I'm the Vampire, That's Why

by Michele Bardsley

  I looked at Sharon, then at Patrick. "Are you telling me that she's gonna taste like chocolate?"

  "Yes."

  I crossed my arms. "Puh-lease. You liar. You're just trying to make me bite her and suck her blood."

  "Jessica." Patrick managed to infuse my name with affection and impatience. "I'm not lying to you. But even if I was, if you want to continue to live, such as it is, you must learn to drink blood."

  "She's been a vamp three days and hasn't had a donor yet?" Sharon studied me with narrowed eyes. "She doesn't look starved."

  "I've been sucking Patrick's thigh," I said. "And while you certainly look… uh, tasty, I prefer his thigh."

  "Oh honey, I would, too," said Sharon, laughing. "But as far as I know, Patrick hasn't allowed any thigh sucking since—"

  "Sharon." Patrick's expression was shuttered, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. Oh-ho. He was annoyed that Sharon had revealed this tidbit.

  "Usually only mates take blood from the femoral artery," supplied the ever-helpful Sharon. "So, kiddies, when's the ceremony?"

  Patrick groaned and rubbed his face.

  I sat down next to Sharon, o-fount-of-information, and watched her chew on another truffle. "Ceremony?"

  She licked chocolate off her plump lips (bitch). "I guess the ceremony part isn't as important as the mating. You guys skipping it? Too bad. I love a good wedding."

  Chapter 8

  "Wedding!" I jolted to my feet and poked Patrick in the chest. "What the holy hell is going on? We haven't even had sex yet and we're getting married?"

  "Stan told me that you claimed Patrick," said Sharon.

  I watched Patrick send another shut-up look to the redhead. She shrugged and ate another truffle.

  The honeysuckle thing? Well, shit-a-brick. How was claiming Patrick different from claiming my kids? I swear to heaven, if somebody didn't give me Vampire 101 right now, I was going to remove dangly bits. Starting with Patrick's. I crossed my arms and glared at him.

  "Remember that I explained the three steps of a binding? Word-giving could be construed as… well, a wedding," said Patrick.

  "Hmph," said Sharon. "Did you know that the numbers three and seven are sacred to vampires? There are seven vampire sects."

  "Seven sacred sects," I repeated. "Say that three times fast."

  "How about I spank you instead?" asked Patrick in a benign tone that belied the flare of irritation in his gaze.

  "Only if you tie me to a bed and use a paddle."

  His silver eyes went molten. Uh-oh. Me and my big smart-aleck mouth. "I… uh, sorry. I didn't mean that. I saw Secretary a few too many times. I'm impressionable."

  He stared at me with that inscrutable gaze until heat swept my cheeks and my heart hammered. God knew what Patrick had experimented with during his really, really long life. I would've never thought it possible, but had sex gotten boring for him? What had he done to liven things up in the ol' bedroom? Did I want to know?

  Yes. Yes, I did.

  Erotic tension weaved around us. Patrick's eyes were beautiful. I wanted to know what secrets lay in the silver depths, what sorrows he'd suffered, what joys he'd known. It was as if he were the chocolate I couldn't taste, the one thing on the whole planet I couldn't have… and had always craved. What the hell was wrong with me? I was mentally waxing poetic and I was getting really hungry. And not for Sharon.

  "Y'know," said Sharon. "I really don't want to witness step three. If y'all wanna come back later…"

  "Please, Jessica. Take sustenance."

  "I don't know how to do it," I whined.

  He slipped past me and seated himself next to Sharon. She looked from him to me then sighed. "Y'all got it bad, don't you?"

  "Got what?" I challenged.

  "Not my business now, is it?" Sharon closed her eyes then dropped her head back. "Hell's bells. Let's get this show on the road." Her red hair slid away, revealing a throat as pale as cream. Well, okay. I admit it: She had a nice neck. Her scent wafted to me. Cotton candy. Yeah, it figured she'd smell that way. Seemed like every person I scented reminded me of food I could never eat again.

  "It's instinctual, love. Every animal knows how to hunt, how to feed. You do, too. With donors, the best way to drink is when they're sitting, that way they're supported. If you have to do it standing, you hold tight to their shoulders, but not too tight. You can hurt them without meaning to because you're very strong. Every human reacts differently to blood-taking, but for the most part, they get woozy."

