It washerfeeding time now.
The first Sunday of the month was Phoebe’s designated feeding time. Most Vipera typically fed once a month on a Host, or every week on anyone with standard blood.
“Do you want to feed down here or upstairs?”
“Ourroom.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me from the kitchen.
Vipera slept every three days on average, so the girls rotate sleep schedules. Phoebe was the odd one out; we shared the bed every night. I didn’t mind. If it were any other person, I might. She’d grown attached, and she wasn’t keen on letting me out of her sight.
Our room was no more grand than the rest. A single bed, laid in a scratchy linen with worn patches from too many washes, a shared dresser, and a writing desk. Dried herbs and wildflowers from this past summer were as dull and gray as the deteriorating sun-bleached wallpaper.
We sat side by side on the bed, settling before we started.
I popped the buttons out of their loops down my blouse, peeling one side of the collar away from my neck.
“Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?” Phoebe fussed, fidgeting with her hands.
I lifted my gaze. “It won’t take long. I will sit by the fire if I get stiff.”
She shifted in place, a vivid blush rising to her cheeks. This happened every month. I was the one who suggested this arrangement. Despite her palpable jealousy when I let others feed on me, she always became bashful when it was her turn.
She placed a timid hand on the other side of my neck as she leaned in. I could feel her breathing against my skin, hesitating again.
“Go on.” I placed my hand at the back of her head, anticipating the bite.
Shallow, shaky breaths escaped past her lips, finally pressing those fine needles past my flesh. She took a sharp breath as if the sensation was new. Then came the tingle of reluctant sucking, the blood beginning to flow.
I flinched but kept a firm hand at the back of her head to ensure she wasn’t scared away by the reflex. It often took Phoebe a few bites to properly latch. She was overly worried about my feelings and would only bite down halfway. She forgot that the only relief I would get is if she bit downfirmly, with both sets of fangs.
The pain was minimal due to her teeth’s lack of size, but her venom potency was overpowering.
When her second set of accessory fangs settled beneath my skin, the all-too-familiar wave of ease melted my agitation, invading the muscles and mind as it brought me somewhere warmer, somewhere peaceful. The feeling of her teeth in me dissipated as I closed my eyes. A soft humming of clicks escaped her, like a cricket almost. The fabric of my blouse was balled in her delicate fists.
After, she laved at the wound, her saliva clotting it shut to stop the bleeding, her face was almost as red as the blood on her lips.
Her tongue ran over her teeth to wipe away the remaining stain.
“See? Not worth a fit.” I lifted the corner of her lip with my thumb. The fangs were small, but they were fitting for her. The two sets of teeth were minuscule in comparison to some older Vipera.
“What?”
“They’re cute.”
“My teeth?”
“Yes.”
I did not think it was possible for her to become more red.
“How are the toothaches?” I pressed gently on the gums above those deadly little needles, her split tongue curling in discomfort.
“Better, though I’m running out of cannabis. About a dram left.” She pulled away from my hand.
“I can get more. I’ll ask Edith.”
Her expression soured upon the mention. She looked like I drank the last of her favorite tea without permission. I had a feeling her dislike of Edith had something to do with her being my second feeding partner. We had more Vipera than Hosts, I did not know what she would have me do otherwise.
No realistic family ever gets along completely, anyway.
