Page 15 of My Mr. Vampire

“Thanks for taking a look.”

“It’s no problem. You’re safe. Nothing is going to happen to you. Zand protects his people.”

His people. What did that even mean?It implied Zand was their leader in some way.

Josh sensed I needed privacy.

“Miss Chanel, I’ll go wait in the car. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay, thanks. I will.”

I stood there and waited for Josh to leave. I closed and locked the door behind him. Sucking in a deep breath, I took my time going into my bedroom. That was the room where all the violence took place. When I peeked in, the closet was open, so I knew no one was hiding in it.

Zand was right. The place was spotless. It was just as if nothing criminal ever occurred. I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. How was I going to tell Morgan the truth? I had so many truths. I knew the one about the vampires was going to have to stay with me, but I didn’t want to keep everything from her.

I made some coffee and hoped the creamer was still good. It wasn’t. I remembered I had some powdered creamer in the cabinet. My nerves were getting better the more time I spent in the apartment, and the hot coffee seemed to help soothe all my doubts.

Morgan texted me when she was in the parking lot of my complex. I texted her back to come on up. I couldn’t wait to see her. I had Zand but nothing could beat being in the company of your best friend, the one person on earth that knew you better than anybody.

I opened the door and stood and waited for my bestie. Morgan was dressed head-to-toe in her favorite color, black. She looked like one of them. She looked like a vampire. If she were one of them, she would fit right in with her dark outfit. I laughed inside and she could handle anything.

“Hey girl.” Morgan greeted me with an infectious smile. “I’m still in mourning and my favorite color is black, so get ready to see me in black for a few more months.” She added.

“Okay girl.” I giggled. “Get your butt in here!”

Morgan rolled her luggage halfway inside the apartment and removed her Fendi sunglasses even though there was no sun.

She opened her arms, and I welcomed her with a hug. “Coco, you look so stressed. What’s wrong with ya?”

“Nothing, just come all the way in so I can close the door. You are letting all my heat out.”

I helped Morgan by grabbing her tall, rolling suitcase. “Did you bring wine?” I asked.

“Now you know good and well, it’s right in the bag.” She removed the black duffle bag that the connected to the suitcase handle and handed it over to me.

I noticed her hair was a few shades lighter, but still curly. “You dyed your hair blonde.”

“Yeah, they say them hoes have more fun. So, I’m all about that life.”

“It’s cute.”

“Thank you. I see you getting your inches back. Don’t cut it again.” She warned.

She removed her coat and placed it on the barstool chair. She followed me into the kitchen. I grabbed the wineglasses from the cabinet and the corkscrew from the drawer.

“Is it okay if we do the red?” I asked.

“You want a headache? You never pick red.” She was speaking facts. That was true, but Zand drank red.

There was always red wine in his club, in his apartment. And even in his loft. He needed red to camouflage all the bottles of blood he drank. I wondered how long bottled blood lasted. Did they add something to it to preserve it? Where the hell did it come from? Was there a company that manufactured and distributed it locally or internationally? That was one of many questions I had to add to my lists of inquiries.

“I took an Advil earlier. I will be good with the red. This bottle looks a little fancy. Is this expensive?” I asked as I observed the pretty shape of the bottle.

“It costs more than that ghetto corner store wine you buy.”

“There is some good wine out there for $4.99 a bottle.” I explained.

“Child, this is why you need me in your life.” I struggled with the corkscrew but was finally able to open the bottle. I poured Morgan a full glass and did the same for me.

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