Page 6 of Space Vampire
“Whatever you call it, it is all the same. I am not normal. They changed something inside me. And now I am ... hungry.”
Well, that makes two of us, except I want to eat noodles and he wants to drink me like I’m a walking, talking juice box. “So what’s the plan?”
“Plan?”
“Yeah, you attacked the scientists, made them leave, and now you’re the king of the station here. Congrats. Good job. Now what’s your plan?”
“Why do you care what I do?”
“Because Idohave a plan, and I need to see if it aligns with yours or if you’re going to just kill me.”
He makes another one of those amused sounds. “Why would I kill you when you’re so very interesting to talk to? And you seem to know what I am, which makes you cleverer than the scientists that left here. So I want to know more.”
“And you’re not going to kill me?”
“No.”
“Even if I smell really fucking good?”
He leans in close, warm, coppery breath infusing the darkness around me. “Creature, you smell incredible, and I can hear your pulse pound with every beat of your heart, and I have not attacked you yet, have I?”
That shouldn’t make me pulse between my thighs. “My name’s not Creature. It’s Dana. And if we’re going to be friends, you need a name. I’m not calling you Dracula. That’s another vampire, by the way.”
“I told you, I only have a batch identification number. Project va’DorV8.3.”
Well, that’s a mouthful. “You know what? Dracula’s a better name. Or how about Vlad? Vlad the Impaler?”
“I will use that one. It sounds intimidating.”
Yeah, I should have guessed he’d pick that. “Okay, well, if we’re friends, Vlad, can I get you to promise not to kill me?” When he pauses for longer than I’d prefer, I point that out. “An immediate answer would be better than one where you have to think about it. Just saying.”
He huffs, amused. “I don’t want to kill you. You’re the first one that’s talked to me like I’m a normal person, not a mistake.”
Then I’ll talk his ear off, like Scheherazade and her thousand and one nights. “I’m glad we’re in agreement. And speaking of agreements ...” I gesture at our surroundings. “My eyes are bad. Can we turn at least one light on, or do you have to have total darkness?”
“I know that they have had certain lighting in the past that did not injure me, but the ones you used were painful.” He pauses and taps my arm. “You are the expert on the garlic monster. You tell me.”
“Vampire,” I correct again. “And as far as I know, it was just sunlight that affected vampires. Natural sunlight.”
“I have never seen the sun. I have only ever been on this station.”
That strikes me as sad. “You’ve never been planetside? You’d like it. The weather is different every day and there’s a breeze. The air is fresh and doesn’t smell like old socks like it does here on the station. And the skies at night are gorgeous.” I’m hit with a wave of homesickness. I haven’t seen the sun or felt a breeze since I was acquired by Nasit.
“The station does smell bad,” he admits. “I thought it was only something I scented.”
I chuckle at that. “No, I smell it, too. It’s the air recyclers or something. They always smell musty. And I want to get a look at you, Vlad. See if you have other typical vampire characteristics.”See what I’m working with. See if you’ve got the look of a cold-blooded killer on your face. See if you’re looking at me like I’m a human or a hamburger.“Come on.”
“Where are we going?” If he minds that I’m taking control of the situation, he’s not showing it.
“To another room that has lighting, because you ripped this one out. It’s okay, I’m not judging you.”
“It sounds like you are.” He’s amused by my tone, though, and I’m relieved that he continues to be rather low-key about the entire situation. He’s not acting like a crazy bloodsucking monster, so that’s a good sign.
“Let’s head into the hall,” I say, and then hold my hand out since it’s pitch-black and I’m surrounded by broken glass and twisted metal. “You can guide me.”
“You are a bossy thing for a pet,” he mutters. Instead of taking my hand and leading me out, though, he picks me up by the waist and carries me. I bite back a yelp, my arms automatically going around his shoulders.
He’s not wearing a shirt. My hands touch thick chest hair and graze over rock-hard arm muscles and warmth. Hesmells like blood, and something else, and I wonder what kind of alien he is. The mesakkah aliens that run this station are all blue and tall and lean, and I don’t think they have chest hair like he does. Most of the clones that Nasit makes are amalgamations of multiple types of aliens—he calls them splices—all tossed together in some sort of DNA soup. I find myself curious to see just how human—or inhuman—this Vlad looks.
