The sound is more than I can bear. I won’t listen to her false apologies, her meaningless pleas. What’s done is done. I snap back at her. “Leave, immediately.”
With vampiric speed, she slinks out of the room, closing the door with an abruptslam.
I turn back around to the sink. There’s a streak of blood along its ridge. The last remnant of Waylan. His body will turn to dust now, decomposing finally, after over three hundred years.
I still remember that day.
I place my hands on the edge of the sink. And with a momentous roar, I rip it straight out of the wall, tearing the plumbing like it’s paper, and I throw it across my office.
It topples onto the couch, knocking it over, clanking loudly onto the wooden floor.
Looking up at myself in the mirror over the sink, I see there’s astreak of blood running down my cheek. I take the hand towel and rub it away, as though it was never there.
I’m about to call Leah to request a plumber, when there’s a soft knock on my office door. It’s so quiet, I almost disregard it.
“Enter,” I command.
The door opens slowly, and a shy head peeks in. It’s the new donor, the one I just rescued from Waylan. Her heart pounds sweetly in her chest, her blood smelling like the roses from the garden.
Not a comparison I want to think of right now.
“I didn’t call for you,” I say. Usually, this would be enough to send them running, but she enters my office boldly, closing the door behind her.
“I know you didn’t,” she says. “But I wanted to come see you.”
“Youdon’t come see me,” I retort, irritably. I’m in no mood to pander to her. “When I’m hungry,Isummonyou.”
But as soon as the words leave my lips, I know it’s a lie. Because she summoned me already tonight, even though she probably wasn’t aware of it. It’s been decades since I’ve been called like that, and even longer since I’ve heeded such a command.
She sees the mangled plumbing behind me, and then spots the disembodied sink, ass-up on the floor. “I wanted to check on you,” she clarifies. “I thought you might…need someone.”
She fidgets nervously with the hem of her white dress. It’s a simple thing, plain and pure, but it looks absolutelysinfulon her. Does she know what she does to me, with the little heels she wears, the form-fitted dresses? Does she know what she brings out in me, with the subtle tilt of her head, the dewy pout of her lip, the innocent way she gazes up at me with those round, brown eyes?
Perhaps I do need her. I need the distraction she can provide, the gravity of her pounding heartbeat, the nourishment of her rich, sweet blood.
“What’s your name?” I ask, surprising myself.
“Paige,” she answers.
I survey her, enjoying the way my gaze brings a pink hue to her cheeks and a floral aroma to the air. “And did you enjoy our time together the other night?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And would you like to do it again?”
Her eyelashes flutter. “Yes, sir.”
My eyes trace her silhouette, and I can hear the wonderful hum of her timid heartbeat.
“Do you like this dress?” I ask her.
“Um, yes…do you not like it?”
“I mean, is it one of your favourites? Is it meaningful to you, somehow?”
She blinks, confused. “No, not really…”
“Good,” I reply. Then, in a flash, I’m before her. Her heart skips a beat as I bend down and capture her mouth with mine, feeling her soft, warm lips. She moans in surprise and delight, pressing herself up against me. The heat of her body is grounding, the sound of the blood coursing through her veins invigorating. I allow myself to escape into her, to enjoy the touch of her, but it only makes me hungrier, more impatient…
