by Alex Owens
“Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that while you’re dusting the cobwebs from your coochie.” Morgan teased.
I laughed as we pulled up to the house and she put the car in park, killing the engine. I held my hand out for the keys. She dropped them in my palm hesitantly.
“Going somewhere?” she eyed me.
I gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You were right. I’m so hungry it’s making me cranky. Going out for a bit, for a uh, bite.”
“Wearing that?” Morgan looked more than a little perturbed that I’d be hunting in my costume.
“Why not? To land a big fish you need to drop flashy bait.” I grinned and tried to ease her mind by sending out gentle, soothing thoughts.
That was something I’d been experimenting with lately.
After years of soaking up other people’s emotions unknowingly, it felt good to return the favor. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but it was getting easier to do with each try, thanks to my long-distance friend Cass and her in-depth internet research. Apparently the web was full of information on so-called Empaths. Or as I like to call us, Emotional-Sponges.
Morgan’s posture relaxed visibly and she nodded, climbing out of the car. “Do you want me to wait up? I think there’s an L Word marathon starting at midnight.”
The thought of that show’s resident bad girl, Shane, made my groin tighten automatically. There was just something about her cocky androgyny that wound me up. Then again, so did Helena and Bette.
Damn, why had I never made that connection before? Bette, the sophisticated ball-buster from The L Word vs. Bette, my sultry Italian goddess-slash-maker. Freud would have some correlation to draw from that, for sure.
I climbed over into the driver’s seat and shook my head to clear it. “No need to wait up for me; I don’t know how long I’ll be. But you can DVR the marathon and we’ll watch it tomorrow after I get up, okay?”
She backed away from the car and nodded, but pursed her lips.
I pulled away from the house and could swear that I felt her disappointment all the way down my mile long driveway. Either she was projecting her emotions strongly, or my mental shields needed a bit of maintenance. I’d have to check them tomorrow, for tonight was all about the food.
I knew the best place to find that, decked out in my borderline-skanky outfit.
I hit the main road and turned left, back towards the hub of civilization.
On the outskirts of town, close enough to be convenient, but removed enough to slide under the rumor-radar, was the no-frills bar that would be my hunting ground for the night. Over the last decade or so, it had been many things. Now, it was aptly named Clamdiggers Bar & Grill. On any given night, it smelled a lot like its namesake too.
I found an empty spot in the back of the parking lot and shut off the engine. I gave myself a mental pep-talk while I locked up the car and surveyed my surroundings. Nothing stirred outside, which was a good thing.
Once inside, I snagged a beer from the bar and circulated for a few minutes to scope out the evening’s clientele. I saw a few promising marks, drunk enough to be slow and unaware, but not too drunk they’d puke on me or need to be carried outside behind the bar. That would be way too obvious, for sure.
I wasn’t the only one scoping the prospects though. After fending off a few horny dudes with nothing more than an icy glance, the next Romeo that approached me wasn’t as easily dissuaded.
“Hey there pretty lady.” He slurred, standing way too close for my comfort—and my heightened sense of smell. He reeked of cheap whiskey. “Big Daddy likes your costume. How about you let Big Daddy see it layin’ on his bedroom floor?”
I smiled sweetly and leaned even closer to the disgusting man. His eyes grew large in anticipation, then quickly squeezed shut in pain as my hand clamped around his balls. A low, keening sound swelled up from his throat so I eased off slightly. No sense in drawing unwanted attention.
“Go home now,” I tweaked his nuts again for good measure, “and I’ll let you live.”
I released him and watched as he fell all over himself to get away. He glanced at me as he scurried for the door, terror marching over his skin like an army of ants.
Returning to the task at hand- the hunt—I scanned the bar again.
I saw him a moment later, sitting in a dark corner, knocking back amber-colored shots like they were water. He twirled a golden band on his left hand for several minutes before finally slipping it off and dropping into his shirt pocket. My inner-bitch spoke loud and clear.
