“I’m sorry,” whispers Baltazar. “I got a little too carried away with the whole intimidating, powerful flight leader act. I wasn’t thinking.”
I draw in a big, shuddering breath. Habit from when I was alive. Strangely, it is still calming.
“Ned, I may be many things, but a rapist isn’t one of them.”
For fuck’s sake. First, he scares the crap out of me, and then he drowns me with his pity. What a nightmare. Apparently I’m such a pathetic bastard, I can shock old vampires out of their usual dickhead behavior. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.
I open my eyes. Maybe if I’m pathetic enough he will leave me alone and decide he doesn’t want a damaged freak of a victim in his flight after all.
He is still staring at me intently, but he lets go of my wrist. I want to leave, but he hasn’t dismissed me yet.
“You may feed from my pet. It is the least I can do. You are in no fit state to hunt.”
Oh crap. This is an offer I cannot refuse. All the patheticness in the world would not save me from the wrath that insult would cause.
Was this his cunning plan all along? Has he orchestrated this entire situation? I cannot fathom the motive or reason, but it seems likely. Far more believable than him suddenly turning benevolent and kind-hearted.
“Thank you,” I say weakly. It is the only thing I can say. He has me trapped. Cornered. Whatever he is up to, I am his powerless pawn.
Baltazar’s hand rests on my shoulder. His touch is light, but his strength is unmistakable. He steers me to a nearby alleyway. There is a dark car parked at the very end of it. The vampire clicks his fingers and makes a beckoning gesture.
The car door opens and a human jogs up to us. A big, well-built man somewhere in his mid twenties. His brown eyes stare at Baltazar with utter devotion. He is barely noticing my existence.
“Kneel,” says Baltazar. “You are going to feed my friend here.”
The human drops to his knees as if his strings have been cut. My stomach rolls. Addicted humans give me the ick. I’m soft enough and still human enough to feel sorry for them. The thought that in a few hundred years all my humanity will have fallen away and I might be keeping a pet of my own, gives me nightmares.
The pet tilts his head, baring his neck to me. Offering his blood.
My hunger surges at the sight, and my body takes a step towards him.
“Enjoy,” drawls Baltazar.
I shudder. Fuck him. This is gross, but I guess it is not much different from what I was going to do to the random guy waiting upstairs in the hotel. At least this poor sod is aware of what is happening.
I step even closer. The fact that this man has to kneel in order for me to be able to reach his neck, is darkly hilarious. I’m really not the suave, tall, dark and handsome vampire of popular myths. No Hollywood director would cast me as one. I don’t look the type. I look far more like prey than predator.
Nevertheless, the human’s blood is singing to me, and my hunger is rising. There is no point in delaying this. So I take a hold of him and bite.
His blood gushes into my mouth. Hot and coppery. I gulp it down. Fuck, he tastes good. No drugs, alcohol or cigarettes. The clean, vibrant taste of a healthy diet and a young man in his prime. He tastes of youth. Of life. And I drink it all.
As soon as I’m sated. I stop. I remove my lips from his skin and lick the puncture wounds shut. Then I step back away from him.
He is swaying slightly. A dazed, glassy look to his eyes. The scent of his intense arousal is clouding the air. But he isn’t even looking at me. His attention is entirely focused on Baltazar.
The flight leader steps forward and holds out his hand to the kneeling man. He seems to have only eyes for his petand that is just fine by me. Let him forget me and leave me alone. Maybe all is not lost and all he wanted from me was for me to play a part in his kinky sex games.
“Come on baby, let me take care of you.”
The human lumbers to his feet and follows Baltazar to the car. Doors open and slam. The engine roars to life. Then I’m all alone.
Standing in a dark alleyway and wondering what Morgan would taste like. Does he drink enough good whisky to be flavored by it?
If I drank from him, would he look at me with devotion?
Would he want to be mine?
These questions are consuming me. Burning through my being. I can think of nothing else. I am enslaved by them.
