7. Christopher #3
I lift the container into the air and push Carrot back. “These are for you to eat. Too many will give Carrot the runs.”
“Huh?”
“They’ll upset her tummy. She can have three more, and that’s it. Can you count to three?”
“One, two, three.” Matching her words, she holds up one finger at a time.
I return the container to the table. “Keep count, and the rest are yours.”
“Okay.”
Unfamiliar food—and feeding the bunny—will keep Zinnia distracted.
According to the astronomy watch on my arm, full dark is twenty minutes away.
It’s a cool mechanical watch and displays the phases of the moon along with when the sun and moon rise and set each day.
I scavenged it from an upscale area that wasn’t lucky enough to be included inside the Tucson and Phoenix domes.
Some rich dude’s loss is my gain.
After warming one of the donor bags, I power it down, then grab an empty glass and the case of clone blood from the counter.
“What’s in there?” Zinnia asks as I walk past the dining table.
“Uh, medicine for your mother.” I open the bedroom door. “Now, stay there.”
Bringing the box and a drinking glass with me, I close the door and pour.
When Maria stirs, I wave the glass in her direction. The scent will be enough for her to zero in on the source.
I’ve never sired a child before. I’ve never been present at the awakening of one. All I have to go on is my experience waking and the tales others told. She’ll be ravenous, and it will take a while for her brain to come to life and accept the situation.
Her eyes suddenly open, devoid of awareness, the empty gaze of a zombie.
She sits up and grabs for the glass. I guide the rim to her mouth, then let her take over feeding herself.
Some slops out—I’ll have to replace these sheets, but hell, I have dozens in storage in the warehouse—and I prepare the next pouch, squeezing the warming sleeve and tearing off the corner.
I catch the glass when she finishes and try to pour in more blood, but she rips the pouch from my hands, raising the opening to her mouth, frantic for more. I should have brought in two glasses. I didn’t think through the feeding process, but then, all of this is a radical change for me.
So I prepare the third pouch and pour it in the glass, and she slurps down the ruby liquid.
The next four are just as sloppy, and her eyes remain glazed.
Then it hits me. I’ve only lived a hundred-and-sixty-six years as a vampire, and all my friends say you have to be two hundred before making a child.
Did I have enough power behind my bite and blood to succeed? Will she come out of the death coma sane?
My stomach sinks as guilt finally rears its thorny head. I’ve never killed a mortal before this. I shouldn’t have fired on her—I should have found another way to save my life and spare hers.
It will destroy Zinnia to lose her mom. And it will destroy me to lose my first fledgling.
The bond between us sinks deep into my bones, along with the desire to care for her, to keep her at my side.
Before I turned her, malnutrition had dulled her wavy dark brown hair and made her golden-brown skin sallow.
Drinking my blood healed those vitamin deficiencies.
Now, her skin and hair glow. She seems to spark to life.
And her lips: a cupid’s bow I’ll write a song about someday.
The bottom lip luscious, very kissable… I want to lean forward and sweep the blood residue off her mouth with my tongue.
Oh fuck. No, no, no.
No way can I become emotionally involved with her.
Everyone knows relationships between makers and their fledglings never last. Besides, she has a child. I hate children. When I was a child myself, I swore I’d never have kids.
My first talent manager turned me through trickery, and while I resented that, I was thrilled to learn vampires are sterile.
Instant vasectomy without facing my fear of a surgeon holding a sharp knife near my balls.
In the 1950s, the procedure was more like ripping a hole in my meat sack than a refined snip. I checked and said, No thank you.
But my heart battles with my head. Even before she shot me with an arrow, I found her attractive. Now, I want Maria with a desire so deep I’m not sure whether to blame the bond or my long abstinence or her incredible beauty. I’m guessing it might be a combination of all three.
Knock it off. She’s not for you.
And if she doesn’t come back to herself, my feelings won’t matter. Besides, if the Lux enforce the treaty prohibition, I won’t have long to live anyway.
In the back of my mind, I contemplate a way to save both of us.
I mean, even if I didn’t offer to sacrifice myself, the Lux Protectors wouldn’t kill a mother who has a living child, would they?
The vampire council might, but the mortal representatives would take pity on us…
and the decision to execute must be approved by all three groups.
But in this moment, I realize I can’t rely on the mercy of the three councils. No, if it comes to that, I’ll sacrifice myself. I’ll never put her life in the hands of those clowns.
As she drinks the seventh glass, her intense sienna eyes focus. The blood frenzy slows, and I pour another bag for her.
She aims those beautiful orbs at me and fear fills them. “Where’s my daughter?”