Tingles and small prickles danced across my skin like the sensation of a limb waking from sleep. The tingles echoed the feeling I had during my transformation. It hinted that a more uncomfortable feeling would soon follow. My skin felt as if it were drying, becoming tight and itchy. I rested my forehead in my hands, closing my eyes as my mind played out the only scenario that would end this feeling.
Lysander sat beside me like a statue, as if waiting for me to say something.
How can I do this? How can I live like this? I can’t drink blood.
The aching in my stomach wouldn’t stop. My throat dried with each breath I took. A slow burning accompanied the sickeningly sweet taste clinging to my throat.
There has to be some way out of this. I don’t want to drink blood.
I remembered how quickly my pain was quenched with the sweet-tasting blood I had drunk from my attacker.
No, I can’t do that.
My body knew I needed blood. It teased me with the pain, as well as the memories of pleasure.
No, I mustn’t. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a monster.
My mind showed me more of the lightheaded ecstasy I’d felt earlier; when Lysander had forced the wounded arm to my mouth and made me drink. The need building inside of me was overwhelming.
Finally, after reaching the limits of my endurance, I gave in to the unrelenting torment. The desire for blood had taken over. I could no longer concentrate on anything else.
I let out a defeated sigh. “I’m hungry. I need something, food or drink, just something.”
Lysander smiled widely, letting the sharp tips of his teeth show below his lips; perhaps he knew that my need for blood would overcome my rational judgment.
“I had a feeling you would be thirsty. You will need to learn to hunt.”
“Hunt?” It sounded so terrible. Hunting … people. “You mean I will have to kill someone?”
It bothered me how nonchalantly he spoke of hunting, feeding, and blood. I knew the answer to the question. I would have to do this—hunt—at some point.
He glanced down at a watch around his left arm. A frown turned the corners of his lips. “It looks like it’s too late for that tonight. The sun will be up soon, and we will have to wait until nightfall for your first real meal.”
The moment I had to do it… could I? Would I be able to kill someone and drink their blood? No! There had to be another way.
I’d never intentionally hurt anyone or given a thought to killing. What rational person does? I remembered the man’s arm that Lysander had held up to my mouth.
Did I kill that man?
My stomach churned with sudden guilt; a terrible, sickening pit of bile threatened to rise up my throat. Lysander must have sensed this. He placed a hand on my knee, grabbing my attention. I looked up, meeting his eyes. A wave of calm rolled through me, dampening my nerves.
His face was peaceful, serene, and almost angelic. His beautiful eyes beckoned me to remain locked in his hypnotizing gaze. They were magnetic, drawing me in. I could easily stare at those beautiful pools of gray forever. Guilt became a distant memory; my only focus was Lysander.
“Alyssa,” he said in his soothing, velvety voice. “We hunt to survive. Remember this.”
I nodded absently, lost in his eyes.
“Since it is too close to dawn, tonight, you may drink a little from me.” He looked down and unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt.
I shook the fog out of my head, feeling a little drowsy. Relief washed though me, knowing I wouldn’t have to hunt just yet.
Lysander held out his arm in offering to me. My eyes grew wide as I looked down at his pale skin. A small, thin vein pulsed just below the surface. I wasn’t quite sure what he expected me to do. Nervously, I reached to hold his hand.
“You must break the skin with your teeth,” Lysander said. A small smile perked up the corners of his mouth. “Use your sharpest teeth to gently pierce the vein just below the skin.”
I ran my tongue across my teeth, as I had done before, noting the sharper ones.
He nudged his arm closer to me. “Go ahead, Alyssa. You will not hurt me. Drink.”
I glanced back up at Lysander’s face and smiled awkwardly. I didn’t want to drink blood, his or anyone’s. The ache in my stomach still nagged at me like an unyielding beast, begging me for blood. My mouth instinctively watered in anticipation seeing the pulsing vein, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen with anxiety.
