Page 12 of Born Wicked
“Everything ok…”
I don’t let him finish his sentence. I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him into the shadows behind a dumpster. He gets out one little surprised yelp before my fangs lengthen, and I sink them into the soft, buttery surface of his throat.
I don’t do this enough. Maybe that’s a good thing. Because this could certainly get addictive. Feeding fresh and live is ecstasy. Cold donated blood is disgusting compared to this. I pull in a mouthful of hot, coppery liquid, and it’s better than any milkshake or the best cup of coffee in the world. It cascades down my throat, and the satisfaction as it hits my stomach is impossible to describe.
The man stands there, perfectly still, completely silent. He’s slightly limp, so I keep a strong grip on him as if he weighs no more than a rag doll. The toxins I produce will keep him still and incapacitated for as long as my fangs remain in his flesh.
It’s all been too much. The world has gotten too overwhelming. And his blood in my mouth… it makes it all better for a few moments. The temptation to keep drinking and drinking until he’s dry is immense.
But I’ve killed two people before. I’d like to make sure that number never rises for the rest of my immortal life.
So, regretfully, I withdraw my fangs. I lick the few droplets that slide down his skin, and already, the wound starts knitting itself closed.
“You really should be more careful when you cross the road,” I say as he slowly blinks. “I can’t believe you didn’t gash your head open. That was such a nasty fall.”
“I fell?” he questions, raising an absentminded hand to his head.
I nod, putting on my best poker face, and it’s all too easy to summon. “Look, you need to take it easy on the way home. No running. Get something to eat on the way. I’m serious. I’m a doctor, so you really should take my free medical advice.”
His brows furrow together as he tries to recall what happened. He won’t get a clear picture. They never remember, thank the dark of night. But he accepts my word for it, and slowly, with his hand sliding from his head to the side of his neck, he makes his way down the sidewalk, the direction he was heading before I grabbed him and took that sweet liquid pumping through his veins.
Guilt washes through me as I watch him stumble on the other side of the road. Maybe I took a bit too much. It’s so hard to regulate yourself when you’re in the bliss of it all. There’s a reason why most of the vampires in this city don’t drink fresh the majority of the time. If we did, there would be a whole lot more dead people.
Shit. I really, really need to get the blood trade figured out. I need to track down Echo, one of Sebastian’s top dealers. I need a partner in this. With the hospital, we have access to all the blood we could possibly need. We could even be greedy and host a blood drive to restock the stores that are essentially depleted right now.
If only I hadn’t locked myself out of my old apartment. Sebastian had Echo bring me an obscene amount of blood a few months back, and it’s still sitting in the fridge.
Something sparks in the back of my brain.
Sebastian had an insane amount of blood brought to me not long after our engagement. Months’ worth of blood.
As I look down the road, in the direction of a certain, darkly motivated night club, I think to one particular night.
I’d wanted to drink fresh. I was approached by some random guy there, and he’d let me drink from him.
But Sebastian stormed in and freaked out when he found me drinking from him.
He’d been livid.
But thinking back on it now, the expression on his face was alsoterrified.
He didn’t want me drinking fresh. He’d just delivered a huge supply to me. He was scared when he found me drinking from an actual person.
No gifted.
No vampires.
No threat to Juliet.
My mind tumbles back to the very first vampire who came into the hospital sick.
His wife told us he went out feeding, and then came back, sick.
Holy shit.
Blood.
Sebastian has been making vampires sick through human blood.