Page 10 of Hot Blooded
In fact, I’m so used to this almost clinical approach to feeding that I can barely even recall my younger years, before vampires were outed and our rights established, when we used to hunt for a meal. It seems so cruel and brutish, thinking back on it.
Carly is dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie, as if she is some sort of waiter. I watch as she carefully removes her jacket and neatly hangs it up. Then she unbuttons the shirt sleeve and rolls it high. Glancing my way, question in her eyes, she asks, “Is the wrist still your preference?”
I nod and shift in my seat. If this was Tressa, I’d want her neck, or inner thigh, someplace tender and sensual. But with Carly, I like to keep it more professional. Where did that thought come from? I won’t be feeding from Tressa, obviously.
The water whooshes in the sink as she cleans the area for me. I think it rather ruins the taste a bit, because there is something sumptuous about the sweat on the skin, the salty taste that adds to the tangy iron flavor. But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by admitting as much.
The kind woman sits next to me on the red velvet couch, crossing her legs. She hooks a monitor to her free arm, a little pulse oximeter on her finger. These are all required precautions they are mandated to take, although I can monitor her pulse through my mouth just fine to know when to stop.
“Ready then?” she asks.
I lick my lips, nodding and breathless, imagining how amazing this would be if the sweet-smelling Tressa could beunder my lips. But no. I need to push those thoughts away. I don’t feed off my employees. Plus, it’s against the law to feed off humans who are not registered as donors.
Grabbing Carly’s wrist in both hands quickly, which causes her to let out a little surprised gasp, as if she didn’t see it coming, I raise the flesh to my mouth.
As soon as my fangs sink in, I begin to drink my fill, sucking harder and faster than I usually do. In what seems like no time, the warning monitors begin to beep. I want to keep going, but if I’m going to keep my membership here, I must stop. I release my fangs from her wrist.
Carly grabs a gauze pad and presses it to the barely bleeding twin wounds.
She gives me a melancholy smile.
“I’m sorry, was that not okay?” I ask, confused at her pained expression.
Shaking her head, she pats my thigh. “It was fine. A little needier than usual, especially considering it hasn’t been that long since you last fed. Is everything okay? Are you under more stress than usual, Reign?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “No. It’s fine. It’s just, I have a new human employee, and her scent is really, really distracting.” I don’t know why I’m admitting this to Carly. Maybe I just need someone to vent to. Alastair is obviously not an option. Mrs. Potts will be worried if I tell her the truth. Carly is my best bet right now for dropping this weight off my shoulders.
“Oh. That must be… hard,” she offers.
“You have no idea.” I shake my head.
“Well. You’re all set now. And I know you’re a strong man. I have full confidence everything will be fine. But you know, there’s no shame in asking a human to keep their distance from you.”
I nod, knowing all this from my mandatory training classes the government requires of all vampires, periodically. As if they know the first thing about it. Although, things have gotten better over the years, as more vampires have started directly working on creating the content.
“See you soon,” I grumble as I stand to leave.
Carly starts to roll back down her shirt sleeve. “Not too soon, I hope.”
“You and me both,” I laugh, and then head from the room, needing suddenly to get far away from every living human and escape back to my mansion.
***
Tressa has become an unexpected distraction that I can’t stop thinking about the entire ride home. Her sun-kissed skin, her makeup-free face, her quiet unassuming beauty. Her mouth. God, her mouth makes me want to do wicked, wicked things.
But it’s not Tressa that I find when I return. In the circular driveway in front of my home, my brother’s white Porsche is parked haphazardly in front of the fountain with its cherubic angels.
“Where have you been?” he asks, stepping out of the car.
“Out.”
He nods once, removing his sunglasses and pocketing them inside his sport coat. I’ve never seen Alastair dressed in anything other than a suit. Well, that’s not true. Once I saw him in a bathing suit, but that was from a photograph when he visited the Playboy mansion.
“I couldn’t get a hold of you.”
“I’m not available twenty-four hours a day. I’m not a damn ATM machine.”
He tips his chin. “Hm, someone’s cranky.”
