Chapter 23
Finn
Ihad a bag of what was potentially blood in my fridge.
I let out a hysterical laugh and wiped a fresh wave of tears away. Again.
What even was my life?
First, I’d found a stalker who had some kind of medical fetish and was able to give a weirdly accurate diagnosis of what was wrong with me.
Then, I’d found a boyfriend who had me googling stuff like, “Why does someone keep bagged blood in their fridge?”
By the way, the results were utterly unhelpful. Most of the sites were droning on about why medical facilities needed to refrigerate donated blood for it to stay viable. Which, duh.
But it didn’t tell me why someone would, as a private citizen, keep blood in their fridge.
Maybe it really was just a relic from Halloween.
I took a deep breath, got up from the couch, and opened the fridge.
The bag was still where I’d put it. On the top shelf, right next to the tub of Greek yogurt. Then again, where else would it be?
I could find out what it was for sure if I just opened it and… what? Smelled it? Fucking tasted it?
I laughed again, shaking my head.
Yeah, sure. I could just fucking taste it.
Like a vampire.
Maybe there was a completely normal explanation.
Well, maybe not completely normal, but less crazy than what I’d come up with.
According to the internet, some people used their own blood as a means of doping prior to competitions to enhance the amount of red blood cells. Which, yeah, was fucked up, but in this case also pretty unlikely considering the fact that Eric insisted he didn’t even have a fucking workout routine.
Also, there was the fact that he’d tried calling.
Not once.
Not twice. But six times in a row.
I’d declined the call once, then immediately put the phone in do-not-disturb mode.
Had he realized that I’d not only found the blood but stolen a bag?
I closed the fridge again and raked a hand through my hair. What if it wasn’t blood, but indeed just a very bloodlike-looking cocktail that I was currently making an absolute fool out of myself over?
But I was sure it wasn’t.
Eric had called me six times in a row—that sounded a lot like panic to me.
And why would he be panicked about me finding a cocktail?
I wanted to believe that there was a different explanation. A normal one.
But I couldn’t fucking think of anything.
What if Eric needed regular blood transfusions due to his gunshot wound? The wound I still hadn’t seen proof of. Maybe Eric didn’t need the blood at all, but Bennie did. Were there autoimmune illnesses that necessitated regular transfusions?
But they’d be done in a hospital, right? I couldn’t imagine a hospital would be like, “Yeah, there you go, five bags of blood to go. Come back if you need more.”
Also… a person just needed one blood type, right? And the bags had been mixed. I was damn sure of that.
My boyfriend couldn’t be a fucking vampire.
That was…
I shook my head, pressing my palms against my eyes.
I needed to get out.
Do something, aside from staring at my fridge or opening my fridge and staring at a bag of blood or googling weird shit about blood and keeping a supply at home, before the FBI came over to ask me questions.
But what could I do?
My brain was a jumbled mess, working overtime to come up with rational explanations where there were none to be found.
The doorbell rang, and I couldn’t help but snort.
Wow.
The FBI sure was quick to come over to check on the contents of my… hahaha. I actually did have blood in my fridge.
It rang again, and I rolled my eyes. Probably a delivery guy rather than the FBI. I guess the FBI would have more patience.
I buzzed the delivery guy in and immediately went back to fretting.
What was I going to do now?
Should I text Eric?
But what would I say?
“Hey, I found blood in your fridge and just wanted to know what the FUCK you’re doing with that?”
Maybe not the worst idea I ever had.
Then again, how could I trust that he’d answer truthfully? Via text, it was almost impossible to say whether someone was being honest.
That meant talking to him.
As in actually meeting with him.
I shuddered.
What if he really was a vampire?
I laughed.
So what?
If he were a vampire, he’d have been one ever since I’d fucking met him. Right? I mean, it was probably not a new thing.
So, I’d already spent time alone with him. I’d fucking slept with him, kissed him, had fallen asleep in his arms, all while he’d potentially been a vampire.
And still, the prospect of facing him—alone, because having this conversation in public could possibly end up with me being admitted to a hospital if anyone heard us—was… weird.
Maybe I should’ve just answered the damn phone.
Talked to him.
Maybe I should call him back?
I mean, not answering was kinda mean, right?