  "Like when you go to the Red Cross to donate blood."

  "Exactly."

  "So after I drink my fill, do I offer Sharon some Kool-Aid and a chocolate-chip cookie?"

  Patrick laughed and his lips quirked into a sexy smile. "Donors know how to recover. If you have to take from a non-donor, make sure you take only what you need, that your victim is in a safe place, and that you do a memory-wipe."

  "How do you do a memory-wipe?"

  "You look into the human's eyes. Once you have his attention, you tell him that he won't remember you. That he wasn't feeling well and decided to sit down. It's sorta like instant hypnotism."

  I considered his words. "Huh. I guess I'll have to practice."

  "You'll do fine, love." He opened his mouth and I watched, fascinated, as his fangs emerged. My own fangs extended as a rush of… I could only call it lust… washed over me.

  Then he dipped toward Sharon.

  "Wait! Aren't you supposed to put her under a spell or something?"

  "With donors, we don't have to use trickery. Our fangs inject what amounts to anesthesia into the skin, numbing the area pierced."

  He bent to Sharon's throat.

  "Wait! Aren't you gonna make her all bloody and yucky?"

  Patrick shot me a look of disbelief.

  "Hel-lo. I'm a mother. Cleaning up blood is the worst."

  "Our saliva contains an enzyme that helps the wound heal almost instantly. I promise you that Sharon will not be all bloody and yucky."

  He gazed at me and waited. I gazed back at him and smiled. After a few seconds, he once again leaned down and, with open mouth, grazed Sharon's flesh.

  "Wait!"

  He let Sharon flop out of his embrace and roared, "WHAT?"

  "I don't like you biting other people."

  His annoyed expression melted into confusion. Then he grinned. "It makes you jealous?"

  "No." Yes. I wiggled a get-over-here finger at him. "I'll stick my fangs into her neck, okay?"

  "I thought you wanted me to show you."

  "I can figure it out."

  "I don't mind. I've nibbled on Sharon before."

  "Patrick, get your lips away from her."

  Sharon's head snapped up. "That's enough! I don't mind being a donor, but I'm not a booby prize. Now, either someone feed on me or get your asses out of here. Survivor comes on in ten minutes and I ain't missing the tribe merge because you two can't decide who's gonna eat."

  "I don't think food should talk," I snarked.

  "If you don't want a truffle stuffed into your eye socket," Sharon retorted, "you'll mind that sassy tone."

  My ire faded. The Royal Bitch rides again. Sheesh. Who said vampires didn't get PMS? "Sorry, Sharon," I said meekly.

  "It's all right. Now sit down and drink a pint."

  Patrick switched places with me. I settled close to Sharon and watched as she once again bared her neck. Was I really going to slobber on her delectable throat?

  Patrick kneeled at my feet. "Go on, love."

  I wrapped one arm around Sharon's shoulder and bent over her. It was damned unnerving to lean forward with giddy anticipation… to instinctively know where to put my fangs… to sink my teeth into the pale skin of this stranger.

  But I did it.

  Her blood flowed into my mouth. I swallowed convulsively, but truthfully, I didn't want to taste it. It was warm and thick, the consistency of tepid soup. After a moment or two, I allowed myself to think about the taste. And y'know, it w
as good. Different from Patrick's, but good. Delicious and sweet. I sucked and gulped and delighted. Chocolate-flavored blood. Not just chocolate, but champagne truffles. Oh God. Willy Wonka's most clever creations had nothing on this babe. I moaned and held her tighter and sucked on her neck some more.

  "That's enough," said Patrick.

  No. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. I drank more. I felt powerful and happy and sated.

  "Jessica!"

  I was yanked backward by my pony tail. My fangs popped free. "Hey! I'm not done!"

  "You only take what you need. Chocolate addict," he accused.

  Since he still held my hair in an iron grip, I could only look longingly at Sharon's beautiful neck. The two bloody points closed in seconds, leaving twin trails of crimson on her throat. I wanted to lick 'em away, but she swiped a hand over the closed wound.

