I wasn’t sure what Sophie had done to deserve such a delightful foster assignment, but I would milk every single contact I had at the local Council office to find out.
“I don’t want to do this. I’m fine with bottled blood, really. Surely there have to be people who survive on bottled blood only.”
“Yes, there are, and we make fun of them at the meetings. Now, stretch your fangs,” Sophie told her sternly.
“So, Darla.” I gave her a reassuring smile and sat next to her on the bed. I would burn my slacks later, I promised myself. “I understand that you’re having some trouble with feeding?”
“I just can’t,” Darla whispered in her high, tinny voice with its thick bluegrass accent. “I hate it. I don’t like the biting. I don’t like the way the blood fills my mouth. Everything tastes like pennies. I just can’t do it.”
It was rare for a vampire to completely reject their feeding instincts, but it did happen, especially in cases where the vampire had an extremely passive personality as a human. That type of vampire attempted to rise above their thirst, ignoring their natures, which was the worst way to handle it, because eventually those vampires got pushed beyond their control and went on blood-soaked rampages that ended up on the evening news. Sophie was trying to avoid a PR nightmare by offering Darla the training-wheels version of feeding.
This was what I liked about my job—helping people. And yes, I considered vampires people. Despite my experience with Mathias, I knew that vampires were as good or as bad as regular human beings. It was a matter of choice and morality, not pulse.
“Well, I’m going to try to help you through all that,” I told Darla, rolling up my sleeves. “Let’s work on one issue at a time. If we skipped the first step—the biting—do you think you might be able to relax enough to drink?”
Darla shrugged. “I suppose so. I get so tense thinking about that weird, squishing feeling of my fangs going through skin that I can’t swallow, and I get all choked up.”
“OK, so we’ll start there,” I said, opening the kit. I took a pre-packaged sanitizing wet wipe from my purse and swiped it along my wrists. I withdrew a small scalpel and uncapped it. With practiced care, I made a short incision a safe distance from my major veins.
As the blood welled up from the wound, I heard the telltale snick of Darla’s fangs dropping. She was shaking her head so fast that her glasses slipped down her button nose. “No, I don’t think I can. The smell. The smell is freaking me out.”
“It didn’t hurt,” I assured her, which was a lie because cutting that delicate skin stung like a bitch. “Now, all you have to do is raise my arm to your lips. Let’s try for three swallows. You’ll feel better after you do, less shaky. And I’ve been told that my blood is delicious, like melted Godiva chocolate. Just give it a try.”
Darla whimpered.
Sophie huffed and tapped her Prada-shod foot on the carpet. “Darla.”
The little blonde shuddered. Meanwhile, my blood was running over my wrist and dripping onto the carpet. Frankly, I didn’t think the future guests would notice.
“Darla,” Sophie said, what little motherly patience she’d shown before having evaporated from her voice.
Darla slid her hands under my wrist and slowly raised it toward her face. She sniffed delicately. “Smells OK.”
“Thank you,” I said, laughing lightly.
She pressed my wrist to her mouth and, grimacing terribly, wrapped her lips around the wound. She yanked her face away and blanched, as if my blood tasted like battery acid and kale. But after a glare from Sophie, she put her mouth back on my arm and took one weak pull from the wound.
She raised her head, licking at her lips. “It’s not so bad. It’s not rushing into my mouth like the others.”
“See?” I asked brightly. “Give it another try.”
Darla nodded and lifted my arm to her mouth, latching on properly this time. She took a good, strong pull from the wound, so strong that it actually hurt a little. I fought the urge to gasp in pain, because I didn’t want to scare Darla. I watched her throat work as she swallowed several mouthfuls. She cradled my arm against her slight body like a favorite teddy bear. She moaned as she took one long gulp of my blood, lasting a full ten seconds.
The usual euphoric feelings I experienced during feedings, the warm flush of happiness and endorphins, were notably absent. I didn’t trust Darla’s responses. She’d gone from reluctant and skittish to snuggling my arm far too quickly. She wasn’t in control of herself, which meant that I had to be focused enough for both of us.
By my estimates, Darla had taken almost a half-pint, which was well within acceptable loss ranges. And if I had to pry her off my arm, I was going to need to start pulling away before she got too close to the limit of safe blood loss.
“OK, Darla, I think that’s enough for now,” I said gently, sweeping her golden hair back over her shoulder with my spare hand. I meant it to be a motherly gesture, to snap her out of her violent fugue. But she shrugged me off, pulling my wrist tight against her. She raised her head, dropping her lower jaw and letting her fangs extend fully before snapping them back around my wrist.
“Hey!” I yelped, looking to Sophie, whose only reaction was to raise her eyebrows.
I yanked my arm toward me, but Darla held on. Her small frame contained full vampire strength, which she used to shove at my chest and pin me back against the bed. Darla hovered over me, lips stained red, and sniffed at my neck before striking, sinking her fangs deep into my jugular. I let loose a strangled scream. Through the pounding in my ears, I could hear pounding on the walls and someone yelling at us to keep it down. I could hear Sophie dispassionately telling Darla, “That’s enough, now, Darla.”