and I know she’s afraid. Of course she is. She’s been doing everything she can to protect Narcissa, to protect me, and to protect her own heart. My bargain with her was a bad idea, but I’m not willing to go back on it. I want her blood desperately, but there’s more to it now than just physical satisfaction. She’s so unsure of herself. She thinks she’s unworthy of my attention simply because she is.

When what she is is what I want.

“I should go,” she says softly, backing up until she’s almost in the hallway. “You might just have to bear it. I want all of this.” She waves to the room. “I want… I want to take what you’re offering, but I need help.” Her eyes flicker to mine. “Please help me.”

I’m on my feet before she can finish what she’s saying.

I move to her, bend down and sweep her into my arms. She’s light, a perfect fit, and I carry her to the bed with ease.

“You aren’t too big,” I say as she flings her arms around my neck, afraid I’ll drop her. “You aren’t too heavy.”

I lower her onto the bed and climb over her before she can move.

I have a tendency to go too far with this woman, but this morning I don’t care. The taste of her blood is trembling in my veins. The smell of her perfume, soft and gentle, is singing to me like the enticing Savannah breeze rustling through my curtains.

“You have become much dearer to me than just a passing acquaintance from the Broughton Café,” I murmur, putting my hand lightly to her thigh, waiting for her. She nods, shy but sure, and I reposition her, allowing me to settle between her legs. Her breath hitches, but I don’t smile. Not this time. I’ve heard enough of her worries about not being good enough. I’ve watched her slave away in my house, cut her hand even, to make things perfect for me.

“You don’t believe you can compare to the female vampires. You think they surpass you in beauty, but Heather…” My voice is definitely low, smooth as silk and satin as sin. “No one has ever made me feel quite the way you do.”

I settle against her.

There is no denying that my body craves hers.

“I don’t want only your blood,” I whisper against her ear, sliding my hips softly against hers.

She feels good, so damn good. My body is responding to her with fire, and I’m letting myself burn in it. Her quiet gasp of wonder goes to my head like a shot of blood-bourbon. I move, slowly, carefully, letting her feel me, letting her understand that my interest in her doesn’t lie in her blood alone.

Oh no.

Her body matches mine. Her trembling unites with my shivering. Her inhales and exhales mimic my own as my chest presses against hers, our heartbeats intertwining.

“McKenzie,” she breathes, and I’d give everything I own to hear her say my name like that again. Her hands are shaking as she places them on my biceps, looking for stability. Her eyes are locked on mine, wide with surprise, uncertainty, and desire. She doesn’t realize it, but she’s tossed her head back, and her hair cascades like a colorful waterfall over my pillows. Scarlet strands glitter in the faint morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Let me show you,” I murmur, my hand finding the bare skin of her stomach. Her shirt is riding up, and her skin feels like velvet beneath my fingertips. I stroke gently, still rocking carefully. She’s trying to hold back her emotions, biting that lower lip. She’s arching beneath me, trusting, trembling, and I lower my face to hers and take her lip between my teeth again.

Her thighs against mine… heaven.

Her soft sounds, surprised and new… intoxicating.

But her lip between my teeth, against my tongue, drawn into my mouth… everything.

She whimpers quietly, and I’m gone.

I kiss her.

Her lips are soft as firelight, timid as dawn, fresh as a spring rose. She presses her mouth against mine with a shyness that’s endearing and delightful. She returns my touch, unsure but willing, and I take my time. There is no hurry. We have all the time in the world. I can feel her shivering with delight, her fingertips digging into my deltoids, holding on. Her legs tighten their grip against mine, and I feel her gently roll her hips up to meet me, thrilling me.

Blood is forgotten in the moment. How could I possibly want it when I have her?

She is spring and summer in my arms, light and life. My cold skin feels the heat radiating from her, and it courses through me. She moans my name again, a glorious sound, and I tenderly trace my lips across hers once more before gliding the tip of my tongue against the seam of her mouth. She welcomes me in, and I am home. She tastes like sparkling cider and berries, and I can’t get enough. She responds to me with precious enthusiasm, sliding her tongue against mine, tasting the bourbon there.