That one. You can’t eat Pete, so settle for his moral-twin, she said.
I practically glided across the dance floor, ignoring the gyrating bodies as they bumped against my body. Buckcherry’s Crazy Bitch had the crowd pumped up, but I only had eyes for my Cheater, Cheater.
When I reached his booth, I slid in beside him, placed my hand on his thigh and leaned close, real close. The music was loud, but I didn’t want to take any chances of being overheard.
“I saw you slip off your ring. Mine’s in my wallet. How about we go out back and pretend we’re both single... I’ve always wanted to blow a guy beside a dumpster.”
I forced myself to giggle like a drunk little slut. “Really, it’s on my bucket list.”
I felt his cock harden beside my fingertips and heat bloomed in my abdomen in response. I’m not sure who disgusted me more at that point, the unlucky bastard who wouldn’t be getting very lucky after all, or my damned runaway libido.
Without waiting for a response, I pulled the guy by his hand, until he was out of the booth and standing beside me. I led him around and behind the dance floor, then down the hall where the bathrooms and fire exits were located. Pushing the creaky steel door open, we stepped out into the cool night air.
His hands groped me from behind, pushing up under my short leather skirt and skimming the front of my panties. His erection pressed into my ass and for a second (only for a second, I swear!) I considered fucking him before having my dinner.
But I couldn’t do that, not for someone like him. I sighed, knowing full-well I’d have to pull out my vibrator once I got home. I hoped Morgan remembered to pick up the batteries I’d put on the grocery list, especially after she’d put me through the embarrassment of asking me why I needed so many batteries.
“Not here, in the open,” I protested, pushing him away. “I’m not that kind of girl. Let’s do it over there, in the shadows.”
I walked away, putting extra swagger in my steps and he followed behind me like a puppy. Once we’d hit the shadows, it was game on. I pushed him against the peeling brick wall, put my hands on his chest and leaned in real close. He smelled so freaking good—like blood bags never could.
I nuzzled into his neck, kissing and nipping while he squirmed against me. His hands started roaming my body again. I couldn’t take much more of that, so I skipped the rest of the pleasantries and sucked his neck into my mouth. My fangs descended and the thing I craved more than sex filled my mouth in a warm rush.
I could feel his blood cascading down my throat, each red blood cell exploding upon contact with my own digestive enzymes— like millions of tiny, twisted, pop-rocks. It felt fan-freakin-tastic.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star...
Butterflies tickled my belly, my face flushed and the familiar heat spread through my body until every nerve ending felt electrified. Behind my eyelids, a mist of Easter-egg colored fog drifted and morphed, changing with every sip. Warmth wrapped around me like a tattered old blanket and my vision wavered as I lost myself to the feelings of bliss.
Outside sounds dropped away, replaced by the ever-slowing tha-whump of my dinner’s heartbeat.
How I wonder what you are...
Slowing heart beat— shit.
I reared back from my victim, letting him slump to the floor of the alley. Blood trickled down his lily-white neck and seeped onto his shirt collar. That same blood painted my lips and I ran my tongue over them to catch the last
errant droplets. Waste not, want not.
God, what was I thinking? I’d been too over-confident, believing that I could control the hunger, control myself. Sure, he was a cheater but he didn’t deserve to die. At least not that I knew of.
I checked the narrow alley, fairly confident that we couldn’t be seen by anyone passing by, but still worried someone would decide to take a stroll into the darkness to light a joint or something. I was in luck—all was clear.
I knelt beside his body and felt for signs of life. It took a second, but I found a weak pulse and exhaled the breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He was still alive, but for how long was anyone’s guess.
So much for grabbing a quick bite to eat and heading home.
The only place I was headed at the moment was the hospital. But how was I going to go about all of that? It wasn’t like I could just waltz in with the dude in my arms and expect to walk back out again, at least not without a pair of handcuffs on my wrists.
