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“You died, Eli. It takes a bit for your body to adjust to all the new things.” He brushes his hand over my forehead. “I’m so sorry. This is not how I wanted it to be. I just wanted to taste you, and I got carried away. You…” He shakes his head, clearly distraught.
“Taste… good?” My throat is on fire, like the worst strep ever.
“Better than good,” Michel answers. “I couldn’t hold back.”
“S’kay.” I try a smile. “Wan…” I swallow hard. “Wanted.”
“I know. I called Yves in a panic. You were dying on me.”
“Saved.”
“Yes. He told me what to do.”
“Blood,” I get out, glancing at the glass in my hand. “M-more.”
“Yes, you’ll be very hungry in the beginning, but now you need to rest.”
“Mo-more. Pl-please.”
“Very well.” Michel uses his sharp thumbnail to slice his own wrist.
He starts to hold it over the cup, but an urge overcomes me and I lunge at his wrist, holding it to my mouth and drinking. My eyes flutter as the nourishing blood slides down my throat. It feels like starving and then finding all your favorite foods at once.
Michel watches me, the hint of lust still in his eyes. “You can drink as much as you want. You cannot hurt me or drain me.”
I drink for several minutes, until I feel full and slightly bloated. “So good.”
Michel actually smiles then, pinching his wound closed. “It didn’t go exactly as I wanted, but what a gift you have given me, Eli. I will spend eternity ensuring you never regret it.”
I pat his chest. My energy is draining away, and the desire to sleep is powerful. I focus on Michel, suddenly flooded with emotions—love, concern, desire, affection. A smile pulls at my lips. He must be able to feel mine too.
“Sleep, my love,” Michel whispers. “I will be here when you wake.”
* * *
The next time I open my eyes, it feels like I’ve been sleeping for twenty years. I’m rested but groggy. I jolt upright, accosted by too-bright lights, too-loud noises, and scents so strong I pinch my nose closed.
Michel is by my side in a flash, perched on the edge of the bed and rubbing my back. “Good morning.”
“So loud.” I rub my throat. At least I can talk again.
“Yes,” he whispers. “I drew the drapes closed and tried to reduce noise, but there is only so much I can do.”
Heavy footfalls catch my attention, but when I turn my head toward the door, all I see is a kitten padding across the wood floors toward me.
“Fuck.”
“In an hour or so you’ll be more adjusted to it.”
I nod, glancing around before focusing on Michel. My breath hitches. He’s beautiful. His eyes glow, sparkling in the dim morning light of the room, his fangs on full display. I reach out to touch his stubbled cheek, pausing to notice how foreign my own hand looks, with visible veins and long, sharp nails.
Michel grabs my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Are you hungry?”
I consider his question for a moment before shaking my head. “I’m okay.”
He smiles. “Good. That’s how you should feel right now. Rested, not hungry, no pain.”
I nod. “Yeah. That’s how I feel.”
