I’m so caught up in missing Jo that the weekend goes by in a blink. Before I know it, Brenda is pulling up the driveway Monday morning, right on schedule.
I never enjoy having to replenish my blood supply—it’s a simple, necessary transaction that must be done—but today I detest the idea of having to drink from her.
Now that I know the taste of Joanna’s blood—that sweet, delicious syrup—nothingwill ever compare. I don’t want to go near another person’s blood, not even my donor’s. I still feel as strong as ever, but I can’t ignore that soon her blood will withdraw from my system, and I’ll need more. With Jo currently avoiding me and my oath to stay away from animals, right now, Brenda is my only option.
She can tell that something is off when I let her in the house. I’ve never been so standoffish toward her before, but I’m deeply scared to taste her blood.
She can clearly sense my hesitation as she goes to sit in the kitchen, as per our usual routine, keeping her eyes on me. I can hear her heart beat ramping up, so as I move to stand behind her, I place my hand gently on her shoulder to calm her.
There are two faint puncture wounds on the side of her neck, resting in the gap that leads to her shoulder. I try to aim for the same spot every time so it will heal properly, and given her bond to me as my donor, it doesn’t take long.
“You feeling okay, sweetheart?” she asks in her deep southern drawl.
I swallow hard, giving her as reassuring a smile as I can muster.
My thumb brushes over the marks as my stomach twists into knots. It’s been a long time since I physically recoiled at the idea of drinking blood. I don’t know what it will taste like—what it will feel like. All I know is the incessant pounding of my heart that’s clinging desperately to the last drops of Joanna’s sweet nectar in my system.
There’s no sense in putting off the inevitable, so I close my eyes, hold my breath, and bite.
Brenda’s reflexes are used to the sudden sting by now, but I must have been a bit more forceful this time, because all her muscles clench like she’s in pain. I quickly draw out a large mouthful of blood and then pull away.
I can’t swallow it. It tastes like battery acid and metallic waste. It’s bitter and irritates the lining of my throat. I open my mouth and spit out what’s left onto the kitchen floor. Brenda leaps out of her chair, trying to avoid the mess, but some of the blood splashes onto her white cowboy boots.
“Holy shit, Aidan!” she screeches. “What was that?”
I’m bent over with my hands on my knees. I can’t speak, much less understand what the hell just happened. I just shake my head.
“You must be sick. Do you need me to call someone?” she asks, her tone softening.
It takes me a minute, but the wave of nausea has passed. She’s right. Brenda’s blood wasn’t just disgusting; it made me sick. I can’t drink it.
“Something’s wrong,” I tell her, wiping blood from the corners of my mouth. I take a paper towel from the roll above the stove and clean it from my hands, then pass her several to clean her boots. It stains my fingers, so I shove them under soapy water instead.
Over the running water, I hear Brenda trying frantically to remove the blood, but it’s probably going to stain.
“I’ll replace them,” I tell her as I dry my hands.
I can see the gears in her head spinning, trying to rationalize what happened and why. “This has never happened before. I don’t remember eating anything bad. Is there something wrong with my blood? Do I need to get tested for a disease?”
I place a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have a disease,” I promise her. “This isn’t your fault.”
She grimaces and wrings her hands together nervously.
“I promise you,” I reiterate. “It’s me—and I’m working on figuring it out.” I toss the towel I’d been using onto the counter without folding. It’s the single most chaotic thing I’ve ever done. “For now, let’s take a break. Don’t worry about keeping to our schedule. When I need you again, I’ll call.”
Brenda’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, but she’s nodding emphatically, not willing to question my authority. I don’t think she’s ever feared me, but this sudden disruption in our routine must have her frazzled.
I escort her out, patting her back to put her at ease, but before she exits through the front door, she looks up at me, her eyes now softened.
“You know, I did a little vampire research before I agreed to the bond,” she says. “If it isn’t me, then it must be because you’ve tasted the blood of your one true mate.”
I’m stunned, having underestimated Brenda’s knowledge of vampires. “Brenda?—”
But she holds up a hand to stop me, those bright red acrylic nails on full display. “I wish to sever our bond.”
And just like that, I feel a small tether being cut. It’s a minor relief, like undoing the top button of your shirt, but I can breathe.
Brenda smiles knowingly and lifts herself onto her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek. “I wish you nothing but happiness, Aidan.”