Lysander raised his wrist to my mouth. “It’s okay, Alyssa. Drink.”
I couldn’t bite down. I sat there paralyzed, mouth open, his wrist just barely touching the sharpest of my teeth. I was afraid of becoming a blood-drinking monster.
I can’t do this. No. There’s no way.
I must have sat there for too long. Lysander had to have sensed something wasn’t right. I was faltering on what, to him, should have been a simple act.
He reached his other hand up and firmly held the back of my head. Before I knew what was happening, he shoved his wrist into my already-bared teeth.
I saw him wince as my teeth pierced his skin. He leaned my head backward with his wrist pressed against my lips.
A gush of blood flooded my mouth. Thick and sweet, it poured down my throat. This wasn’t the liquid fire I had experienced before. This was like a drug. It tingled as it filled my mouth. I felt every refreshing drop as it ran down my throat. Pleasurable sensations, like the full-body rush of an orgasm, rewarded me with each swallow. My head buzzed with energy. My heart felt like a pounding drum, beating hard and fast against the wall of my chest. The dry burning stopped. My muscles no longer ached. The nagging in my stomach halted. I felt quenched, though some part of me still wanted more.
Lysander released his grip on my head and pulled his wrist away. I moaned in need as he stood up and walked away, out of my view.
“You will have to learn how to do this yourself, Alyssa.” His voice trailed behind him. “I will not force-feed you every night.”
Almost as soon as I felt the high, I returned to reality. I looked down to see I had spilled blood everywhere. My tank top, my jeans, and the couch were spotted with the drippings of his blood. Lysander returned with a small towel and wiped his arm. I saw spots of blood in his shirt.
Heat rose to my face, flushing my cheeks. I sat up. “Sorry. I just—” What was I going to say? Sorry, I just couldn’t bite you? That sounded too corny to say, even if it was the truth. There was no way to explain to him how I was feeling at that moment. As much as I was repulsed at the thought of drinking blood, I enjoyed the high it brought.
I was torn, terrified of becoming a horrible bloodthirsty monster. Already my body was begging for more of his blood. The addiction had begun. The euphoric state left me almost as soon as I had felt it, and I knew only blood would bring it back.
“This is new for you. I understand.” He sat down beside me on the couch and handed me the towel.
I gave him an awkward smile and glanced into his big blue-gray eyes. I felt that strange warmth again, like a radiating wave coming from him. I looked away, taking the towel, and tried to wipe some of the blood off my body.
“It will be hard the first few times, I know. We all go through this, and we all find our way to cope with it. The blood is intoxicating, but the guilt can be crushing, if you let it.” His voice was softer now, almost caring. “The only way to survive this is to learn how to accept it. I can help you get through this if you let me.”
Lysander brought his hand up, lifting my chin. He forced our eyes to meet again.
“You are an immortal now.”
I nodded. There was nothing I could say. He was right. But the question still remained; could I kill someone?
I noticed a faint ray of light coming from the edge of the curtain-covered window. Dawn was approaching, signifying the end of this crazy night. I welcomed the thought of sleep and hoped that when I awoke, things would return to normal.
“The sun is coming up. We won�
�t be able to leave the house until tonight. Let’s get some sleep, Alyssa.”
Lysander stood and extended his hand to help me up. I smiled and took it. My muscles were still a bit weak. I struggled to stand. Lysander gripped my hand and pulled me up, placing his other arm around my waist for support. My stomach knotted against his touch. Butterflies buzzed around inside of me again.
I took a shaky step toward the hallway. “Where am I sleeping?”
“I’m afraid there is only one bed in this house,” Lysander’s voice wavered. He sounded almost embarrassed for a moment before his voice regained its normal smooth tone. “I do not entertain much. For now, we are going to have to share. I hope that is okay with you. I will arrange for more furniture soon.”
“Okay.” I smiled awkwardly. I did not know how to take this gesture. It had been a long time since I shared a bed with a man.
