Bite Somebody

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  His mom sounded nice. She had one of those indiscriminate Southern accents that made Celia picture a beauty queen. Based on the looks of all four of her sons, Celia guessed she wasn’t far from the truth. Celia said she would take care of her little boy. Yes, his mother still called him “little boy,” Ian being the youngest son and all.

  Next to Celia in the office, Ian said, “Did you know that one in twenty men admit to sleeping with a teddy bear?”

  He wasn’t really talking to her. He sometimes just announced things he found amazing. She turned and looked at him. She smiled and pushed some black curls from his forehead.

  So far, Ian had taken the whole possible blood slave thing very well. Celia wasn’t surprised. He was like a shallow pool—relaxing, soothing, but not much going on under there. She didn’t think her boyfriend was stupid. He was smart, in a way (Jeopardy!, anyone?). He also had a keen understanding of mortality due to a hungry Great White in Hawaii. Despite this, his range of emotions was lacking. He was either happy, horny, or kind of happy.

  Celia had to face it: her boyfriend was being prepped for slow slaughter by two vampires currently living in her apartment, and he still wanted to cuddle. It was Celia’s idea that he come with her to therapy, only because Imogene couldn’t keep an eye on him that night. She said she needed a night off for some “real man blood.” Celia understood. Even sitting in Dr. Savage’s office, if she looked at Ian too long, her gums burned. Fangs threatened. She wanted to feed constantly when she was around Ian—or get laid.

  The feelings were now infuriatingly interchangeable.

  The door to Dr. Savage’s office opened, and she led out a tall, gorgeous vampire with long, blonde hair and bright green eyes. The girl wore a dress that looked like it came from Imogene’s extensive closet—in other words, mouse-sized. She had legs that closely resembled unblemished ivory. She was another example of what vampires were supposed to look like. She dabbed at her catlike eyes as she nodded to Dr. Savage and whimpered, “Thank you, doctor.”

  “Of course, Katarina.”

  Of course her name was Katarina.

  Ian didn’t look up from his magazine until Katarina stopped dead in her tracks and started sniffing the air. Her teary eyes closed, then opened, and focused right on Celia’s boyfriend.

  “My, my,” she said, “what expensive taste you have.” She barely acknowledged Celia and took two quick steps toward Ian, who said something like “oh, shit,” and reached for the nearest weapon, which turned out to be a statue of Buddha.

  “Hey,” Celia said, jumping to her feet, but Dr. Savage—somewhat out of character—latched onto the back of Katarina’s head and sternly said, “NO.”

  Katarina seemed to wake from whatever trance Ian’s blood had put her in and kept walking, straight for the exit and out the door.

  Dr. Savage smiled like nothing weird had happened. “Good evening, Celia. You look beautiful.” She sounded shocked, and rightfully so.

  Celia had on one of her new outfits from the Pretty Woman shopping spree: a jean skirt and blue peasant blouse, fitted below her breasts. Ian said the color made her eyes pop and her tits look good. He had manifested this feeling earlier when he motor-boated her in the alley where they parked their bikes. Celia even had on little wedge heels, very beach chic.

  “This must be Ian.” Dr. Savage removed her black-rimmed glasses and reached her hand out. “I’m Rayna Savage.”

  “Uh…” He slowly returned the Buddha to its pedestal. “Are you gonna…?” He gestured to the exit.

  “Attack you? No. I wasn’t planning on it, although you do smell delicious.”

  “I get that a lot lately.” Ian nodded and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. Do you sleep with a teddy bear?”

  “A small stuffed hippopotamus.” Dr. Savage smiled at Ian—and not the patronizing smile she used on Celia—which made Celia cross her arms and stomp one foot. “Are we having a couple’s session this evening?”

  “No,” Celia said. “I need to…we have a problem.” She glanced up at Ian. Then, she glanced around Dr. Savage’s office with the posters of trees and the ocean and the ever-present scent of lavender. “Is Ian safe in here?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Is he safe in your waiting room?”

  “Of course?” Ian ended statements as questions sometimes; Celia wasn’t used to her therapist doing the same.

  “Okay.” She turned and kissed his chin. “I won’t be long.”

  Celia didn’t sit down inside Dr. Savage’s office. She was not in the mood for the farting couch, and she felt on edge.

  “Celia, what is it?”

  “Danny’s back.” She paced.

  Dr. Savage sat down in her fancy, leather swivel chair. “Back in Lazaret?”

  “No. In my apartment.”

  “Danny is in your apartment.”

  “With some newbie vamp hooker he met in New Orleans.” Celia paused. “She’s not really a hooker. Exotic dancer. I’m sorry.”

  “Why is he in your apartment?”

  “Because, well, so here’s what happened.” Celia sat on the farty couch and told Dr. Savage about Steve, and Ian’s blood, and how Imogene thought Danny and Vixen were only on Admiral Key to kidnap Ian and make him into a blood slave—which was why Ian was in the waiting room and why Imogene thought they needed to turn him immediately.

