Page 16 of Blood Lovers

But of course, that’s not how this ends, is it?

Grandma is dying and that means her protection of me is dying with her.

And I have just gotten my first look at the vampire Paul.

I get a sick feeling in my stomach.

Is this my future? Is that my baby? Does this mean I get caught?

I sit upright in bed, breathing hard, the purple dream over.

A noise outside startles me and I quickly get out of bed, suddenly remembering who I am and what I’m doing.

I’m endangering myself. Just being here is a huge risk.

It’s like I want to get caught.

There is more noise on the other side of the door. Partiers, probably. But when I press my ear against the wood, I detect whispering. Then footsteps.

Just as I’m about to sigh out a breath of relief, the doorknob turns and the door crashes open.

CHAPTER SIX - PAUL

Just another wicked, wicked witch.

When I open the feeder’s door, it is completely dark. I have excellent night vision but it is the stench of sickness that hits me first, not the sight of my feeder. I put a hand over my mouth and nose, forcing down a gag, then I flip on the light.

This room contains one bed, one chair, and one table. There is a small stainless-steel toilet in the corner, something you might find in a prison.

The chair is in the center of the room and the feeder is sitting on it. She is naked, head hanging forward, matted-up gray hair covering her face and old, saggy flesh bitten hundreds of times. Blood is weeping from sores left over from older bites and trickling down her arms and legs from newer ones.

It has never been clearer to me that her soul left this body decades ago.

I close the door behind me and force a smile, even though her eyes are closed. “Happy New Year, Rose. I hope the partying didn’t keep you up.”

She doesn’t even moan.

I walk over to her and kneel down, placing my hands on her bony knees. She flinches. “Aw. There you are.” I reach up and push her matted hair aside so I can see her wrinkled face. “There, there. It’s almost over now. Was Lucia mean to you? I will punish her for that. You know I don’t like it.” I caress her cheek with the back of my hand. “You are so important, Rose. You should be respected, shouldn’t you?”

Her eyes open, momentarily brighten, then go sharp. I smile at this reaction. She wants to spit on me, I can tell. But she hasn’t the strength to do it.

“And there’s that spunk I’ve always loved.”

“Fuck,” comes out as a whisper. “You,” is barely a breath.

“No, Rose. You can beg for it all day long, but you’re just not my type. I like the pretty ones. Remember when you were pretty?” I pet her. “It was long time ago now. But even back then, you were not pretty enough for me.”

She’s too weak to respond or object to my characterization of her. No. She was never my favorite. Just the one I had on hand. But I have always liked her. Especially when she was small and her blood was so sweet. She was a lovely child with a big, happy personality. She would run around the estate I was living in at that time, giggling and laughing. She didn’t even mind when I bled her.

But I was younger then, too. And more careful, maybe.

They always change when they come here. It’s Lucia. She’s not at all careful with the feeders. She never has been. She doesn’t love them the way I do. She doesn’t respect them. And why should she? She’s not the one who provides them. She is not invested in them the way I am.

If I cared about Lucia, I would teach her some respect for her food. But I don’t care for her. I put up with her personality because all those unattractive attributes make her messy. Sloppy.

And eventually, sloppy gets you killed.

Even her. She does not have enough young, Black blood running through her veins to last through too many more mistakes. Why interfere when she is the one in charge of her own demise?