We made our way into the spacious bedroom. A king-size, iron-framed bed sat against the far wall, made up with black sheets and a few fluffy pillows. Lysander’s stark minimalist decorating theme carried to his bedroom as well. There wasn’t much at all to this room. A simple four-drawer dresser sat against the wall to my left. Next to it was a door, which I assumed was a closet, or maybe a bathroom. Other than the simple furnishings, there was nothing else. This room, like the rest of Lysander’s home, seemed to have only the bare necessities.
Thick black drapes covered a large window and were pinned to the wall at the edges so that very little light seeped in.
Lysander guided me to the bed and I sat down. It was so soft. Giving into my muscle fatigue, I fell backwards and lay sprawled across the bed.
Lysander chuckled at me. I looked up, catching him as he readied himself for sleep. He pulled off his shirt, revealing a beautifully sculpted chest. I couldn’t help but notice the definition in the corded muscles of his arms and the perfect six-pack abs. I bit my lip, accidentally drawing blood, as he slid down his pants. He stood before me in only in a pair of maroon-and-tan striped boxers.
Heat rushed to my face.
Wow, what a body.
He threw a mischievous look my way as he finished changing. I again had a brief suspicion he knew what I was thinking. I turned away from him, crawling to the top of the bed and burying my head on one of the soft pillows.
Lysander climbed into bed. We lay there, backs to one another, as the sun rose. Lysander’s curtains worked as intended, and only small rays of light came through at the edges.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” he whispered. “It will get better.”
I didn’t reply. I had no words.
Chapter 6
THE COMFORTABLE STATE of sleep ended much sooner than I had hoped. I knew that waking up meant I would have to feed, and this time, I doubted Lysander would be accommodating. I’d have to hunt and most likely kill for my dinner.
It was the thirst that woke me, but in personal protest I refused to get out of bed. I tried to fill my mind with anything to prevent me from thinking of blood.
Staring at the popcorn ceiling above, I focused on the sounds of the house. Lysander had already gotten up and left the room. I heard him moving around the house. At one point the shower turned on, and then after a short while, stopped. I heard a TV playing in what I assumed was the living room. Sounds of laughter and applause suggested to me he had some kind of a game show on. The ringing of a telephone caught my attention, but I couldn’t make out what was being said when Lysander answered it.
Refusing to give in to the mounting need, I remained in bed. Dehydration crept across my skin, making it dry and itchy as it had been the night before. My stomach ached with emptiness, and my mind started playing tricks on me—reminding me of the pleasure I had experienced, the quenching feeling as the blood pooled in my stomach and diffused through my body. I wanted to ignore it. I knew what was needed to make it stop.
Could I convince Lysander to let me drink from him once more? Maybe if I pleaded my case, I could go one more night without having to choose between my life or that of another.
It seemed like hours had gone by. Time always moves slowly when you anticipate something. The aching beast that was my hunger was as relentless as it had been the previous night. Dehydrated and thirsty, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I had to do something.
Just as I was ready to give in and get out of bed, I heard a door close with a slam. A car engine roared to life outside, and then the sound trailed away.
Did he just leave me here, all alone?
I listened quietly. The only sound in the house came from the television. Curiosity got the better of me. I needed to see if Lysander really had left. I got up and walked out to the living room to confirm my suspicions.
I was right; Lysander was gone.
Why did he leave?
I wandered through the empty, cavernous living room. No sign or note was left out to tell me where he had gone. Only the ominous shadows created by the TV’s light stirred in the loneliness.
Thirst nagged at me. Again, a sickeningly sweet taste clung to the back of my throat. A wave of dizziness rolled through me, weakening my knees. I braced myself against the wall for support until the disorientation left me. I needed to do something about this unrelenting need. I went into the kitchen, praying I might find something my body would accept as food.
As with the rest of the house, the kitchen was bare, lacking any sign of human use. No appliances, no gadgets, no utensils of any kind; just empty, wide open counter space in a bland, white and stainless steel kitchen.
