by J S Hazzard
“We’ll each pick a dress,” Keanu staunchly declared, “and Rory can decide who chose better.”
It was impossible to stay angry in the face of such mental deficiency, though I’d done my best.
“Okay, fine. Great,” I added. “But I need something else to wear home and if you’re still interested in making an arrangement with my friend, you’ll need to pay for a second sample.” Even if I could wheedle another freebie, these morons didn’t deserve it.
Both of their faces lit up, Keanu’s in particular. “Oh, the bag is fine! It landed on the refrigerator.”
“Lucky bag,” I grumbled beneath my breath, wondering if anything else in the kitchen had survived. “Did you try it? What did you think?”
“I think you have exquisite taste in friends,” Keanu said dreamily, kissing the tips of his fingers. Then he laughed. “Aside from us, of course. You’re lucky to have her you know. Her capacity for love and loyalty are practically depthless. Also delicious.”
Despite my annoyance, I was glad to hear it. “I’ll see about establishing a schedule.” I stood to shake his hand, but my ankle went out from under me.
Ian caught me and had me back on the bed before Keanu had managed to move. He tugged at the hem of my gown (maybe it was a negligee?), revealing a swollen ankle I hadn’t noticed. “I’m sorry, Aurora. We never checked your ankles.”
“We were mostly focused on the blood running out of your ears,” Keanu added helpfully, placing his hand beside Ian’s on my leg.
I considered that as the now familiar tingle of heat warmed my ankle. Blood coming out of my ears sounded disgusting—no pun intended.
“There, that should do it,” Keanu said proudly. I felt no pain in my ankle when I flexed it so I supposed he was right.
“You should eat something,” Ian abruptly decided. “It took a while to patch you up this time. Does anything sound particularly good to you?” He ignored his own question and left the room, presumably heading for the kitchen.
“Anything but peaches,” I called after him, shaking my head before turning back to Keanu. “I was out for a while, huh? How long did you two keep fighting after I fell?”
“Give us a little credit, Rory.” Keanu looked hurt. “We stopped the instant you hit the floor and the music stopped right after that. That was clever, by the way,” he said, “throwing the headphones into the sink. The water shorted them out.”
“Technically I kicked them, but thanks. If you stopped fighting, what took so long?” My previous healings had taken only seconds.
“Ian is sick, Rory. Under normal circumstances he could’ve healed you in a few minutes, but the injuries to your ears were serious. It took nearly an hour to fix you and we still managed to miss your ankle—and Ian will be weakened another day or two from the effort.”
I felt bad to hear that but I hadn’t been the one to start tackling people. “Hey, he started the whole thing by jumping to conclusions. And who the hell is he to dictate who gets to drink my blood anyway? It’s my blood after all.”
Keanu shook his head. “You don’t understand. Any vampire in Ian’s situation would’ve responded exactly the same way. There are reasons why humans in cities are required to make their donations to a central blood bank for mixed distribution. It’s not only out of fairness, it’s done to avoid the type of connection the three of us share.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to pair everyone? It has to be annoying to have everyone fetching and carrying blood everywhere.” To say nothing of storage and scheduling and tracking the human births and deaths.
“It might be annoying but it helps keep the peace. Biologically, we’re not designed to live in large groups. We’re territorial and possessive by nature. A city full of paired vampires would be a disaster. They’d be attacking one another left and right over any perceived claim on their benefactor.”
Yeah, and wouldn’t that be a shame, I wanted to retort, but Keanu wasn’t done.
“On top of that, the majority of vampires don’t want that intense a bond. It gives a human far too much leverage—you’ve seen how Ian is around you.”
Yeah, I’d seen him attempt to pulverize his best friend and almost kill me in the process, but the words weren’t worth the effort. I closed my eyes and flopped back, wondering if my headache was returning or if the pain was purely mental.
A draft of deliciously scented air wafted over me and when I opened my eyes Ian was by the bed and Keanu was gone.
