Chapter 31
Florence | Edinburgh, present day
Damian’s face is nervous as I spread several clean towels over the bed. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not about to waste a precious drop. It’s just in case there’s spillage.’ Our dry-cleaner’s have already been memory-wiped once this month, and I don’t fancy washing my bedcover by hand.
‘I trust you,’ he says, and I nod, glad to hear it. Excitement and anticipation are thrilling through my veins that I get to taste him, to drink from him again.
We lie together on the bed in our underwear, Damian in his boxers and me in my loosened corset. He squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head to one side, baring his neck, and I resist the urge to giggle. It’s like we’re re-enacting a scene out of a bad Dracula movie. Oh well, so be it.
I place a finger over the spot where I’ll sink my fangs in and press lightly, feeling his heightened pulse drumming beneath my fingertips.
‘Last chance. Are you sure you want me to do this?’ My fangs are extended and aching to puncture his skin.
I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to stop before I drain him, but I have to ask.
Maybe I should get him to sign a disclaimer?
I give Florence Hughes permission to suck on my neck and take full responsibility for the consequences . ..
‘I want it,’ Damian replies, his voice trembling slightly. ‘Just make it quick.’
Before he can change his mind, I swoop in and latch on to his neck.
Piercing through the skin and down into his throbbing jugular, I suck out a generous measure of his warm precious life.
Damian moans and thrashes his legs as my venom hits his system.
I lick the holes I’ve made with my tongue and suck some more.
His heartbeat is going through the roof.
You taste divine, I tell him. You OK?
Yes, take more if you like.
I groan as another mouthful of his silky smooth blood hits the back of my throat, knowing that this is just the beginning and my thirst for him will never be satiated.
***
A few days after ‘the feeding’, Damian messages me at dusk.
Hey, do you want to come over? I’m making us dinner. Dxx
Interesting. What does that entail? Fxx
You’ll find out. Dxx
Intrigued, I start getting ready. Is Damian going to serve me rare steak while he chomps on his own medium-rare piece?
Unless he means he’s the dinner, which would be even better.
My mouth waters at the thought. His blood is tasty, and I can’t wait to get my fangs into him yet again.
Luckily, I managed to stop myself before draining him dry the other night, and he even said he enjoyed the experience after the initial biting part.
He seems to be coming round to the idea of being turned.
I had a sneaky peek after I fed from him.
His thoughts were full of wondering what it would be like to be immortal and, of course, how great it would be to hang out with moi for eternity and have lots of vampire sex (I may have subtly projected that thought into his mind).
However, we need to talk about it more as he wants to think through the practical side of it, especially in terms of his job and his family.
It’s true being a vampire is cool, but it’s not all flying around in the moonlight and enjoying an ageless appearance.
There are certain sacrifices you have to make.
He might have to quit his job or become estranged from his family so they don’t ask questions about why he’s not ageing and why he’s requesting rare roast beef for Sunday lunch.
And adding to our coven will mean Elliott will have another mouth to feed. We rely on him so heavily now as it is, and there are only so many donations per week that he can muster. But Damian can feed from me initially, so it’s not a pressing problem.
As if she senses me thinking about Elliott, Sadie summons me just as I step out of my lair.
Sadie: Can you bloodseek tonight?
Me: I’m literally about to go to Damian’s.
Sadie: Can you do it afterwards?
Me: Not really.
Sadie: Fine. Just make sure you do it soon.
She leaves my mindspace abruptly like someone slamming a door. Wow, someone’s feeling edgy tonight.
For a minute, I feel bad. But I’m wearing my corset, fishnet stockings, and suspenders. It’s sexy, but uncomfortable as hell to climb in.
***
‘What exactly are you cooking?’ I eye Damian’s dining table suspiciously. He’s set it for two, but there’s no cutlery, only a red napkin and a white paper straw beside each place mat. A couple of candles burn sultrily in brass holders.
‘You’ll find out in exactly’—he looks at his watch—‘two minutes. Now if you would be so good as to take a seat, my lady.’
He pulls out the chair for me in a gentlemanly fashion, and I resist the urge to snort. It would be rude as he’s gone to some effort to make it romantic and has even dressed up formally in a suit and tie. All rather strange for a Wednesday night, but I’ll run with it.
He kisses the top of my head. ‘I’ll be back in a mo,’ he murmurs. I tilt my chin up, wanting a proper kiss, but he’s skedaddled back to the kitchen.
I sigh and fiddle with my straw.
A whirring noise sounds from the kitchen.
A clatter. Then swearing.
I giggle softly to myself. I get the impression Damian’s not used to cooking.
He pokes his head out the doorway.
