Page 24 of Blood Lovers

Then he’s in my arms. I embrace him. Holding him close. Our chests pressed up against each other as I lean down into his neck and push my teeth into his skin until the tips enter the jugular.

Ohhhh, he is sweet. And young. I love the young blood. It’s so intoxicating. He is nearly still as I hold him there, his heartbeat pounding through my head as I suck the life out of him.

When I pull back, he looks startled. Like he forgot, momentarily, that he was being eaten by a demon.

“What the fuck?” He barely manages these words.

But I put a finger on his lips to hush him up. “Be good now, Ryet. We’re almost there. Just one last step.”

There is a struggle, but he’s already agreed. Once you make a deal with me, it’s done. There’s no going back now, my boy. I bite my lip, bare my teeth at him as our shared blood rushes down my chin, and then he’s right there.

I didn’t even have to convince him. Not even a little prod. And, oh, he has no idea what this simple act does to me. It makes up for centuries of disappointments.

His mouth covers mine in a kiss. Our tongues dancing in the blood. Twisting together—a metaphor, perhaps. He sucks on me, taking my blood into his body, and I take it back into me.

We share ourselves and when he pulls back, his eyes hazy and drugged with his newfound bloodlust, I just look at him.

Beautiful him. Gorgeous him. Perfect him.

“More.” He’s moaning the word over and over again, reaching for me.

I tap him on the nose and chuckle. “That’s enough for now, my boy. But don’t worry. There’s more to come.”

I take his hand and lead him to the little house where I’ve been staying. I strip his clothes off, and take him in my bed, and press my mouth to his, and I let him drink all he wants. Just this one time, he gets all he wants.

And when my hand slips down his body, and I find him awakened and hard, I know—I feel in my shriveled-up heart—he is special.

He eagerly clings to me. Begging for more. His mouth searching for a faster flow than my lips will allow him. His teeth grazing across my neck.

I let him.

He is the only one I’ve ever afforded this privilege.

I give him bliss until he is moaning and writhing, his hands pumping between his legs.

Bliss.

When it’s over, and he’s settled down—half on top of me, half on the bed—I tell him the cost of this bliss.

“You are mine.”

And he agrees.

Not that he had a choice, but he agrees.

I come out of this memory sucking on the old feeder’s neck, her disgusting blood flooding my body.

Oh, to be back in that night with Ryet. That first night when his blood was so young and so pure. He was my bliss too.

He ruined me. He really did. I will never find another like him.

But I can be satisfied with one. I can.

Suddenly the blood in my mouth tastes like mold, and piss, and shit. I push the feeder off and she falls sideways off the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

I feel tainted. Gross. I want to vomit, actually.

She got in my head, I realize. She got in my head and—