A covered silver tray—of course Ian owned one—rested on the bedside table, wedged between one blood stained stiletto sandal and a bowl of glass shards I could only presume had been dug from my flesh.
Golly, I could feel my appetite stirring already…
Struggling with the negligee—not the most maneuverable garment—I managed to sit back up while Ian removed the lid from the tray and set it aside. It held a bowl of what appeared to be potato soup, a small plate holding two beautifully browned rolls and a tiny crystal dish of butter with miniscule green flecks.
It all smelled wonderful and I realized I’d skipped breakfast this morning.
Ian handed me a large linen napkin that I draped over my lap, but when I eagerly reached for the soup he snatched it away.
“No,” he said quietly. “You need to rest.”
“To the point of starving?” I asked dryly.
“You won’t starve because I’m going to feed you.”
“You are not serious.”
His response was to dip the spoon into the soup and extend it toward my mouth. Okay, he was serious.
Although the idea was flat out stupid—also embarrassing—for some reason I went along with it. I sat like a doll while Ian fed me spoonfuls of soup and bits of rolls and butter. (Incidentally, the green flecks turned out to be chives. Good stuff.)
It was easily the strangest meal I’d ever had and, surprisingly, also one of the neatest. I didn’t know why Ian had bothered with a napkin because not a drop of soup or crumb of bread went anywhere it wasn’t supposed to go. Left to my own devices, I’d have been finding crumbs in my cleavage the rest of the afternoon.
I was washing down my meal with a glass of water—which I was allowed to hold—when I noticed the tremor in Ian’s hands. It was barely visible and I wouldn’t have caught it if I hadn’t been admiring their steadiness moments earlier.
Thinking it a trick of the light, I resumed eating and said nothing until it happened again, this time when he was clearing up after the meal. I didn’t see anything but when the spoon clattered softly against the tray I knew.
In my limited experience—consisting of Ian, Keanu and Eggplant—vampire movements could make a prima ballerina look clumsy. They don’t stumble or fidget and they most assuredly do not clatter. It was then I grasped how sick Ian was.
I tossed my pristine napkin onto the tray—with plenty of clattering—and hoisted myself off the bed, much to Ian’s surprise. “Okay,” I said firmly. “That’s enough martyrdom from you. I want you to get in bed right this minute.”
His response was total disbelief.
Using my best no-nonsense teacher tone, I tried again. “I said that’s enough, Ian! If you don’t get in bed right this instant, I’ll put you there if it’s the last thing I do.” I stepped over and pushed lightly against his shoulders, which had no effect beyond raising his disbelief factor even further.
He obviously had no idea how to respond to such treatment. (If Keanu was eavesdropping, he was getting an earful.)
Since I couldn’t actually move Ian without his consent, I changed my tactics and softened my voice. “We both know I can’t move you, but I can certainly injure myself trying.” He blinked a few times and it was hard not to laugh, but I had to press the advantage of surprise while I had it.
“Now,” I said sweetly, “if you want me to hurt myself, by all means stay where you are. However, I’d much rather you get in bed for a nice, long nap.”
He lo
oked at me skeptically and I imagined Keanu fighting back hysterical laughter. “That’s all you want? For me to go back to sleep?”
“Nope,” I said breezily. “I have two demands, but the second requires you already be in bed first.”
His mouth fell open and more than anything I wished I had a camera. He looked like I’d smacked him with a shovel and I shook with laughter when I figured it out.
“Good grief, I didn’t mean I wanted that!” I was laughing so hard I could barely get the words out. “Even if that was an option, I can’t imagine you’d be useful in your current state. You could end up maimed for life.”
And if I didn’t kill him by accident, his girlfriend surely would. On purpose.
Ian looked disgruntled at my pronouncement on his health and abilities, but instead of refuting it he shouted, “Keanu, if you don’t stop laughing and find something else to do RIGHT NOW, you will regret it later!”
