Page 61 of Fangs with Benefits

‘Do you know whose it is?’ I ask.

‘No. Completely anonymous.’

‘Does it all taste the same?’

He squints, runs his tongue over his teeth then shakes his head. ‘No, but it starts tasting similar when it’s in the bag. It’s not the best way to consume it by any means.’

‘Why do you do it then?’

‘Blood bags?’

‘Yeah. I mean isn’t that why you can compel people? Like if there was a biological imperative for vampires to have compelling abilities, I would guess it’s to lure victims into submission,’ I posit.

‘Sounds rather monstrous when you put it that way.’

I take another bite instead of saying what I think: Isn’t it? Monstrous? Like, by nature.

But Elijah doesn’t seem like a monster, despite what I said about him in his first three weeks at Drummond. He seems gentle, sweet, a bit lonesome. Like Gemma in that planter.

‘Would you have to kill them?’

‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘Some vampires are gluttons, but really it’s a small amount of blood from the vein to sustain me. I just… it’s too intimate, I think. I’m out of practice being so close to someone. It feels like a violation. There are people who do it willingly; humans who offer themselves to vampires, usually as their human familiars. Maybe they want to be near the paranormal, or maybe they want to be turned, but they offer their veins, pale scars covering their skin in patches.’

‘They like it?’ I ask.

Elijah visibly swallows, avoiding my eyes and nods.

Sensing the desire for a subject change, I ask him to tell me about the books he’s read recently while I eat. He lists them, excitedly reporting about what he learned from each, and I hum, chiming in when I know the book, or asking follow-up questions. By the time I’ve cleared most of my plate, I’m seriously full and I think it’s the best homemade meal I’ve had in months.

‘I’ll help you clean up,’ I tell him, and he thinks about it, tilting his head back to reveal the long column of his neck. My eyes linger on it.

‘I do think I used every dish in the kitchen,’ he says, and we share a private smile.

I help him put the leftover food in Tupperware boxes and stow it in the fridge, which is when I see the crisper full of blood bags. I blink at it but try not to make it a thing because he’s obviously a little insecure about it already.

We do the dishes, me rinsing and him loading into the dishwasher. I tell him at length how insane it is that he has both a dishwasher and a washing machine in his apartment and that’s how I know that Dylan is rich as hell.

Afterwards, we sit on the couch and I eat chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips, my legs tucked up beneath me while I face Elijah and we have an impromptu book club about Sweet Summer Minotaur, the book he gave me for my birthday.

‘Are they real? Minotaurs?’ I ask.

‘Molly,’ he says, like I can’t be serious. I shout and toss a throw pillow at him.

‘You’re telling me vampires and demons are real but minotaurs are a step too far?’

‘Absolutely!’ He dips his head back in laughter, and I have to laugh too, my giggle squeaking at the absurdity of it.

‘All right fine, fine, there’s no such thing as minotaurs. That you know of.’

My knee is pressed against Elijah’s thigh and Gemma is loafed up next to him, meowing when we move the couch too much with our laughter.

Before we can talk mechanics of minotaur sex, we’re interrupted by a knock at the door. We both pause and, in the quiet, the visitor knocks again, louder this time.

Elijah stands and opens the door to reveal the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen with a huge smile across her face and a large bouquet of flowers tucked in the bend of her arm.

‘Elijah, you fucking twat not telling me you’re moving across the world,’ she says immediately. She gasps when she spots me on the couch behind him. I blink at her, and her at me. ‘Oh–hello there.’

‘Hi,’ I manage.