  Dr. Savage was quiet, for a while, really.

  “Dr. Savage?”

  She stood and faced the windows overlooking St. Arthur’s Circle. “I should have said something when I first smelled him on you, Celia, but your friend is right. There are circles of enterprising vampires who view human beings as cattle, bred to be slaughtered. There are porterhouses, New York strip, T-bone. Then, there is filet mignon. Your boyfriend is filet mignon.”

  “Oh-kay.”

  “I should have warned you to keep him away from other vampires. Not all vampires have moral qualms, like you or I. Some vampires want expensive blood, and some vampires want money. From what I’ve heard of your Danny, I suspect he likes both, so Ian would be of great interest to a vampire like Danny and his…” She waved her perfectly manicured hand.

  “Exotic dancer.”

  “Yes.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Feign ignorance and politely ask Danny to leave.”

  Celia buried her face in her hands. “But I can’t. He’ll take away my blood connection if I make him leave—not that I’m even sure I could make him leave.”

  “He threatened your blood dealer?”

  Celia nodded. “He said he owns him.”

  Dr. Savage slowly sat down. “Celia, why is Danny back in Florida? He’s not local.”

  “No, he’s from New York.”

  Dr. Savage’s right eyebrow went all Vulcan. “New York?” She tapped her finger on the arm of her chair. “Right now, you need to stay calm. You need to stay close to Ian at all times. Do not let Imogene turn him. There’s no need for that.”

  “I know,” Celia said.

  She smiled her simpering smile. “I’m glad you’ve been listening to me, Celia.”

  Celia rolled her eyes when Dr. Savage looked down to make some note on her therapist pad.

  She tore the paper and reached across the table toward Celia. “Here is a number for my blood connection. She’s not a dealer. She’s a healer. Her blood is distilled with herbs and blessed by a shaman.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She took the little piece of paper and smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Let me do some thinking on this Danny situation, and I’ll get in touch. Come see me in two nights to check in.”

  Celia sighed and stood up. The good news seemed so anticlimactic after the bad. “We had sex.”

  Dr. Savage smiled—really smiled—probably because she was picturing Ian naked. She said, “Did you enjoy it?”

  Celia felt her knees shake. “God, yes.”

  On the
bike ride home, Ian did his usual thing and circled her so that she could keep up with his annoyingly breakneck pace. “So did you tell her how good I am in bed?”

  She giggled and said, “Shut up, Ian.”

  “How I’m hung like a race horse?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, even though she knew it was true.

  “Hey, let’s not go home,” he said.

  Celia decided wearing a skirt on a bike was kind of a stupid idea as Ian continued.

  “I’m sick of listening to your ex have sex all night long.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I have an idea.” He smiled at her, and the wind ruffled his black hair until he looked semi-electrocuted, in a cute way.

  She followed him past Happy Gas. She ducked, since she was on “sabbatical,” as they continued farther along Admiral Key. They stopped in the parking lot of a 24-hour convenience store owned by an overly cheerful, overweight local named Shell.

  “Wait here,” Ian said. He parked his bike and ran inside.

  Celia smelled the night. She smelled the sea and fishy fish. She smelled remnants of suntan lotion. From a parked car, she smelled beer and sweat. Above it all, though, even with him inside, she could smell Woodsy BO, the man she loved, mixed with the sweet richness of his blood. She was surrounded by blood, but Ian was still the only human for her. Who would have guessed she had expensive taste?

  Ian came sprinting out of the store with a bottle in a paper bag and a big Mexican blanket. He tossed both in the basket of Celia’s beach cruiser. “What are you up to?” she asked, smiling.

  “Just follow me.” He jumped onto his bike like a cowboy would jump on a horse. “And keep up!”

  Yeah, she thought, easy for him to say.

  He was nice enough to not go twenty miles per hour, but he had to be pushing fifteen. She moved her little legs at vampire speed and managed to keep his maniacal black hair in view. He made a sudden right hand turn, and poof! He disappeared into a bush. Celia put on the brakes.

  “Ian?”

  She squinted and noticed, ah, her boyfriend had not just nosedived into fresh foliage. There was actually a path. In fact, the path led into a park.

  “It’s illegal to be in the park after dark,” she muttered, but she followed him anyway. Even though she couldn’t see Ian, she traced his smell past flowering magnolia bushes with thick, leathery leaves. There were piles of hip-high hibiscus that probably glowed pink in the sun. She passed all that and almost wiped out when the path of small stones became a boardwalk.

  “Ian!” she hissed.

  She could still smell him, but she couldn’t hear him or see him. She then realized they were in Poe’s Park—a place where retirees walked their dogs in the mornings—and apparently crazed ex-surfers canoodled after dark. She assumed there were alligators, too, since they were right on the marshes. She was busy wondering if she could take down an alligator when she spotted Ian’s bike and put on the brakes so hard, she was pretty sure she left skid marks.

