Page 8 of Taste of Forever
“Yeah, I work inside a lot.” That wasn’t a lie, at least.
“Well, everything looks great. I’ll get your file and blood profile into our system.” Cedric made some notes on my paperwork. “Then we’ll see who we have waiting to feed and find a compatible recipient for you. Sound good?”
“Uh, yeah.” I swallowed and manipulated my lips into a smile. “Awesome.”
“I’ll be right back, Jamie. Sit tight.”
The moment he left the room, I whipped my phone out and stopped the audio recording to shoot video.
“What the hell is this?” I whispered, crossing the small room to hold my phone in front of the machine that analyzed my blood.
After a few seconds, I brought my phone to the computer monitor, squinting as I tried to make sense of the results on the screen. Based on the numbers displayed, I could make educated guesses of what each line was, but the words were in a language I didn’t understand. The characters looked almost runic, or like simple pictographs.
I stepped back from the computer and held my phone up as I turned in a small circle to capture the whole room. “Looks like a regular doctor’s office,” I commented. “But something is very weird about this place.”
Once I had footage of the whole room, I stopped the video, went back to audio recording, and stuck the phone back in my leggings. I had no idea when Cedric would be returning and didn’t want to risk getting caught.
My hasty recording ended just in time, because he knocked and poked his head in the door not a minute later.
“We’ve got a recipient ready for you, Jamie.” He widened the doorway. “If you’ll follow me.”
I stepped out into the hallway after him, passing by other staff wearing scrubs of various colors and styles.
“Next time you come, this’ll all go a lot faster,” Cedric said, keeping pace with me. “You can keep a standing appointment if you’d like, or just drop in whenever. But if you have a preference for a certain recipient and they like your blood in return, we’ll do our best to keep you paired up for each feeding.”
“Why would I have a preference?” We passed another brusang in the hallway, a woman with pale blue irises set in black. This time, I knew better than to stare for too long.
“Just as the taste of blood is subjective, so is the experience of providing it,” Cedric explained. “On your end, sensations can range from mildly uncomfortable to euphoric and pleasurable. It may take some trial and error, but we strive to make it the best experience for both parties.” He opened a door for me. “Here we are. Go ahead and have a seat.”
A chair matching the ones in the waiting room was set next to a blue folding screen that divided the room in half. Next to the chair, a bit lower than shoulder height if sitting, was a softball-sized hole in the screen.
The donation process had been spelled out in the form I’d read, but seeing it with my own eyes was a completely different experience. I could read words and tell myself it was fiction, but there was no denying reality.
Moments after lowering myself into the chair, I heard a door open on the other side of the screen where I couldn’t see. Heavy footfalls crossed the room, and I felt a sizable presence drop into the other chair mere inches away. We could have been sitting on the same couch, if not for the screen between us.
“Hey, how’s your night going?” a warm, smooth voice asked.
“You don’t have to talk to him,” Cedric said before I could respond. “We’ll always protect your anonymity, but how much personal information you want to divulge is up to you.”
An indignant huff came from the other side of the screen. “I asked how their night was going. It’s just making conversation.”
“This donor is new to the process,” Cedric retorted. “I’m just reassuring her of her safety.”
“It’s okay,” I piped up before the male chest-thumping could get out of hand. “My night’s going well, thanks. How’s yours?”
There was a slight shuffle of movement, like he was adjusting his posture in the chair. “Just peachy.”
The two words in that low timbre had a sarcastic tone that piqued my curiosity. Everything about this situation was like a strange dream. Some anonymous, silky-voiced vampire was about to bite me and drink my blood. I heard his voice, could glean his general mood from the way he spoke, but would never see the face or know the name of this person.
“We’re ready whenever the donor side is,” said a woman’s voice from the other side of the screen. I heard what sounded like gloves being put on.
“Go ahead and put your forearm through the screen,” Cedric told me. “You can rest your elbow there.” He nodded at a raised, padded cushion attached to the side of the chair.
I steeled myself with a breath and put my hand and wrist through the softball-sized hole in the screen, feeling like I was voluntarily dunking my arm into shark-infested water. In hindsight, I probably should have asked more questions about the safety of sticking my arm out for some random vampire to take a bite. What would really prevent him from draining me dry? Or ripping my arm from its socket?
“Sorry if I’m shaky.” The apology sounded ridiculous as it tumbled out. Did a gazelle say sorry to a lion for its fear?
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