  She looked at me in disgust. "First timers," she slurred. Then her eyes rolled back into her head. She slumped sideways onto the couch, tipping over the bowl of truffles. Little chocolate balls rolled onto the pink fuzzy carpet. But I no longer cared about the treats. I had Sharon! Yummy, yummy Sharon. I reached for her arm, but Patrick pulled me to my feet.

  "You've had enough." He took me out of the Airstream. He wrapped his arms around my waist and we flew upward.

  "But you didn't taste her. She's… she's… scrumptious."

  "As are you."

  We landed on the gymnasium's roof. I traipsed in the direction of Sharon's abode, but Patrick grabbed my wrist and spun me around. "You've got blood on your face," he said.

  He dragged me into his arms and licked my mouth. Yeah. Licked. My. Mouth. He nibbled on the corners and suckled here and there. Hoo-wee. And I thought sucking on Sharon's neck had been fun.

  "Fun," Patrick said as he wrenched his lips from mine. "Fun?"

  "Quit bitching about my adjectives. And stay out of my head." I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close. He gathered me into his embrace with what I thought was a tad too much reluctance.

  "Jessica, you are the most exasperating woman I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

  "Bite me."

  "See what I mean?"

  "I really mean it. Bite me." I felt an overwhelming need to be bitten. I wanted to feel his teeth pierce my flesh and drink from me. It was an inclination I couldn't explain. It was just there—pulsing and greedy and urgent.

  He shuddered. Then his arms tightened around me and his head fell to my shoulder. "No, love."

  Lifting his head slowly, as if it were an anvil instead of his thick-headed skull, he released me and backed up a couple of steps. "We have a lot to discuss."

  "Yeah. You keep saying that." I plopped onto the tar-and-gravel roof and wrapped my arms around my knees. My butt protested the uncomfortable spot, but I was staying put. "Give me the four-one-one."

  He stared blankly down at me.

  "Information," I clarified. "Tell me what the hell is going on."

  "Ah." He sat down cross-legged, facing me. Our knees were inches apart. "Most of those who are Turned get what Stan calls the Basic Package. Strength, speed, psychic abilities, hunting, and feeding instincts. The full body makeover." He grinned at me. "Not that you needed any improvement, a thaisce."

  "Ooooh. You get points for that one."

  His grin widened. His gaze meandered around my chest for a while until I cleared my throat. He lifted his eyes to mine, his playful smile gone. Heat smoldered in that gorgeous silver gaze. My skin prickled in sudden awareness as lust skittered into my belly. "Now… every vampire can trace his or her lineage to one of seven original families. When a human is Turned, they gain the blood of the Sect—depending on which Family the vampire belongs to.

  "A binding can be performed between vampires of any Family. Believe it or not, Jessica, there is still a class system within the vampire community. The older your blood, the older your connection to a Family, the more power and status and wealth you have. Status matters within the Families. A Turn-blood who is created by an ancient has more status than a Turn-blood created by a new Master."

  So this was Patrick's nice way of saying new Turn-bloods like me were considered mere peasants. Generational wealth vs. nouveau riche. No wonder Nasty Nara looked at me like I was gum stuck to her Jimmy Choos. I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. Like I care about that crap."

  "You should also know that not every human makes the transition." He looked at me, his gaze unrelenting and sharp, so that I would understand the importance of what he was telling me.

  "What happens to those who don't Turn?"

  "Most die. Some… don't. The closest approximation to what they become is a zombie. They are eating machines. They have no intelligence, no conscience, no emotions."

  "You're kidding." I knew he wasn't, but I just didn't know how much more I wanted to learn about this new world I lived in. "But most humans make the Turn, right?"

  He shook his head. "No. Maybe one in ten makes it."

  "There were eleven," I said faintly. "You thought only one or two of us would Turn."

  Despite the odds, the Consortium had tried to save us all. They could've buried us, maybe taken care of our families in some way, good or bad, and gone on with their plans to convert Broken Heart to Weirdsville. I figured Patrick had something to do with that decision. I was grateful I was still walking around and I reckon I had him to thank. "You think we all Turned because of who bit us."

  Patrick nodded. "The lycanthrope blood has obviously changed Lor in some indefinable way. I'm worried about him. I don't know why he's hiding from us." He looked at me. "He didn't kill Emily."

