Page 16 of Into The Light

“I don’t know,” I said as my brows snapped together.

“Just smile. Laugh. Try not to be so serious.” Mark slapped his leg and stood up. “Put on some clothes, not a suit, that makes you look stuffy. Preferably something with color, and come down to the living room. I’ll have her meet us down there. We’ll laugh. We’ll talk. We’ll all fall in love. It will be stupendous.”

“Fine. She had better say yes.”

“Just don’t be so doom and gloom and I’m sure she’ll be sprawled out offering you her neck in no time. She’s seen the closet. What woman could say no to that closet?”

With a deep breath and a nod, I walked to my own closet. It was imperative I impress her. The temptation of her blood compelled me to put my best foot forward. It lured me enough I was sure it would taste delicious even laced with fear if push came to shove.

Mark popped his head back in the door. “Do you want me to pick out the outfit?”

“I can dress myself, Mark.”

“Colors. Something with colors,” he said before he disappeared around the corner.

What is so wrong with suits these days? I happened to like wearing them. I liked nice things, and I liked looking pristine. And I thought I looked quite dapper in them. Men these days looked more and more like peasants each year—the scraggly hair, ripped up clothes, and rough fabrics. Having been alive for many centuries, I had seen the fashions come and go. One couldn’t even call the garish choices of this century fashion. At least Mark hadn’t fallen victim to the grungy look. I’d throw him out if he did.

Colors. Looking through my closet I saw dark suit after suit. A few sweaters and casual button downs had found their way in over the years, including a light pink cardigan. Mark’s doing, of course. Settling on a pair of grey pants and a white button down, I got dressed. The outfit as casual as I was comfortable with. Grey was a color, right?

The pang for blood squeezed at my throat. Fighting it back strengthened my resolve to convince this girl to stay.

Emilia.

An odd creature. By no means unpleasant on the eyes, she had a spunk about her that intrigued me. Her blood wasn’t the only thing I found fascinating about her.

Mark and I had been hunting for a new donor for weeks in clubs all over Chicago since completing the deal with my last girl, Jenny. I’d made this arrangement with her five years ago. The first one of its kind. It had worked out quite nicely and now I looked forward to a new one. Though Jenny had lived in the house, I’d rarely seen her aside from feeding time when I woke up and before she went to bed. I pictured her sitting on a beach sipping cocktails with the millions she now had and the story of winning the lottery I’d left her with.

Our only mistake had been parting with her before we had another girl lined up. It had proved more difficult to find a replacement than we’d thought. The blood bags I’d been sucking on the last few weeks didn’t even come close to the satisfaction I got from blood fresh from the vein. We had learned a lesson and would find a replacement before the contract with Emilia ended.

If she’d accept.

She’ll accept. She has to.

The moment I smelled Emilia in the bar my heart had flipped over in my chest. I’d wanted her with every second, every breath. Watching her tongue-lash that strange looking fellow entertained me and only increased my desire to bring her home. I needed her blood, but something else about her drew me in deeper. Only seconds after seeing her stomp away from the table last night, I’d told Mark I wanted her.

Mark reappeared in the doorway. “She is done with dinner and would like you to join her.”

“Very well.”

He gestured to my outfit and placed a hand on his cocked hip. “I thought I said colors.”

“Grey is a color.”

“Grey is most definitely not a color.” With a huff, Mark turned and left my room.

I followed behind him, and the smell of her blood strengthened with each step. It had nearly caused me to jump across the room and drink her on the couch last night, only moments after I’d had a blood bag. I hadn’t eaten yet tonight.

We entered the sitting room. Emilia rose from where she sat on the couch. Her long brown hair curled into soft spiral waves that ended just beneath her full breasts. A black cocktail dress clung to her curves and I followed her shapely legs right down to her sparkling pink shoes.

Beautiful.

Soft doe eyes filled with uncertainty met mine, and her full black lashes fluttered. Her skin flushed at the sight of me, the pink hiding the faint freckles that dotted her ivory cheeks and small nose. The soft lighting of the crystal chandelier overhead illuminated her translucent beauty.

“Good evening,” I said as I entered the room. Mark shot me a censuring look. I sighed and tried again. “How are you doing tonight?” Better. Casual.

“I’m doing good. Did you sleep well?” Her voice had a soft innocence to it you didn’t hear much anymore.

“I did. It’s a beautiful night.”