Page 11 of A Vow for the Vamp
“Beer is good. I’ll be out in a second,” Teddy says.
I leave before I can ravish the man in the bathroom and head to the kitchen.
I don’t need a kitchen. The cabinets are bare of food and cookware. I have a fridge, but it’s full of artificial blood manufactured by scientists employed by WOVE, the World Organization of Vampire Elites. It’s not sustainable, but it helps satiate the cravings in case of emergencies where I can’t find a blood donor in time. I’m also old enough that I don’t need to feed as often.
Vampires outnumber blood donors. Only a few hundred humans have signed up to willingly let us feed from them. That’s compared to around 2,000 vampires living across all five boroughs of New York City—at least the ones who’ve registered with WOVE, which is required, but not every vamp follows the rules.
While vampires can’t eat human food, we do consume alcoholic beverages: hard liquors, wine, beer. It may not get us wasted, but many of us enjoy the taste and it doesn’t make us sick like food. For some vamps, like me, it reminds me of my humanity. Of a time before I was undead, and I’d enjoy a glass of red at dinner or some whiskey that my husband picked up during a trip to London.
It’s been a few months since I’ve entertained a human, but I still have some beer stocked in my fridge and bottles of liquor on my bar cart. I grab Teddy a craft beer—heseems like the type to enjoy a local brew—and I twist the top off, then pour myself a glass of wine.
“I can’t believe you have this Milli Vanilli shirt,” Teddy says, returning to the living room.
I hand him his drink. “A thrift shop score.”
The shirt barely fits him. The fabric clings to his chest and stomach, and I avert my eyes because Ana’s blood has me wanting to jump his bones with every glance.
I didn’t look away fast enough because he definitely caught me checking him out again. He smiles, ear to ear, which makes my stomach twist with… butterflies?
Well, that hasn’t happened in… ever? Not that I can remember, at least.
Teddy takes a swig of his drink and strolls into the living room to begin exploring my penthouse. He walks around slowly, taking in the eclectic decor. The paintings I’ve collected over the years are originals, some handed over to me by the artists themselves like Rembrandt, Delacroix, and Manet. I also have pieces from Van Gogh and Monet, acquired after their deaths since I had already moved to New York City when their work became successful and neither artist traveled to the U.S.
The one Picasso piece I own I bought in the fifties from an anonymous seller. I always suspected it was Pablo himself. He was banned from visiting the U.S. for being part ofthe French communist party, but rumors swirled for years that he secretly visited the U.S. many times, including New York City.
“Holy shit. Are these real?”
“They are.”
Teddy’s eyes greedily take in the paintings, admiring their beauty for several minutes, not letting a single brush stroke go unseen.
He moves on to the sculptures adorning my bookcases, inspecting each one as if they hold all the secrets of the world. My book collection entrances him next. He traces a finger over the spines, reading every single title.
“Are these first editions?”
“Some, yes.”
“Wow,” he whispers. “You really are rich.”
I don’t correct him. Ihaveaccumulated a fortune in my five hundred years of living; however, many of those first edition books were bought for pennies when the authors were just starting out.
“No way,” he gasps when coming upon my vinyl record collection. “I knew you were a music fan.”
He sets his beer down on a table behind him and sifts through the stacks, every so often pulling a rare album out tomarvel over.
“Of course you have this one.” He holds up aGirl You Know It’s TrueLP byMilli Vanilli. I smile, but roll my eyes, surprised that I’m finding a human amusing.
Thankfully, he didn’t see my smile. I can’t have him thinking I enjoy his company.
Why not?
I shake the thought and join him at the bookcase.
Teddy whistles and holds another record up. “This AC/DC LP has to be worth $10,000.”
“Mmm, more like $5,000,” I say, stopping short of telling him I bought it on release day for a couple dollars.
“If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It)is such a badass song.”
