Page 7 of A Love So Deadly
Then I pull out, my saliva sealing the wound. He starts to stagger, but Vittoria turns him and rips into his throat again, guzzling the blood, moaning and digging her nails in.
She wasn’t warning me. She was wanting to feed.
And I let her. Fuck him, fuck them all. Every last one. I’m a little drunk on the blood, and I laugh, almost reaching for him again.
I catch myself, force myself out of the blood lust, and look at Vittoria.
She shows no sign of stopping.
“No more,” I say. “We don’t want to kill him.”
She doesn’t stop.
I move fast and rip her off him. In a second, I have her against the wall by her throat. “I said enough, Vittoria.”
Her eyes flash cold, vicious fire. The blood doesn’t even warm her in that way. It never has. I suspect it never will. She’s drunk, but she’s also ice.
“Fine.” She shoves at me. “I said fine.”
I let her go and grab Vinnie.
He’s glazed, swaying, and I hold out my hand. From the corner of my eye, Vittoria flips her long red hair and rolls her eyes, slamming a protein bar down into my hand.
I grab Vinnie by the throat. The wound will heal fast, look like a shaving nick. There are ways to leave it as an actual bite mark or a wound that doesn’t quite heal. But that’s when you turn a human into a pet or livestock. Or make them a slave out of some sexual perversion.
Fuck, I loved to do that. Back when I fucked humans.
I can mesmerize, so can all of my kind. But there’s nothing like your own slave. Or slaves. Feeding off them, covering you and them in their blood as they come just from sucking their blood. I used to love having my cock sucked by my slaves. I’d make them service each other, too. And when I was done? Drain them.
Now? I don’t fuck humans. Vittoria tells me I’ve turned weak. But in a very long life, a very long unlife, I suppose, things change.
Sex with humans, and letting them live preternaturally long lives, or leaving a trail of drained bodies isn’t smart. It’s downright dangerous in this modern world. And though I conceived and run VMR as a way to control the narrative, its reach isn’t absolute.
“Look at me, Vinnie,” I say in my mesmerizing voice. Like he’s charmed, hypnotized, he focuses glazed eyes on me. “From now on, you’re mine and Vittoria’s. You obey. You feed us your blood. And you don’t remember it. We’re your number onebusiness associates. What’s yours is ours. Eat your protein bar, right now.”
Vinnie doesn’t move.
“As far as you know this meeting went well,” I add, “and you’re paying us back.”
I click my fingers to snap him out of it and he almost falls. He staggers, then rights himself and peels off the foil wrap to eat his protein bar. Vittoria hands him another.
Every time he thinks of how he’s paying us or paid us, it’ll be a buzz of vagueness. But as long as Vittoria doesn’t kill him, or worse, turn him, then this will be perfect.
As long as there’s no sex involved, Vinnie’s life will be normal.
And looking at Vinnie, Vittoria would snap his neck over letting him touch her.
We’re done and we start to the door, but I stop, shifting the pot plant aside and pick up the mirror. “Oh Vinnie, thanks for the mirror.”
I take it, catching a glimpse of my reflection, pale face, high cheekbones, and dark hair. And eyes so blue they seem black. I tuck it under my arm.
“Good talk, Mr. Vale. Ms. Hart. See you next payment.” He grins, nods, eats his second protein bar. “Get a drink at the bar on me.”
We leave and Vittoria says, “Can we?”
“Not fucking likely. This place is horrible.”
“You’re so old-fashioned, Lucian,” she says. “Loosen up.”
