Page 29 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

“That’s all for now,” she said and rose off the bed. Her shaky knees almost gave out. How was she going to do this again and again until Zeb was healed? She would be a basket case. The most satisfied woman in the universe! Or the most stirred up and antsy for release! Yikes!

Zeb’s eyes opened for a moment, and he said, “Thank you.” Almost immediately, he fell back asleep, or unconscious. His body still threw off heat like an inferno; so the danger was not over. Still, she sensed that he was a little better.

She covered his body with a thin sheet, dabbed at the blood on his lips with a tissue (the fangs having retracted already), and finally replied to his comment, “No. Thank you!”

Who says there are no new ways to do it? . . .

Zeb hurt all over, but sometimes when the red-haired woman let him drink from her, he hurt so good. Regina, he reminded himself. The redhead was Regina the vangel witch who rescued him. His poor, bruised cock failed to grow with the fangings, but it throbbed when she ministered to him. A pleasure-pain of throbbing, but no release.

Not that he was complaining! He’d probably burst his stitches with a hard-on. Yes, there were stitches in his most sensitive body part. Which of the four witches had done the stitching? He almost didn’t want to know. Thank God he’d been unconscious when the sewing took place!

He was pretending to be asleep at the moment while Regina bustled around the room. If she suspected he was awake, she would force more of that awful, presumably iron-rich spinach and tomato juice slush down his throat to replenish lost blood. Meanwhile she munched away on iron-fortified oat cereal, sometimes plain, other times in a bowl with reconstituted dried milk. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Like fingernails on a chalkboard, she was, or fingernails on a wounded cock. He knew it was cereal she was eating because he heard her mention it to someone this morning, or was it yesterday. He’d lost track of time. Crunch, crunch, crunch. He felt like leaping from the bed and . . . and . . . he couldn’t think what.

That was unkind. He should be thankful for her rescuing him. He was thankful, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritating.

“Zeb, you have to drink more spinach.”

“Zeb, do you want to pee in a jar?”

“Zeb, I had to shave your head.”

“Zeb, where’s the toilet plunger?”

“Zeb, Grimelda caused a little fire on your patio with her cauldron.”

“Zeb, Patience saw a shark today when she was sunbathing in her bikini. The one made from one of your kitchen curtains.”

“Zeb, Beau caught a seagull, and we’re having it cooked Cajun style tonight. Is it true seagull tastes like chicken?”

“Zeb, Zeb, Zeb . . .” She was driving him crazy. And what was that about shaving his head? Surreptitiously, so she wouldn’t notice he was awake, he put a hand to his head. Yep, bald. He couldn’t really complain. Craven had done a job on him, pulling out clumps when frustrated with his torture. Zeb could only hope it would all grow out uniformly. But then, in the scheme of things, what did it matter how he looked?

“I know you’re awake,” she said.

Busted!

“How do you feel?”

He tried to sit up but sank back down. “Weak as cat piss.”

She nodded. “The fever is gone, finally, but it’s going to take a while for you to be back to normal.”

“I think a few more fangings should do the trick,” he said and took pleasure in the blush that swept over her face. He knew that the fangings aroused her sexually and that she even climaxed a time or twenty. At least someone was getting their rocks off.

“Do you really think that’s necessary anymore?” she asked.

“Definitely.”

She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Maybe more spinach slush would make you stronger.”

He shuddered.

“Or if you’re up to solid food, maybe some seagull livers.”

He shuddered even more.

“Beau has developed a technique for catching the birds. He’s planning to domesticate them, like chickens, and with proper feed, improve the taste of the meat.”

It was his turn to narrow his eyes at her. “Just how long does he plan to be here?” But then, another thought occurred to him. “How long have we been here so far?”