Well, that answered my eavesdropping question.
I couldn’t hear Keanu’s response, but whatever it was, Ian didn’t appreciate it.
I chose to ignore it. “So.” I put on my most angelic smile. “Will you do as I ask, or do I have to start getting rough with, uh… myself?”
Glaring the entire time, he rose from his seat on my side of the bed and stalked around to the other side. “If anyone should be napping this afternoon it should be you,” he muttered, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the laughter at bay.
“We can negotiate terms for my convalescence in a moment.” I tucked the covers beneath Ian’s chin while he glowered. “Would you like me to fluff your pillows?”
“No, I would not! I’d like for you to let me decide when I need to sleep.”
I fluffed the pillows anyway. “When you start making better decisions, maybe I’ll let you make them yourself.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought Ian sighed too.
“Fine. Whatever. My terribly fragile body is now in bed.” His words dripped with sarcasm. “May we please move on to the next item on your agenda, Nurse Ratched?”
“Nurse Who?”
He sighed again. “Never mind. We’ll address your ignorance later.”
I let the ignorance crack slide. After all, I needed to pick my battles and my next request was guaranteed to cause a big one. As an added precaution, I perched on the comforter above Ian’s legs, assuming he wouldn’t risk my falling to the floor by jumping up when he heard my second condition.
“Fine then. Since you’re ready to sleep now”—or to stab someone, if his expression was anything to judge by—“I’m going to feed you before your nap.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HIS reaction didn’t disappoint me.
“Have you lost your mind? You’ve been injured!”
“And you healed me,” I snapped, “at a detriment to your recovery. So you can shut up and listen, Mr. Bad-ass Vampire. I understand we weren’t supposed to have met, but we can’t go back and undo that.”
Since I didn’t care about his opinion, I didn’t wait for him to respond.
“If you’re searching for Nicky and helping me keep Luigi out of bankruptcy and I’m helping to keep you two fed, I say that makes us friends. And friends help each other when they need it.”
I was on a roll. (Or possibly having a tantrum, take your pick.) “I further understand you were born in a pre-historic era where guys always had to save the girl—mainly from saber tooth tiger attacks and mastodon stampedes.”
“I’m not that old,” Ian objected plaintively, looking somewhat stunned.
I kept talking right over him. “Despite your ancient and manly ways, you need to accept that times have changed. It’s acceptable nowadays for the girl to rescue the guy when times require it.”
“A vampire never requires rescue by a human!” He looked appalled.
“And yet, you can’t live without us, now can you?” I shot back.
I noticed a vein standing out on Ian’s forehead and wondered if that’s how I’d looked earlier. I hoped not—it wasn’t attractive. “And right now, I say you’ll heal faster if you drink from me. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
He smirked. “You can’t force me to bite you, Aurora. Though I have to admit, I’d love to see you try.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I’m too good a strategist to try and make you bite me by blunt force.”
His smirk deepened. “Is that so? What did you have in mind then?”
I whipped out the glass shard I’d liberated from the bowl on the nightstand and scored it across the tip of my left index finger, letting the blood drip toward my wrist.
I held my finger two inches from Ian’s nose as his eyes widened. “Since you asked, I was planning a triple threat—a combination of surprise, temptation and thriftiness. How’d I do?”
“Thriftiness?” he croaked, his eyes focused on my bleeding finger.
“You know.” My voice was smug. “Thriftiness! Waste not, want not? After all, I don’t want it, and I’ve seen how you feel about my sharing it with someone else.”
“Besides,” I murmured, bringing my finger an inch closer, “I owe you. Your arrival saved me from Eggplant and you’re helping me look for Nicky. You’ve healed me, you’ve fed me, you taught me to freaking drive for crying out loud,” I added with a laugh.
