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Guards stand by the entrance, one for each cubicle where they can keep an eye on what’s happening. I suppose when they have human volunteers coming here, they have to make sure they are safe. One cubicle far from the entrance is in use, the curtains closed enough that I can’t see who is in there. Merrin is using the one next to that, and I catch a glimpse of him biting his donor’s neck.
Just in front of me, away from the two used cubicles, is a woman who I assume is my donor. I feel the blood run from my face.
“I can’t do this.” I’m like a bloody yo-yo today, stepping forward only to be pulled back by something. Most of this is because of my own fears and insecurities, but this is a huge deal to me. I’m about to bite someone and drink their blood, which is insane on its own before you even take into consideration who is waiting to donate to me.
“What are you talking about?” Zane’s frown gives away his frustration, and I feel a little guilty—just not as guilty as I would feel if I were to feed on the female sitting in my cubicle.
“She’s a little old lady! I’m not going to eat her!” I hiss, pulling a face at him that makes it clear I think he’s stupid for even questioning me.
Huffing in annoyance, he rolls his eyes again, something he seems to do a lot of. “You’re not eating her, you’re taking some of her blood. She’s a donor, she’s here because she wants to be, plus she’s being paid for it.” Placing a hand on my shoulder, he gives me a gentle push, guiding me towards the cubicle. “I’ve drunk from Phyllis before. She’s tasty.”
Phyllis. Of course her name is Phyllis. Not only am I a blood sucking vampire, but I’m about to feed on a little old lady. His comment makes me grimace. Describing a little old lady as tasty doesn’t sit right with me. Even so, I find myself walking forward until I’m standing just inside the cubicle. I see that she’s been keeping herself busy with knitting while she was waiting. Knitting.
Fuck me, I’m going to hell for this.
Phyllis just looks up at me with a bright smile and shining eyes. She looks just like how I would expect a grandmother to look, with white curly hair, blue eyes, and a hideous, lumpy blue cardigan.
“Hello, dear, you must be Emmy,” she greets, her voice warm and relaxed. “I’m ready when you are.”
I can’t do this, no matter how much I want to. Can I?
“Sit down,” Zane whispers in my ear, directing me as he senses I’m about to bolt.
Taking a seat on the stool beside Phyllis, I glance at her neck and notice a mass of silvery scars that are obviously from vampire bites over the years. This certainly isn’t the first time she’s been bitten. Putting her knitting down, she automatically turns her head to one side and extends her neck, giving me full access. The urge to leap forward and take what I want pulses through me, so much so that I ball my hands into fists.
I feel Zane move in behind me, his body brushing against mine as he pulls another stool over. His hands glide over my arms, helping me focus my thoughts and taking the feral edge from my need. He leans over and presses his lips to my ear.
“Lean in and locate her pulse.”
Ignoring the fact that this feels like a moment from Ghost, I do as instructed. I find her fluttering pulse easily, like a little butterfly trapped beneath her skin, begging to be free. My fangs seem to get even longer, and my whole mouth aches with need.
“That’s it,” he coos, his praise awakening my arousal and shooting a wave of desire straight to my core.
“Now bite.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I strike out like a viper, my bite messy as I lock my lips around the wound, not wanting to let any of that precious blood escape. Phyllis jerks underneath me at the force but quickly starts to moan as I suck on her neck. I thought I’d be turned off if the old woman beneath me began moaning with pleasure, but now that her blood is on my tongue, there is no way in hell I’m letting go. A little part of me feels guilty for biting her so hard, but the larger, hungry part of my mind tells me I can apologise later and focus fully on feeding.
“Easy. Slow down your pulls,” Zane murmurs behind me, his voice deeper than before. Everywhere he touches is hot, a trail of tingles left in his wake, and my back hums from his warmth pressed against me. “There’s no hurry. Savour the feeling,” he continues, and he’s right, my entire body feels alive, and I never want the feeling to end.
A long, low groan fills the room, and I realise it’s mine. Not caring that I sound like a hooker, I writhe in my seat. I allow the blood to run over my tongue, savouring the flavour.
I’m not sure how it happened, but at some point, I must have shifted my weight, because I’m leaning forward to rub my ass against Zane, who is still behind me, muttering words of encouragement. From the erection I feel through his jeans, I know he’s enjoying this.
All too soon, his hands grip my arms gently, giving me a slight pull to get my attention. “That’s it, you’ve taken enough.”
What? No, there is still more blood, I can feel it. She’s still alive, and I’m suddenly ravenous. I need more, my body aching and needing both blood and physical touch. “No, I need more,” I whine, leaning in to catch the drops of blood that leak from the wound now that I’ve detached from Phyllis’s neck. It feels like I’ll die if I stop now, the need coursing through me so strongly that I cling on like a limpet on a rock.
“I know, jailbird.” His voice is understanding but firm, his hand resting on the back of my neck, squeezing gently, and I know if he feels he needs to, he will drag me off this woman. “But trust me on this, if you keep going, you will kill her.”
It’s like a bucket of cold water, and he doesn’t need to worry about manhandling me as I climb off the woman like she’s on fire. My fangs still ache, and need pounds through me. Right now, I’m not sure if it’s for sex or blood. My desires are so mixed up that it’s difficult to tell what’s what. Eyes wide, I look at Zane who is watching me with a frown.
His brow soon smooths out, and he offers me his hand. “Come with me.”
I want to, I want to get the hell away from here before I do something stupid and drain someone, but I glance over at the lady I just fed from. She’s passed out and sprawled across the chair with a blissed out expression.
“Don’t worry, they will help Phyllis,” he assures me, and sure enough, one of the guards walks over and straightens the woman in her chair, taking her pulse and placing a bottle of water on the table beside her.
