Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I laughed. Laughed so hard I usually would have peed myself. Don’t mock or judge. As I got older, my pelvic floor didn’t get the exercise it supposedly needed to stay toned. My doctor suggested Kegels exercises or sex. Neither happened, so I tinkled when I coughed or chuckled too strenuously.
In between sniggers, I managed to reply to Cillian’s outrageous claim. “So, you’re saying you bit me and now I’m a dark mistress of the night?”
“The correct term, given you’re a newly made vampire, is fledgling.”
I uttered an unladylike snort. “Very funny. Not buying it, though.”
“I assure you, it’s the truth. Hence why you needed to drink some blood.”
I eyed the decanter then the empty glass—which tasted so good and had me craving more. No way it was blood.
“Ha, ha. Very funny. Vampires aren’t real.”
“Everyone says that until the fangs come out.” He smiled at me and I recoiled at the sight of his very large incisors.
“Big teeth don’t make you a vampire.”
“Then what does?”
I wracked my brain for what lore I knew. “Aversion to God.” I flung my hands up and made a sign of the cross.
He made a noise. “Try again. Religion is a cult created by men to control the weak-minded.” I actually kind of agreed with him on that.
I glanced around. “Got a mirror nearby?”
“I have a reflection. I’m not a ghost,” he scoffed.
“I’m guessing you’re going to laugh at me if I mention garlic,” my less than hopeful riposte.
“Love the smell of it. And I could gargle holy water if you asked. As to the rest, if you stake me in the heart, yes, I’d die, but so would anyone else. Sunlight won’t cause me to incinerate into ash as the movies would have you believe, but it is very painful to exposed flesh.”
“Prove it. Stand outside in the sun.”
“I can’t.”
My finger jabbed in his direction. “Aha! Because you’re lying.”
“Because it’s past midnight.”
“I’ve been here a whole day?” Last I recalled it was one in the morning.
“Try five.”
“Five days?” I squeaked. “No way I slept that long.”
“Given the extent of your injuries plus the change in your metabolic state and DNA, I’m surprised it wasn’t longer.”
“Listen, Cillian, I appreciate you supposedly saving me from death and all, but, obviously, I wasn’t as badly injured as I thought and my coma nap fixed me. Thanks for everything, but I’m going to get going now.”
“Without shoes?”
I glanced at my bare toes. “You going to give me the ones I was wearing?”
“Your personal effects minus your ruined clothes are in a box in the closet by the front door. Your car is parked in the garage.” He grimaced. “I can’t believe you drive that jalopy.”
“Neither does my mechanic,” I quipped. I headed for the closet and located the box that held my stuff. I slid on my grungy shoes and snagged my purse. The phone inside was dead.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
“Home. Duh.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Fledglings do best when they’re mentored until they can get their impulses under control.”
“I am not going to pounce on people to suck their blood.”
“You will when the hunger gets too strong.”
"Oh my god,” I huffed, watching him surreptitiously to see if he flinched. He didn’t. “Stop with the vampire schtick. It’s not working.”
“You need to listen to me very carefully, Skylar. Your need for blood during this fledgling stage isn’t the only thing you’ll require help with. During daylight hours, you’ll want a secure location.”
“I have curtains,” I stated, rather than question how he knew my name. The guy had seen the mole on my inner thigh, so figuring that out when he had my wallet probably wasn’t that hard. “And besides, didn’t you say sunlight only burns?”
“Burns me because I’m old. It would kill you. Fledglings have little resistance to threats.”
“I'm not staying here with you." Handsome didn't mean trustworthy. Not to mention, why was he trying so hard?
"Did you hear a word of what I just said?"
“Yes, and I didn’t believe any of it.”
Cillian’s lips pursed. “Very well, then. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow night, if you survive.”
I laughed at his certainty. “Oh no, you won’t. As the Terminator would say, Hasta la vista, baby.”
With that, I stepped outside his house—which turned out to be a newer-looking McMansion in a very posh area. No wonder he parked my car in the three-door garage. Speaking of which, how did I—
Whir.