  I said nothing, but I figured Lorćan hadn't turned himself in because he wasn't in any condition to do so. If he was a beast still in killing mode… well, no one was safe in Broken Heart.

  "He's not the only danger," Patrick admitted. "We have to worry about the Wraiths, too. Chances are good that they know we're here. They may be plotting against us… and I have to tell you, a second strike could cripple us seriously enough that our plans for Broken Heart will be abandoned." He rose to his feet and helped me to mine. "I need to teach you to fight."

  "Fight?" I blinked at him, confused. "You want to fight?"

  Patrick stretched out his arms, his hands half-fisted. I watched as two small swords materialized.

  "Are they made of gold?" I asked in awe.

  "Yes. They're made of the purest gold and were crafted by my grandmother with sidhe magic," said Patrick. "They're called Ruadan swords. They are very powerful, very dangerous. And they are yours."

  "Patrick… no." It was a weak protest. I wanted the swords. They were beautiful, and I felt drawn to them. Still… "I don't know what to do with those things. The most dangerous blade I've ever wielded was a butter knife. I'm guessing these aren't used for cutting ham sandwiches or weeding my garden."

  He laughed. "Well… you could do weeks of training with these, practice lopping off fake heads for hours and hours, or…"

  "Or what?"

  "Ever seen The Matrix?"

  "Dun. I'm a lifetime member of the Keanu Reeves fan club."

  Patrick rolled his eyes. "I was thinking about how information got downloaded into Neo's brain."

  "You mean you can just… zap! And I'll know how to use these?"

  He nodded. "You have strength, speed, and flight. Once you know how to use the swords, you'll kick serious ass."

  "What are you waiting for? Get on with it."

  Patrick handed me the swords. Then he touched my temples with his forefingers and stared deeply into my eyes. When he said "download" he wasn't kidding. Everything I needed to know was shot into my mind like a movie playing in extreme fast-forward. When he was finished, he looked at me. "Just promise you'll practice every day."

  "Yes, Mom," I said. I felt the energy that pulsed between my palms and the metal. Even with the knowledge of how to use them, did I have the gumption?

  "Go on. Give 'em a whirl."

  I did. I whirled
them like I was Buffy the vampire slayer. I slashed and lunged, amazed that I knew the moves, much less that I could use them. "This is killer kewl," I said, borrowing a phrase from Bryan. "Look at me go!"

  He laughed. "Yeah. But you still have to practice. Every day."

  "Why can't you just download again?"

  "I can. But knowledge is more valuable with experience."

  I spent a few moments practicing—kicks, leaps, twirls. I couldn't believe how easy it was for me to execute moves I'd only seen in action-adventure flicks. I felt like a Rambo ballerina. A Ramballerina. I grinned.

  "Jessica."

  I stopped messing around and looked at Patrick. His expression was serious and I knew we had more to talk about. Well, shit. "I need a cool belt or something for the swords to fit into."

  "I'll see to it."

  "Thanks. Okay, Patrick. You're getting ready to tell me something else I don't want to hear," I predicted. "Just spit it out already."

  "Your ring… the one passed down from Mary McCree… it was my wedding band. My grandmother made two… one for me and one for my wife. Two fede rings gifted to us on our wedding day."

  "I'm still amazed your granny knows how to do metal work. That's not a skill most grandmothers have." My voice shook and I couldn't stop its betraying tremble. Why did it bother me to know that Patrick had been married? The man had lived for four thousand years; he was bound to have some prior relationships.

  "My grandmother, Brigid, is very… unorthodox." He grinned then the smile slipped away. "Remember when I told you that it was foretold that the one who wore my ring was my soul mate?"

  "Yeah?" If my heart could go thuddy-thud, it would've been trying to leap out of my chest right about now.

  "I was once a mortal. A simple farmer in Ireland. Well, I was part sidhe, so I had some magical skills. But Lor was really the one who had talent as a sorcerer." He shook his head as if doing so would dissipate the memories. "My wife, Dairine, was killed and I was Turned. After a few decades had passed, my father predicted that only my soul mate would be able to wear the rings. Up until then, I had worn them on a chain around my neck. I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else wearing Dairine's fede … so I asked Brigid to melt it and re-craft it as a coin. The other, mine… I threw it into the ocean."