Snagging the keys out of his pants pocket, I sprinted to the mouth of the alley, held up the clicker and depressed the unlock button. A dark SUV came to life in the back corner of the parking lot. Minimal light, plenty of tree cover— I couldn’t have asked for any better luck.
I hustled back to get my victim, who was right where I’d left him. Of course he was.
Ripping off his blood-stained shirt, I stuffed it into the back of my pants. Remembering to seal the holes in his neck, I bit my own thumb and massaged the area until the area looked like it was three days past a small hickey.
Satisfied with the staging, I flexed my vamp muscles and hoisted him into a standing position, snaked my right arm up his back and grabbed a handful of his hair to control his head. From a decent distance, we’d look like a pair of drunken lovers stumbling to his car, when in reality he weighed a damned ton.
As we made our way across the lot, the front door of the bar slammed open.
Rowdy voices carried over the crisp night air and I stepped up the pace. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with drunks or gossips and I wasn’t entirely sure that I wasn’t carrying around dead guy, so getting confronted was not an option. Thankfully, we made it to the car as the voices faded away in the opposite direction.
I slipped him into the passenger seat, circled the front of the car and slid behind the wheel.
The hospital was a good half-hour away, but I bet we made it there in less than ten minutes. I took advantage of another one of my talents (super-speediness) and simultaneously slammed the car into park, pushed open the car door and pulled my half-dead guy into the driver’s seat. The car rocked to a stop in front of the ER doors.
I was a hundred yards away before the body slumped forward and laid on the horn.
The commotion that followed was enough to raise the dead, no pun intended.
I crossed the highway without looking back and settled into the twenty mile sprint back to my car. By the time I got home, I’d be covered in dirt and leaves.
Fabulous, I thought, as a branch whipped across my face.
Chapter Three
Contrary to popular fiction, Vampires don’t lapse into a coma the minute the sun rises. We don’t lie in caskets like the truly dead or become unresponsive, and thus, vulnerable. Do you want to know the real reason most vamps choose to rest during the day? It’s because we can only take so much time being cooped up, keeping to the shadows in our own homes, thinking of all the damn things we could be doing if only it didn’t hurt so freaking much to go outside.
With that said, we don’t actually sleep like we did as humans either.
There’s no blissful cuddling of pillows. I don’t languish in bed stretching and dreaming any longer. When I lay down, I don’t drift off to sleep—it’s more of a power-down, like a computer monitor blacking out. And then a while later, sometimes after an hour, sometimes three, I open my eyes fully recharged.
It’s a little eerie really, getting out of bed and carrying on with my day like I’d never lain down. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, no coffee needed. It’s not normal, I say. Coffee should always be needed.
But what really sucks about vampire power-napping is being woken up before my body is ready for it, which is exactly what happened the following morning. Actually, it was closer to noon, but that’s my morning these days.
The doorbell clanged a creepy series of chimes, like some Pollyanna song. It was the first time I’d heard it and it would be the last time, even if I had to replace the darn thing myself. Nobody deserves to be awoken by that brand of crap.
I staggered out of my bedroom, squinting at the worst of the sunlight that filtered into the living room through the sliding glass doors. “Morgan!”
I called out for her while groping around on the counter for the remote to fix the current sunlight situation.
“I’ve got it,” Morgan answered, sprinting out of the basement and jogging towards the front door.
I located the remote and pressed the button I needed, sighing loudly when the in-window blinds lowered and cut off the worst of the light. Realizing the room was now dark as a cave, I hit another button to activate the lights in the kitchen just as Quinn bound into the room.
“What are you doing here, Bug?” I asked as she wrapped her arms around my bare legs. In my haste, apparently I’d forgotten to put pants on. Oops.
“I’m sick Mommy,” she whimpered.
Morgan joined us in the kitchen, her face in a silent smirk as my Ex followed behind her.
Pete nodded hello and gulped visibly, eyeing my legs.