“You’ve shared your movies and your books and even your bed with me! Call me crazy, but somehow this”—I wiggled my fingertip—“seems more meaningful than a thank you note.” I smiled before shifting closer to him.
“Stop being an ass,” I said softly. “Let me show my gratitude and give you the one thing only I can give.” I reached up and traced my bloody fingertip over his lips. He groaned at my touch but kept his lips locked together.
I had to give the guy points for willpower, but I could keep this up as long as I had to. With the lightest touch I could manage, I traced my finger back and forth over his lower lip and was met with another groan. Then I raised my finger, letting the blood drip onto his lips, and was rewarded with what I could only call a whimper.
By this point, I didn’t think I’d meet with resistance if I opened his mouth, but this was a matter of principle. I was a woman with a point to prove. For my grand finale, I pulled my hand back and looked at it.
“Fine then, you win.” I brought my finger to my mouth as if to lick it clean. And that did it.
He pulled me against his chest and imprisoned my wrist in his right hand, his tongue sweeping over my forearm in narrow strokes to catch the trickles of blood nearing my elbow. Once he’d finished with that, he looked at me as if asking permission before drawing my finger into his mouth. I’m not sure whether the shudder I felt came from me or from him.
After a few moments I recognized the quickening of his pace as a sign of impatience—he wasn’t getting what he needed fast enough. Despite his soft hum of disappointment, he made no effort to stop me from sliding my finger from his mouth. And then I offered my wrist.
Instead of taking it, he raised his index finger and feathered it along the visible vein. Once, twice, three times and I shivered. Then he looked at me. “Are you sure, Aurora?”
I laid my wrist in his palm. “I trust you.”
He took my wrist as though it was fragile, which I suppose to him it was. “I won’t let it hurt.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want you wasting your energy for this. It would defeat the point.” Besides, I was curious.
“As you say,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on mine as he lifted my wrist to his mouth and bit. I cried out when his fangs sank into my wrist, but more from surprise than actual pain.
His right hand still held my wrist and his left hand was stroking my back through the silk of the borrowed nightgown. His eyes held mine, alert for any sign of discomfort. We remained locked together for an indeterminable number of minutes and though I squirmed once or twice, the sensation was closer to discomfort than pain.
He removed my wrist from his mouth with a final, la
zy lick. Then I felt the familiar burn and saw the marks he’d left fading away.
I turned to scold him, but he beat me to it.
“Shhhh,” he whispered, still cradling me in his arms. “Don’t give it a moment’s thought. The first things vampires learn to heal are marks left by their fangs. It’s automatic, like breathing. Besides, they would have been awkward to keep covered.”
“If you say so,” I murmured. Between the earlier excitement and my recent blood loss, I could barely stay awake as I crawled toward the center of the bed. “Pull the covers down, please?”
He obliged me. “Does that mean you need a nap now, too?”
My voice was slurry with sleep. “Don’ forget to set the alarm. I have class later.” I rolled over and folded the corner of the pillow beneath my head the way I liked it. The pillow further muffled my voice. “You have to sleep now too, ‘kay? That was the deal.”
I heard Ian sigh as he lay down on the other side of the bed. Not trusting him to stay, I reached out and laid my hand on his chest to keep him in place. As I slept, I dreamed Ian’s heart began to beat beneath my hand.
* * * * *
He was sitting on the bed when the alarm went off, a copy of Great Expectations open across his lap. When I sat up, he passed me another book titled, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus. “What’s this?”
He grinned. “It explains my ‘Nurse Ratched’ reference. We’ll watch the movie after you finish the book. The performances are phenomenal.”
I thanked him and set the book on the bedside table. The tray, my shoe and the bowl of glass shards had all been removed—presumably to prevent me from staging another coup. “We’re still okay, aren’t we? I only wanted to help.”
In answer, he raised my healed wrist and kissed it lightly. “We’re better than okay. You were right. Friends help one another and treat each other as equals. I was being a stubborn jerk and I feel much better now.