It’s not like he could come over to talk to me. It was a bright and sunny day. Because of course the damn weather was mocking me by being so warm and happy and… gaaah.
I was being an ass, wasn’t I?
I could’ve just woken him up.
Instead of freaking out and coming up with the craziest of all scenarios, I could’ve just fucking talked to him.
Like the adult I liked to pretend I was.
Someone knocked on my door.
I rolled my eyes.
I swear, if I accidentally let a fucking salesman into the building, he’d regret it in a second. I definitely wasn’t in the mood to talk about my internet provider or whatever. And no, I didn’t want to subscribe to the local newspaper.
But hey, at least I’d have the opportunity to let off a bit of steam.
I ripped open my apartment door, a tirade already on my lips, ready to go off, when I realized that the person in front of my door was no salesman, no delivery guy, and not a neighbor in need of a cup of sugar.
It was Eric.
“Holy shit,” I said, taking him in. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He looked like he was about to rob a liquor store—wearing a hat, dark tinted sunglasses, and a scarf he’d securely wrapped around his head so there was almost no skin visible.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice thick and laced with pain. “Can I come in?”
I blinked, staring at the strip of bright red and fucking blistering skin visible on his face. So… sunlight did absolutely hurt him. Fuck.
I rubbed away a painful pang in my chest as I just kept staring at him.
His hands looked even worse than his face. There were blisters all over, the skin already flaking off in some places. He looked like he’d tried carrying a burning wood log.
Just to get here.
Because I’d refused to take his calls.
Fuck.
“Come in,” I growled, grabbing him by the front of his coat and pulling him through my apartment and into my shoebox-sized bathroom.
I kicked the door closed behind us. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
” I shouted at him, pointing at his hands and his face.
“You’re allergic to the fucking sun. You have no business being out today. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Eric was holding up his hands as if he wanted to calm me down, but winced as he saw the extent of his injuries and quickly lowered them.
My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t fucking hear anything above the blood rushing through my ears.
Okay.
So he hadn’t been kidding about not being able to handle sunlight.
Another mark in the “likely a vampire” column.
“I need to talk to you,” he reiterated, his words coming out strained. “You didn’t answer my calls.”
“So take a fucking hint!” Yeah, I might’ve shouted right into his blistered face, but he deserved it.
Eric shrank away, his back hitting the counter. There really wasn’t much space for him to go.
Because we couldn’t go into my apartment.
Because my stupid-as-fuck vampire boyfriend, who didn’t know the concept of boundaries and giving someone space to work through their emotions, had come over during the fucking day when I didn’t have the chance to get blackout curtains yet.
So now he was trapped inside my dingy bathroom.
Yay for having a serious talk while one of us was sitting on my toilet. Spoiler alert: it wouldn’t be me.
“Sit,” I ordered, pointing at the closed lid.
“What?”
“Sit the fuck down and let me have a look at the damage.” I huffed. “And take off those ridiculous glasses. You look like you’re about to rob a liquor store.”
“Not a bank?”
I growled. “No. Bank robbers usually wear balaclavas. Which, by the way, would’ve been the more sensible option for you too. Also, gloves. Ever heard of them?”
Eric stared at me for a few seconds without moving a muscle. Hell. It looked like he wasn’t even breathing.
Vampire, my inner voice sing-songed.
I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
In the end, Eric sighed and complied—at least with the sitting down part. But when he tried to take off his sunglasses, he hissed in pain because that damn idiot had burned both his hands.
“Wait,” I interjected, stepping up to him.
I carefully took off his glasses for him with trembling fingers. It wasn’t fear anymore. Nope. I was currently thoroughly enraged by his carelessness and utter disregard for his physical well-being.
Why hadn’t this utter fool waited a couple of hours for me to cool down? By the time he’d have gotten here, I’d probably have managed to talk myself down a little.
But nope.
Instead, I was peeling the scarf off his face, uncovering more and more blistered and reddened skin.
“You are such an idiot,” I groused, but my heart ached.
I wasn’t responsible for his actions; I knew that. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel responsible. I could’ve at least sent him a text after he’d started calling.
“Sorry,” Eric whispered. He looked up at me with shining and fucking red eyes. Not reddened eyes. Red eyes. As in his irises were a deep, bloody red.
Vampire.
So much for logical explanations.