I’d like to say that I’m the better person out of the two of us, and that rubbing my post-change, awesome-sauce body in his face didn’t give me a thrill. But let’s be serious, he deserved every bit of torture I could dish out—at least the sort that didn’t leave a mark or necessitate a blood transfusion.
“She’s sick?” I stood on my tiptoes to reach Quinn’s favorite mug from a high shelf, knowing that nothing made her feel better than sipping flat Ginger Ale from the top of SpongeBob’s head. I also knew Pete was getting quite the view of my delectable ass.
Take that, Buttmunch.
Pete coughed behind me. “Yeah, she said her stomach hurts.”
I set the mug on the counter and retrieved a can of Quinn’s feel-better juice from the fridge. “Candy?” I looked to Pete pointedly.
He just shrugged. “I guess. She had some before bed and she’s been up since about six.”
He ran a hand through his hair and I had to resist the urge to choke the bastard. He expected me to feel sorry for him because he’s missed a few hours of sleep taking care of his child, like I hadn’t done the very same thing a hundred times over.
I kneeled down to Quinn’s level and took her chin in my hand. “How much candy did you eat last night?”
Her lip trembled for several seconds before she replied.
“Um, all of it?” Quinn looked down at the floor, waiting for the lecture she assumed was coming. It was coming all right, just not for her.
“Morgan, can you take Quinn to her room and get her into her pajamas so that she can settle into bed? I’ll bring her Ginger Ale and crackers in a minute.” I put on my easiest smile and patted Quinn’s head.
“Sure. Come on Pumpkin, we’ll get you all settled in. I recorded the first Harry Potter movie the other day for you, how about we put that on?” Morgan held out her hand to Quinn.
My daughter looked to me, then to Pete. “Bye, Dad.”
I watched her wave goodbye to her stupid father and waited until Morgan had her safely in the next room before I turned my lasers on Pete.
“The whole bag, really?”
“I had to pee, Claire. When I came back to the living room a minute later there were wrappers all over the floor and Quinn had more chocolate on her face than in her mouth.” Pete attempted to excuse his lack of supervision.
“You left her alone with a whole bag of candy?”
“Geesh Claire, it was just for a second. Sh
e’ll be fine... it’s not like I let her play in traffic.” Pete shuffled from foot to foot.
I bit back the angry spew of venom that threatened to pour from my lips in a flash flood of whoop-ass. I breathed in once, deeply, and struggled to find the words I needed to say.
“You think that no-harm-no-foul cuts it when your child is involved? You think that a minute alone with a bag of candy wasn’t as dangerous as letting her play in traffic? What if the candy had been tampered with? Would your daughter laying in the hospital—or worse, dead—make it okay for you to take a potty break before inspecting her candy or at least taking it away until you did have time to check it out?”
Pete paled and waited, assuming my rant wasn’t done. He was right.
I poured the Ale into a cup, then into her mug and back again, repeating the motion several times to flatten the carbonation. When I was done, I finally looked back up to him.
“The best parents are always thinking “What If” and run scenarios through their minds at warp speed, constantly, because we have to. It’s not fun, but it’s necessary.” I tried to soften my facial expression towards Pete. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch; I was speaking from my heart.
“When we were together, I shouldered that burden mostly alone, but now you will have to accept full responsibility for our daughter when she’s in your care. If you can’t promise to do that, always, then you can just walk away now.”
I watched as a myriad of expressions flashed through Pete’s eyes: anger, pride, fear and finally resolution. I had to give him some credit, he’d managed to fight through the knee jerk reaction I’d been expecting, so maybe whatever came out of his mouth would be productive.
“You don’t want to take Quinn away from me.” Pete sounded surprised at his own statement.
I circled the end of the kitchen island and stopped in front of him. “Of course not... I’d never want that for her, to grow up without you. But her safety must come first.”
“I agree, of course.” Pete nodded and continued, “Look, I’ll admit that you did a lot of the work when we were married, but you also have to realize that means you’ve had a lot more practice at this than I have. Cut me some slack, okay? ”
