Instinctively, I place my lips on the cut and suck. The flow of Dr Dryden’s blood gushing into my mouth is ambrosial. Tears leak from my eyes as my heart gallops and slows. Gallops and slows. Gallops ... and stops. I shudder and jerk against him, blood dripping from my lips onto mywhite thighs.Oh, I’m dying. I’m dying!
‘Forgive me, my darling,’ Dr Dryden gasps, clutching me to him. ‘Forgive me.’
Why is he saying that? Why is he begging for my forgiveness? It’s not his fault.
I reach up to touch his face (it’s the last one I’ll ever see) as I struggle to breathe, straining, gasping for air. Then an excruciating pain shoots through my entire body, and I slip down into a velvety black embrace.Oh, merciful God,at least it’s going to be quick.
***
My tomb is in utter darkness. But somehow, I can feel with utmost precision the slippery cold silk sheets against my skin, every single spring of the mattress I’m lying on.
As my eyes adjust, the room slowly comes into focus and sharpens with unnatural clarity. Thick velvet curtains are tightly drawn, and the room is bathed in violet light, dust motes suspended like stars. I blink in wonder.
‘Welcome back, my darling.’ I turn my head towardshisvoice. Dr Dryden is sitting with his legs crossed in an armchair by an unlit fireplace, and I can see every pore on his translucent skin.
‘What happened?’ I ask, sniffing the air as a lovely scenttickles my nostrils. Dr Dryden pushes up off the chair and walks over to me. The scent—hisscent—intensifies, making my mouth water.
He kneels by the bed and takes my hand. His touch is a comfort in the midst of bewildering uncertainty.
‘You died, my darling.’
Disbelief and horror roll through me as his words sink in.I died? I’m dead?‘W-what?’ I whisper. ‘But why are you here too? Are we in heaven?’
Dr Dryden’s mouth twitches, as if he finds this last question funny. ‘No, we’re not in heaven, my dear. But you, me, Charlie—we are all dead or undead actually. Creatures of the night. Nosferatu. Or if you prefer a more popular term: vampires.’
‘Vampires ...’ I run my tongue over my teeth, feeling the sharp points with a shudder. ‘I’ve heard the name, but I thought it was just folklore. W-what does it mean exactly?’
Dr Dryden squeezes my hand. ‘It means we are immortal, Florence. We don’t grow old, and we can’t die, not from natural causes anyway. We can eat flesh. But to keep strong and healthy, we must drink the blood of the living—and from each other ...’
Revulsion and curiosity shoot through me, and Dr Dryden gives a low chuckle, as if gleaning my emotions.
‘But it is a most pleasurable experience,’ he adds. ‘Willyou let me show you? I promise it won’t be painful.’
I nod, trusting him. But why I trust a man who’s turned me into a creature of the night, I don’t know. Rising, Dr Dryden sits beside me on the bed and brushes back my hair from my breasts. He leans forward, and two sharp needles sink into my flesh. I gasp from the intensity, but he’s right: I feel no pain, only a thin trickling pleasure that grows into rapture as he sucks from the wound, his hand reaching down to simultaneously stroke between my legs.
He’s not going to stop this time. I won’t let him,I think determinedly.
Dr Dryden huffs a soft laugh. He redirects his mouth to my nipples, and his tongue laps and toys while I moan and writhe beneath him. His fingers thrust inside me and I open my legs wide, shuddering with excitement in the violet light, which is now as bright as day.
‘I am all yours, Master.Take me,’ I moan.
Dr Dryden stands and swiftly sheds his jacket and waistcoat, then begins unbuttoning his trousers.
‘Oh yes, my beautiful girl,’ he says with a smile, his white fangs dripping with my blood. ‘I plan to.’
Chapter 18
Damian | Edinburgh, present day
After Florence leaves, I bury my head in the pillows, cursing my stupidity.Why the hell did I tell her about Juliana?Now she’s going to see me as the dude with the dead girlfriend. It will put her off, like it’s put off the majority of my friends, who have slowly drifted away from me. My family was brilliant when it happened, but now even they’re reluctant to mention her name in case it sets off my anxiety. Which is what’s happening now.
I inhale deeply, exhale, and repeat it several times to slow my breathing, like my therapist taught me. My lips burn a little as I breathe. They feel slightly sensitive, like when you’ve brushed your teeth, step outside, and take a breath of freezing winter air. Is it Florence’s doing? Shereallyneeds to get her circulation checked if her lips are that cold.
After five minutes or so, my breathing calms, and I start feeling a bit silly lying here in my underwear.Should I get dressed?She’s taking a while.Maybe they’ve run out of teabags, and she had to go out?
I reach over the side of the bed, ease my phone out of my jeans pocket, and lie back on the bed, checking my messages.
There’s one from my brother.
