Page 28 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

Okay, now to the problem at hand. First, she better take out a little of his bad blood so that when she gave him some vangel blood, his bad blood would be diluted. Over and over the process would be repeated, every couple hours, until he lost the demon taint and his body’s system would be better able to heal. Hopefully, this could all be accomplished within one day, or two at the most, and during this time period they would both have to eat or drink something with lots of iron in it to replenish their depleting blood supplies.

A vangel’s fangs could work both ways, injecting and sucking. She lifted his arm and put his wrist to her mouth where her fangs were already elongated. The heat of his fever hit her skin like a hot bellows.

“Cheers!” she said.

It would be nice if she could say that the instant she tasted Zeb’s blood, she swooned with delight, like a first sip of ice cold Pepsi on a hot afternoon. But that would be far from the truth. In fact, his blood tasted putrid, like the demon life source it was. How could a man who smelled like summer rain have a sewer running through his body? She withdrew her fangs, spat in the wash basin, rinsed her mouth with whiskey, and spat again. After repeating the process six times, she figured that was enough. For now.

Then she prepared herself to give him blood. How to do that in his still unconscious state? She hated to bite herself and infuse him with some of her blood because it was such a slow process, a mere drip at a time into the mouth. It would be better if he took her blood himself, rather like a baby, being given eye droppers of milk or sucking on a nipple. “Blessed Lord, in this symbolic ritual, may my blood be as yours in the Holy Sacrament and give Zebulan healing sustenance. Amen,” she prayed, then pressed her own wrist against Zeb’s fangs, hoping he would instinctively bite her.

Nothing.

Not to be deterred, she fanged her own wrist and waited until droplets of blood rose above the surface. Then she held her hand, wrist downward, over his parted lips, letting one drop, then another, then another fall onto his tongue. (Can anyone say eye dropper?)

Nothing.

But wait. She thought she heard a moan.

With lightning swiftness, Zeb’s arm snaked out, his fingers cupping her nape, and yanked her forward so that she fell across his chest. Before she realized his intent, his fangs sank deep into the curve of her neck, and she actually felt her blood rush to that spot, as if seeking nourishment, not giving it. Apparently he preferred neck veins over wrist veins.

After that, her world changed.

A blue mist seemed to swirl above, then settle around them like a cloudy cocoon. The rain aroma intensified, and for the first time she smelled her own cinnamon fragrance that Zeb had alluded to. Cinnamon rain, for sure. They ought to make a scented candle with that name.

Zeb’s drinking from her was slow and rhythmic and only tiny sips at a time. But, oh, the bliss! It was both primal and sexual. No wonder vangels who mated sometimes fanged each other while making love. A fang fucking she’d once heard Trond describe it. His wife, Nicole, had smacked him for the crudeness, but she’d been smiling as she did it.

Regina arched her head back to give Zeb better access, an ageless gesture of female submission. How odd! That she would surrender anything to a man!

Only her breasts pressed against his battered body, the rest of her half on, half off the bed, her legs dangling over the side. Still, she adjusted herself so as not to hurt him, and in the process she twined the fingers of one of her hands with his, and she placed her other hand against his head, to hold him in place.

His hand still cupped her nape, but his other hand was making sweeping caresses over her back, from shoulder to rump and back again. Over and over. Even though she wore one of his old T-shirts and jogging shorts, she felt naked under his touch.

Regina was more aroused than she’d ever been in all her life. Not that she’d been inclined to lust very often. Once every century or so.

She wanted to climb atop his body and rub herself against him. Skin to skin. Breast to chest. Pubic bone to pubic bone. Thigh against thigh.

She couldn’t. Even if she could, she wouldn’t.

She wanted to kiss his lips and draw his tongue into her mouth. She would suck on him with childlike hunger. No, not childlike. Nothing childlike about the hunger she was feeling.

In any case, it was a moot point. It was hard to kiss a fanging man when only one set of fangs was involved. Two sets? Impossible! Wasn’t it? They might even get locked together. Imagine Vikar’s consternation if she arrived back at the castle fang-locked with a demon vampire, wanting him to unlock them. They would be the laughingstock of all vangeldom. Angeldom, too, she supposed.

She could imagine the jokes.

“How do two vampires kiss?”

“Carefully.”

Better she concentrate on something else.

Forget his mouth and kisses. She wanted to examine his flat male nipples. To lick at them. Draw them into her mouth and suckle. Hard. And then she’d like him to do the same to her.

Whoa! Where did that thought come from?

As if he’d read her thoughts, Zeb’s hand that had been cupping her nape moved down to hold one of her breasts from underneath and flick the nipple with his thumb. Repeatedly. Like a guitarist strumming an instrument.

Un-be-liev-able! Ripples of pleasure shot out throughout her body and lodged in her center where she exploded into a small orgasm. She gasped. That had never happened to her before. She’d never climaxed so quickly and from only a touch. Good thing Zeb wasn’t awake to witness her humiliation.

But that brought her back to reality, somewhat. She had to stop Zeb’s drinking from her, for now, or she would be drained. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up and away, until his fangs withdrew from her with a small pop. He licked the skin, reflexively, to seal the wound.