The rollup door exposed my vehicle parked beside a sleek, dark-colored sedan. I might not know much about cars, but damn, it looked expensive and nice.
I jumped into my car and then prayed it would start.
It did, with a small backfire that made me blush.
I chugged out of the garage and, as I pulled onto the street, took note of the house number—in case I needed to talk to the cops and bring them back with a search warrant to check Cillian’s basement or yard for bodies.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t a serial killer; after all, he let me leave.
I memorized his street name before heading in the direction of home, the difference between his neighborhood and mine a stark reminder of my impoverished lifestyle.
Why had I been so gung-ho to leave the lap of luxury?
Because Cillian’s interest in me made no sense. Ignoring his whole vampire bullshit, why come to my rescue when a guy like him could literally get any chick he wanted?
Twenty minutes later, I parked in the potholed lot the landlord had the nerve to charge for and headed to my apartment.
It felt more depressing than usual. The ceilings low, unlike Cillian’s nine-foot ones in the bedroom and the two-story expansive space of his great room.
His holiday décor also had me eyeing my unadorned apartment with pursed lips.
I’d not put up a tree this year because I couldn’t stand the fact Fluffykins wouldn’t be around to destroy the ornaments on it ever again.
Maybe I shouldn’t be such a Grinch and at least put out my display of nutcrackers. The uglier the better. My sisters called my obsession with them creepy, whereas I found them wildly entertaining. I mean, a mermaid nutcracker? Hilarious. Santa with his wife beater and beer bottle? Classic.
I’d lug out the bin from my locker in the morning.
First thing I needed to do? Take a shower.
Probably not the wisest course of action as I possibly soaped away DNA evidence, but I didn’t care because I highly doubted, despite my nude state, that Cillian fucked me while unconscious.
And if he did, well, it would be more action than I’d gotten in a while. We were talking years.
I’d broken up with my last boyfriend after finding out he was a porn addict who pretended I was someone else when we screwed. Since then, I couldn’t be bothered to make the effort.
After my shower, I peeked in my fridge and grimaced at everything.
The leftovers in the plastic recycled margarine and sour cream containers would most likely give me food poisoning.
Best if I chucked them. My freezer held some frozen meals, but nuking my favorite—chicken tenders with mashed potatoes, corn, and a little square of brownie—made my stomach turn.
I managed two bites before pushing the tray aside. It didn’t taste right.
Disgruntled, and still starving, I ordered a pizza via an app. Nothing like a hot pie smothered in gooey cheese to please a hungry belly.
It arrived forty-five minutes later and smelled…
okay. Usually, my mouth would be watering.
Whatever. Pizza was one of my favorites.
I grabbed a warm slice and chomped. Chewed.
Chewed. Swallowed. Grimaced. It tasted off.
I still forced myself to eat the whole piece, and I mean forced.
I’d never struggled so hard to eat something.
It made no sense. Had the restaurant changed their tomato sauce recipe? Even the cheese tasted bland.
Even worse, that one slice did nothing for my rumbling tummy. For a second, I thought of what Cillian claimed. That I needed blood because I was now a vampire. Ridiculous. More likely he’d given me some kind of drug that caused my food aversion.
And had me wide awake. I brimmed with energy and my apartment felt confining—and empty. It had been decades since I’d been truly alone. I’d had Fluffykins for almost half my life. Perhaps I should think about getting a kitten—or two.
Grawr.
What the hell? I glanced in alarm at my midsection. Since when did it make such a godawful noise? Should I try another slice? Looking at the congealing cheese made my throat close. I tossed it in the fridge and seeing the time—just after three—decided to hit the sack.
Was there any point in heading to work in the morning? A five-day absence without me calling in sick would have likely resulted in my being canned. Fuck. How would I pay rent?
I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, the gloom of the space not dark enough. As I lay there, unable to sleep, I memorized every stain and crack. Played over and over the confrontation with Gavin. The claim by Cillian. Ignored my grouchy belly.
I tossed and turned. Got up to try another slice of pizza. Spat it out after two bites. Tried soaking in a warm bath. Remained wide awake until dawn. And then, as if a switch were flipped, passed out hard.