Page 75 of By the Pint

“See!” he said, victorious. He pinched the pad of his finger to bring more blood to the surface. “It hurts so fucking much. You might have to nurse me.”

At his words, a jolt of excitement shot straight to my cock.

“Oh, you poor vampire. Let me clean you up.” In what I intended to be a seductive move, I put his entire finger into my mouth and sucked the drop of blood from it, caressing the pad with my tongue.

“NO!” Dima yelled, pushing my head away.

My mouth disproportionately filled with the ferrous static tang of his blood. It felt like I’d taken a mouthful of battery acid.

“Holy fuck. Holy shit,” Dima said, jumping to his feet, seizing my face in his hands, and forcing my mouth open to look inside.

“Ahs gang ang?” I tried to say. I wrenched my face away from his grasp and massaged my jaw. “What’s going on?”

“My blood. You drank my blood. My blood. Fuck. I tasted yours, too. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.”

Oh. Realisation hit. Or at least realisation at what Dima thought was happening. It wasn’t possible, though.

“Nuh-uh. No way. It doesn’t work like that. You need a pint—a pint!—of each other’s blood.”

I’d done my research. Many many many years of research. I knew that in order to become a vampire, the sire or dam must drink a pint of the human’s blood (or whatever non-vampire species they were turning), and then the human must drink a pint of the sire’s blood.

A whole pint. Five-hundred-and-sixty-eight-point-twenty-six millilitres. Not one teensy weensy little drop. And Dima had barely tried more than a few drops of mine.

He was on his feet. His hands in his hair. “We’d better get you to a turning facility, like now. Oh, shit! You can’t turn here. In my hotel. It’s not equipped for this. You’ll hurt yourself … You’ll eat all my guests. Shit, fuck.”

“Hey, calm down,” I said. I paused, waited to feel the effects of … anything happening. But other than the bitter metal tang in my mouth which was now snaking down my throat like a shot of tequila, nothing else felt off. I’d read turning was painful, extremely painful, so I focused my attention on each part of my body, each organ, each joint. No pains whatsoever. “Dima, it’s not happening, okay? I’m not turning here. You need way more blood to turn someone. That’s … No …”

I’d also read that the process happened immediately after the sire’s blood was drunk. And the main cause of ineffective turning was that the human (or other species) couldn’t stomach the full pint of vampire blood. In any case, this usually ended in death since the carotid artery would have been punctured.

“Look, I’m fine. Nothing’s happening to me. It was an infinitesimal amount. Nobody is getting accidentally turned into a vampire at the Constellations Manor tonight. If it makes you feel any better, call the emergency turning services. Have them take me to the turning facility. Do it properly. You know they wouldn’t hesitate to make sure all the steps are followed correctly.”

If I thought Dima was annoyed before, he was downright outraged by this suggestion. “Oh, you fucking win.” He flumped down onto the sofa across from me, arms folded, his red eyes glaring. “But I’m staying here with you all night to make sure nothing happens. And if I see any sign of you turning, I’m calling the vampbulance immediately.”

“The vampbulance?” I said, laughing because even though Dima’s face was still deadpan, there was the tiniest hint of my Dima.

My Dima?Oh, gods, why did that sound so good?

“That’s what they’re called.”

“It is not!” I jabbed him in the rib. He pushed my finger away with his telekinesis, which felt cold, and tingly. Like icy pins and needles but not painful. “So, while we wait for me to spontaneously combust, fancy a blowey?”

He didn’t smile, not even a tick to the corners of his mouth. In fact, his lips pursed together as though he was sucking on his teeth.

“Turn out for the books, huh? Me making the jokes, you miserable as fuck.”

“Don’t,” he said to me in a warning whisper that sent a chill up my spine and a jolt of desire straight to my cock.

What was wrong with me?

“Why are you mad? It was an accident. Not like I purposely stabbed you with a tiny needle and made you bleed and then licked it off.”

“Wasn’t it? It was your idea to have me draw your blood at Dreadmourne Castle, too.”

“Dude, are you not listening? Pints, not drops.”

Wait, what was he suggesting?

Dima held out his hand. The door to my suite threw itself open, and his mobile phone flew into his palm. Telekinesis was fucking cool. He punched at the phone with his finger. An old-school type with an actual keypad.

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