Page 11 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
I roll my eyes and put my blood bag aside.
Our foray into his home last night was still the hot topic on our lips, especially since Pru is plotting how I can meet with him again to ‘desensitise’ me further.
I have to admit, apart from the initial urge to devour him when he had answered the door, the longer I stayed in his home, the less I wanted to bite him – but only a little bit less. There was an overriding need for his body that now competed with my thirst, but I still want his blood more than anything.
“What did you learn that might stop you from killing him?” Tess asks, as though we are talking about the weather.
“Not much,” I sigh, “he is just so beautiful and so, well, desirable and munchable all at the same time. I think even if Jacques and I had spent this amount of time together, even if I’d given him the chance, I’d probably still have bitten him.”
“Good, we are getting somewhere,” she nods her head, sagely, “admitting you have a problem is the first step towards solving it.”
“This is not AA, Pru,” I snort, “we already knew I had a problem before you arrived. After all, you did have Valerie the teenage jack-the-ripper babysitting me.”
“Valerie, ah, Valerie,” she shakes her head, “you know I agreed to allow her to live with Tristan and I every school holidays.”
“More fool you,” I quip.
“Because,” she continues, “she blackmailed me. Wouldn’t stay with you unless I promised.”
“I never asked you to do that,” I murmur, running my fingers over the newborn tiny rabbit’s ears. “And she bit poor darling Orson, you’ve seen the horrible scar he has on his side now.”
“I’d do it 100 times over, if it stopped you from killing yourself,” she says quietly.
“I don’t think I’m the only one depressed around here,” I frown, my thoughts turning back to my neighbour. “He’s so quiet, so, well, sad. Don’t you think?”
“Clearly fucked up from his service in the Middle East,” she nods, reaching for my blood bag, having finished her own. “But he will probably come out of his shell after a few years of quiet in the country, I mean all of us at one stage or another have needed to recover from some kind of trauma. The countryside seems like it will be his antidote, as it is yours.”
“Maybe,” I frown, “his dog was nice.”
“Yes, his dog was nice,” she nods, taking the newborn kittens off her lap and putting them back into the fur-lined box with Buffy and the others. Spike, I’ve separated after he ate one of his babies – I’m too shocked to think what to do with him yet.
“So,” she smiles, turning to me. “It is time to put into action our next phase, Phase 2B, of the plan.”
“Oh, God,” I groan, “do I even want to know?”