I held out a small hope that there might be something to eat in the fridge, but to my great disappointment, it was empty. Not even a cold breeze escaped from it when I opened it. I doubted it had ever been plugged in.
“This is ridiculous. C’mon, I just want something to eat,” I whined aloud.
I was glad Lysander wasn’t around to see my frustration. I remembered him telling me that it was only blood that keeps a vampire going. Vampires had no need for food. I doubted he would have given me much sympathy after last night’s feeding. He had seemed aggravated that I couldn’t even drink from him without assistance.
I clutched my aching stomach.
I need blood. I need Lysander to come back. He can’t be gone long. He wouldn’t leave me like this.
Walking out of the kitchen, I headed to the bathroom, deciding a shower might help snap me out of this feeling, or at least distract me for a little while. I hoped by the time I was done, Lysander would be back, and maybe willing to help me stop this painful ache.
The warm water of the shower had a soothing effect on my body, temporarily relieving my dehydration. I sat under the spout, soaking up all of the water until the warmth ran out.
It wasn’t until I finished showering and dried off that I realized I didn't have any clean clothes. The only items of clothing I had were the blood-spotted ones I’d been wearing since the night before.
“I’m not wearing these dirty things for the rest of eternity,” I grumbled to the empty room. So far, immortality wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
The house was still quiet. Lysander hadn’t returned, and I was beginning to feel desperate. The water’s hydrating effect had vanished as soon as I stepped out of the shower and the parched and itchy feeling returned with a vengeance. My throat dried out; each breath I took burned as if a blow dryer were aimed directly into my mouth. I needed something to quench the fire.
I turned on the faucet, plunged my hands into the cold water and gorged myself on it as it pooled into my cupped hands. The flavorless liquid cooled the burning. But that victory was short-lived. Within a few seconds of savoring my relief, I was hunched over the toilet, throwing it all back up.
My body wanted nothing to do with this liquid. Like a horrible punishment, the nagging ache of thirst returned worse than before. Lysander’s words were true; only blood would stop this pain. The ache filled every part of me.
Defeated, I gave in to the thought I’d been tryin
g to avoid.
I need blood.
Lysander still had not returned. Past desperation—unable to sit around waiting any longer—I willed myself to get up off the bathroom floor, and put my blood-spotted clothes back on.
I walked outside, determined to find something to end my suffering. The night air smelled fresh, clean, and welcoming. It had an energizing effect on me. Looking up, I spotted the full moon. There wasn’t a cloud in sight to hide any of its light. It shone clear and bright in the darkened sky.
Sucking in a deep breath, I noted a variety of scents. Never before had I been able to discern so many different smells at once: pine trees, fresh cut grass, roses in a nearby garden, and the oily, tar smell of the asphalt in the street. Each one was distinctive and enhanced by my new sense of smell. There was something else too, an enchanting, musky perfume wafted through the air.
Mmm, what is that?
Looking around, I spotted the owner of the scent; a stray dog, wandering down the street.
I sniffed the air again noting how the smell faded as the dog walked further away.
Instinct told me to follow the scent. No way. I’m not doing that. Ewww. I shook my head. I am not chasing down a stray dog. I don’t care how good it smells.
I breathed through my mouth, attempting to avoid smelling that wonderful, tempting aroma again.
Walking down the street, I looked for signs, hoping to get my bearings and recognize something.
Maybe I can get to my apartment, and pick up some clean clothes and money. Maybe even find something my stomach will accept as food.
I didn’t want to think of blood and killing, but the nagging thirst wouldn’t stop.
Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. If I’m stuck with drinking blood, maybe there’s a way to do it without killing.
Spotting a street sign ahead of me and quickened my pace toward it.
What if I could get blood from a butcher? The animals it came from would already be dead.
I smiled, feeling very smart for coming up with this new idea.
Now, I just need to figure out where I am.
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