Page 3 of An Acquired Taste

Around me, life goes on. Other passengers chat with each other or watch videos on their phones or hum to music. A couple argues about what movie to watch. A drunk slumps over and snores with his mouth open. It all seems distant, like I’m trapped in my own bubble where time has stopped.

I built my life around Declan, thinking that I was setting the foundation for a lifetogether. It’s been years since I tried to imagine a future that didn’t involve him. And now, here I am, suddenly picturing myself as an old woman alone. The future stretches out in front of me in a horrifying stretch of bleak, joyless, lonely years.

How do I recover from this?

Returning to my hometown with my tail between my legs is not an option. I never thrived in the rural Midwest, andmy parents’ belief in crazy conspiracy theories has grown even stronger than their belief in the church over the last few years. I know how much they’d judge me for this. Especially since I’d have to go from no contact with them to calling and begging for a plane ticket across the country. Plus, if I get sucked back in to their lives, I fear that Maisy will lose the willpower to leave. I always felt guilty for leaving her behind; I’d feel even guiltier if I was the reason she stayed.

But staying in the city feels pointless, too. I could call up a friend and crash on their couch for a few days, but… then what? I’ve never liked LA. I was only here for Declan. I was willing to put up with the daily grind and the traffic and the ridiculous rent prices when I thought it was temporary.

So where does that leave me? Where am I supposed to go?

My eyes snag on a poster on the other side of the subway. It features a gorgeous young man lounging on a huge canopy bed with a glass of wine in one hand. His eyes are half-closed, his slender neck arched to reveal the puncture marks on his pale skin. The very image of decadence and sin. I know what he is even before I read the text on the ad. Avalentine. A vampire’s companion.

Valentines dedicate their bodies to their vampire patrons through frequent blood-giving… and lots of hot, kinky sex, if the gossip mags are to be believed. It’s probably not true thatallof them are banging, but the relationships certainly seem intimate. In return, valentines are pampered and cherished. Given the best food and drink and clothing, and brought to high society vampire parties that are otherwise inaccessible to humans.

Basically, they’re sugar babies who give blood.

These ads are everywhere, of course. New valentines are always in demand, and LA is a hotspot for finding them. Some people travel here in the hopes of being hired as one. I never would’ve considered such a thing when I was with Declan, ofcourse; he would guilt me about even enjoying books and TV shows about the lifestyle.

But right now, this ad feels like a sign.

A pipe dream is better than no dream at all. I find my hand wandering to my neck, touching the sensitive skin there. Wondering what it would be like to feel teeth sink into my flesh. Perhaps the thought should be frightening… but the thrill it gives me is more pleasure than fear. I have always wondered what it could be like. Like most girls, I grew up obsessed with vampire romance books and movies, poring over the gossip magazines filled with sordid details about the undead aristocrats and their luxurious, secretive lifestyles. I also grew up with a pastor shouting about vampires being soulless and valentines being “the devil’s whores” every Sunday, but given the type of teenager I was, that only heightened the appeal.

Still, I never went any further than daydreams. Never truly considered the lifestyle. Instead, I chose what I thought was the safe option… and look how that turned out.

It’s crazy to be considering it. I can picture Declan’s sneer, my parents’ shocked disapproval. Even Maisy would be surprised. And yet… What do I have to lose?

I’m sure the valentine life is not as glamorous as the magazines make it seem, but they make good money. It would grant me enough to fulfill my promise to Maisy and a step up with rebuilding my life. Plus, it’s early February, which means we’re quickly approaching Valentine’s Day—the biggest vampire event of the season.

Before I’m even aware I’ve made the decision, my phone is in my hand and I’m typing out the contact number written at the bottom of the ad.

I hold my breath as the line connects—only to let it out in a disappointed sigh as I get a canned message that they arecurrently closed to applications.But before I can lose hopeagain, I notice a tiny sticker beneath the poster in the shape of a red rose.The Valentine Society, it declares itself in pretty cursive.

The ad looks so small beside the giant poster. One corner is peeling off, and the color is fading. Never thought I’d see the day I relate to a sticker, but here I am.

And I’ve got nothing to lose, so I type in the new number and try again.

“Valentine Society, Lissa speaking.”

“Um, hi. I was wondering if you’re…” What’s even the proper word? “Hiring?”

A pause. “First of all, some common questions: No, we are not affiliated with any of the vampire courts. No, we do not guarantee patronage. No, we are not a matchmaking service. What we offer is training and chaperoning for new valentines.” She says it with the air of someone who had repeated these words a thousand times, but it might as well be gibberish to me.

Training?I didn’t know valentines needed training. But I’m unwilling to give up now. “So… that’s a yes?”

“It’s late in the season.” Another pause. “But we’re open to applications, yes.”

Chapter Three

I’m sweating once I arrive at the address, both because of the walk from the metro station and the anxiety roiling in my gut. I peer down at my phone, then up at the gigantic, wrought-iron gate in front of me. Behind it waits a picturesque Victorian-style house, all pitched roofs and towers and stained-glass windows. There’s no sign, but this is exactly what I’d picture a vampire’s house looking like: sexy and gothic and a little spooky.

I bite my lip and consider turning back one more time. Then I picture the disappointed but unsurprised looks on my parents’ faces when I walk in the door with nothing but a suitcase in hand, and Maisy’s expression falling when I tell her she’s on her own in LA. I gather my courage and jab at the intercom button near the gate to announce my presence.

A woman waits out on the wraparound porch. She’s dressed smartly in a pencil skirt and silk blouse, and she’s not a vampire, judging from the tan skin and warm pink of her cheeks. I guess she could be in spray tan and makeup, but from what I’ve seen, white vampires love to play up their natural pallor.

“Amelia?” she asks, and I nod. I’m tongue-tied with nerves. She stands for a moment with her hand propped on her hip, eyeing me and my sad suitcase. “I’m Lissa. Welcome to the Valentine Society. Benjamin will meet you in the parlor.”

Will you walk into my parlor, said a spider to a fly,my brain supplies, sending a trickle of unease down my spine.

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