My hand finds her ribs, stroking carefully. Her fingers thread through my hair as my body moves in tandem with hers. Her eyes are closed, and I savor every flutter of her heart, every tremble of her fingers, the warmth that cradles my center. She is so beautiful, and I draw my face away from hers, gazing down at her as I allow my hand to caress higher. I find her breast, fine as chiffon. She cries out, her body pressing against mine as ripples of pleasure wash through her. No artist could capture the gorgeousness of her coming undone, and no king could be prouder than I am of seeing her blossoming in my arms.

She quivers like a magnolia bud in a summer storm, and I lean over her. I stroke strands of sweat-dampened hair from her face and nuzzle my nose against hers.

“Are you alright?” I ask, kissing her cheek, her temple, and the corner of her lips.

She can’t speak, so she nods.

“I…” She tries, swallows, and tries again. “I’ve never… felt like this before.”

“You are worthy,” I murmur, kissing her throat. “You are beautiful.”

“I owe you,” she whispers, resting her hand against my chest before turning it to my mouth, exposing the delicate veins pulsing against her skin. “A gift for a gift.”

“You are a saint,” I say, kissing her pulse.

“A saint?” she laughs, putting her free hand over her heart as though to calm it. “I highly doubt anything that just happened would qualify me as a saint!”

“Oh?” I smile, then gently guide my tongue over the inside of her wrist. “Did you have an out-of-body experience?”

“Well, maybe.”

“Did you find yourself in the clouds? Did you hear angels singing?”

She laughs and brushes her cheek against mine.

“I may have seen stars,” she whispers, her fingers light against my stubble. “Does that count?”

“I think it might.”

I scrape my fangs carefully over her skin.

“Might I taste you, Heather?”

“You already did,” she says, shifting beneath me. Her body brushes against mine in just the right way, and I growl, parting my lips, letting my canines press against her. “But yes,” she breathes, touching my abs, timid and curious. “Drink, Kenzie.”

“It will hurt, but only for a moment,” I warn, resting the tips of my fangs above her veins.

“Will I need to do something to stop you from taking too much?”

“Put your hand over my heart when it becomes too much.” I hold her wrist in my left hand and guide her right hand down my abs, letting her feel the muscles tense under her touch. “I won’t take more than you can handle.”

She nods, and I sink my fangs into her wrist.

She is indeed my own brand of bourbon. That hint of pralines I thought I tasted earlier? Yeah. Sugar, spice, and everything nice, baby. I can’t suppress the moans of pleasure that slip out as I drink. Her blood is smooth as whiskey, rich as rum. One mouthful, and I can feel my fever subsiding. Two, and my heart rate slows and my trembling stops. Three, and I can feel her in my soul, curling around it. I can feel her hand, tracing each muscle in my chest and abdomen, cautious, unwilling to venture further south. I am reminded that everything I just experienced with her was new and overwhelming for her. Yet, even after that, she’s letting me feed, letting me heal.

She’s exhausted. I can feel her body relaxing beneath me. Her shivers have disappeared, leaving her weary and satisfied. She doesn’t have the energy to put her hand on my heart.

I allow myself seven swallows before I pull away. I lick my fangs, gathering every last drop of blood, and then feel them subside, leaving me sated. Her wrist is bruised and bloody. I lick the blood away, allow the last drops of toxin to touch her cuts, and then wrap her wrist in a bandage. If I did my part well, she’ll be almost fully healed by lunchtime.

She’s fallen asleep.

I feel her forehead, check her pulse. She’ll need hydration. Narcissa should be back soon, and I’ll get her to run an IV for Heather. In the meantime, sleep is exactly what she needs.

I lift Heather into my arms and carry her back to her room.

She’ll feel guilty about everything when she wakes up. It’s just her way. But I hope she’ll also think of what happened between us with delight and fondness.

You’ve already had one awakening this morning, my sweet barista.

Until the next, sleep well.