‘If you would be so good as to close your eyes.’
Obediently, I shut my eyes as he places objects on the table and fusses around a bit.
‘You can look now,’ he says at last.
I crack open an eye to find a pint glass of red liquid sitting in front of me. It’s decorated with a wedge of pineapple on the side, and several cocktail umbrellas have been poked in. A familiar heavenly aroma wafts upward, and I lean forward and sniff.
‘Is this ...?’
Damian smirks and nods, looking pleased with himself.
He sits across the table with the same ruby-red drink festooned with decorations in front of him. He plonks in the straw and bends down to place it to his lips.
Dismay rolls through me.
‘Damian, please don’t—’
But he takes a long suck before I can stop him. I gape as he licks his lips. Surely, he can’t think it tastes good! He laughs at my expression of horror.
‘Mine’s tomato gazpacho.’
‘Oh.’ I laugh in relief. ‘You had me worried for a minute there.’
‘Drink up,’ he urges.
I take a sip. The blood is warm and velvety smooth and slides down my throat like tangy molasses. I groan aloud.
‘Oh my god, this is perfect. But it tastes like you ...?’
Damian grins. ‘I had a little help from Elliott. I said I wanted to make you a surprise dinner, and he took a donation from me after work and stayed for a coffee.’
Those two are getting along like a house on fire. I suck up another mouthful of blood, watching Damian through narrowed eyes. ‘Should I be worried about this budding bromance of yours?’
He frowns. ‘It’s not like that. He’s cool. But it’s more about having a human to chat to, especially at the flat. Having him there makes me feel less nervous, especially with Sadie constantly staring at my neck.’
Oh dear. Well, he’s going to have to know at some point.
‘Elliott isn’t actually all human,’ I say slowly.
Damian pauses midsuck. ‘What?’
‘He’s a thrall—Sadie’s thrall, to be exact. They’ve been together since 1983.’
A droplet of red gazpacho lands on the white tablecloth from Damian’s abandoned straw. But it’s not a good time to mention it. His eyes are round. ‘What’s a “thrall”? I mean, I know generally what it is. But how does it work here?’
‘She keeps him on a leash. Well, not literally. But when she clicks her fingers, he jumps. Hester and I don’t like the way she treats him, and we’ve tried talking to her about it, telling her to turn him.
But she won’t listen.’ I shrug helplessly.
‘She seems to like the control. Perhaps she’s worried if she does, he’ll start lording it over her.
She hasn’t had good experiences with men in her life.
So I understand it, but I still feel sorry for Elliott. ’
I know I’m sharing too much, but Damian seems to have recovered remarkably well and is listening without freaking out, which is a good sign.
‘So Elliott’s literally stuck in the 1980s?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘Wow, his obsession with Duran Duran now makes a lot more sense.’
‘Yeah. He was their roadie when they became famous, so understandably, he’s a big fan ...’
I didn’t think I could blow Damian’s mind, but by the way his jaw slackens and his eyes glaze over, I think I just have.
He drags a hand across his face. ‘Fuck me sideways.’
I finish my drink with a flourishing slurp to change the subject.
‘That was delicious, thanks.’
But Damian’s frowning and looking anxious.
‘I don’t want to be a thrall,’ he blurts out. ‘If you turn me, I want you to do it properly. I don’t want to be stuck in limbo like Elliott.’
Oh, so that’s what he’s worried about. I take his hand and squeeze it. ‘I will. I’m not Sadie. Besides, you’re not suddenly going to start ordering me around just because you’re a male vampire. I don’t think we work like that. Our dynamic feels different.’
Damian nods. ‘I can’t say what I would or wouldn’t do because I don’t know. But if I do start acting like a dick, just bite me and tell me not to be an arsehole.’
I giggle at that.
‘Um, also, can you explain a bit more about how ... how turning someone works exactly?’ he asks, his cheeks flushing the same shade as his half-finished gazpacho.
I know he’s been dwelling on this a lot (and watching lots of vampire movies), and I want to put him out of his misery—or give him something to look forward to.
‘Hmm ... So I’d suck your neck to the point of death, then give you my blood to drink.
Once you transitioned and woke up, we’d make love and feed from each other.
The transition will be a bit uncomfortable.
But afterwards ... Well, let’s just say it’s an extremely pleasurable experience—ten times better than human sex,’ I say nonchalantly, inspecting my newly painted purple nails.
There’s a long silence.
I glance up to see that Damian’s pupils are dilated, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip. I can scent his arousal from here.
I smile to myself.
It doesn’t take much to get him going, and I’m not complaining. But I won’t be turning him tonight. I want to enjoy him as a human a little bit longer.