  Ian took hold of her handlebars before she could hurt herself, and in the dark, she saw the glint of white teeth. “Easy, Mermaid,” he whispered. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He pulled the bagged bottle and Mexican blanket from her basket and took her hand. “Come on.”

  “We’re not supposed to be here after dark,” she said.

  “Vampires aren’t supposed to exist.” He pulled her between two banyan trees. Lace-like edges of Spanish moss tickled her forehead.

  Ian was good at navigating a path, even in the dark. Maybe he was onto something with all his kale smoothies. He led her to a clearing where they had a view of the water and far off lights of Lazaret. The moon was full and cast Ian’s freckled skin blue.

  Celia watched him unfold the colorful blanket and glance up at her. “I staked this place out weeks ago and thought of you.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure.” He sat down on the blanket and patted the fabric at his side. “I know you’re embarrassed about it, but I’ve had a thing for you since I first saw you naked.”

  She giggled and parked herself at his hip, careful to avoid protruding roots and maybe alligators. “Nu-uh.”

  “Yeah-huh.” He pulled a bottle of cheap sparkling wine from the paper bag. It reminded Celia of college in Miami when they used to buy the stuff for three bucks a pop. He used his long fingers to unfurl the bottle’s foil. His pinkie was still encased in metal, but you’d never know it, the way he’d adapted to his injury, like Ian adapted to seemingly every circumstance.

  “So are you just using me for my body?” she teased.

  The edge of his lip turned up.

  “Are you blushing?”

  He smiled. “No.”

  Her fangs came out. “You are tho cute when you blush.”

  “You’re so cute when you lisp.” He used his thumb to pop the cork and only spilled about a thimbleful of budget bubbly before covering the spout with his mouth. He swallowed a big gulp. “I think you have an amazing body.”

  “Liar.” She took the bottle from him and knocked one of her fangs when she took a sip.

  “You do. You’re…” He shook his head. “I don’t understand who told women that protruding ribs and hipbones were a good idea. I don’t get how a size two can be ideal.”

  She huffed at the mere idea of a size two. But then she poked him in the shoulder. “You can’t tell me you haven’t been dating size twos your whole life, Mr. Surfer USA.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well, the size twos never lasted.” He took the bottle back but didn’t drink from it. He set it down at the base of the nearest tree and turned to face her. “It’s not just your curves, though.” He put his hand on her cheek and kissed her, fangs and all. “I’m pretty damn fond of this mouth.” His mouth moved to her neck. “And the way your skin tastes.” He used his fingers to pull at the front of her shirt until his lips found the edge of her bra. “I really like these.”

  She closed her eyes and chuckle-choked.

  She took off his shirt—basically just tore it over his head and threw it, they would later realize, into the marsh. Celia was still totally confused in regards to her physical responses. With Ian on top of her, roots beneath her, and the smell of sea mixed with the scent of blood, she didn’t know if she wanted sex or food. That was when Celia had an idea.

  Why not have both?

  Ian made quick work of her skirt, and they made love. He kept his full weight off of her by resting on his elbows, and just like their first time, he watched her as he moved. She would have thought the scrutiny would make her uncomfortable—to have him staring at her while he was inside her—but it wasn’t. She put her hand on his face.

  Her fangs were out, which he could obviously see, which was why she felt comfortable when she asked, “Can I bite you?”

  Ian seemed incapable of speech by then, but he nodded. She buried her fangs in his neck, and he made the “nuh” noise, louder than usual. His hand tightened in her hair, and for the first time in Celia’s life, she understood the expression “banging.” Ian and Celia were definitely banging, and she was an active participant. His blood gushed down her throat, and she was high, high, high!

  Yes, yes, yes!

  When the need-to-pee sensation started creeping, she pulled her teeth out of his neck and let go of his body in order to avoid breaking any other bones. He only held tighter to her as he twitched and spasmed and made a sound kind of like “guuuuahhhh.” Celia had the presence of mind to watch, at least. She liked watching when Ian did that.

  They laid on their backs on the itchy Mexican blanket holding hands. Celia rode out her incredible high, and Ian’s body went half-comatose, pumped full of her venom but also drained in post-sexy-time bliss.

  “Ian?”

  “Mm?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  “Do you want to be a vampire?”

  “Not really,” he slurred.

  �
�I don’t really want you to be one either.” She rolled over and tickled the side of his stomach. “What’ll happen when you get old?”

  “I’ll be the old guy with the hot girlfriend.”

  “And you’re okay with not having kids?”

  He licked his upper lip. “I don’t feel capable of having this conversation right now.”

  “Sorry.” She rested next to him.

  “Tell me a story,” he said.

  Celia smiled. “What kind of story?”

  “A happy one.”

  She leaned up on one elbow. “The first time I saw David Bowie I was five years old.”

  Ian laughed.

  “And he had on a really bad blond wig and tight pants, singing with Muppets. And I remember wondering why the girl wanted to go home when she could live in a world with Muppets and David Bowie.” She watched Ian smile.

  “That is a good point,” he said. “Flaw in the film.”

  “Right?” She played with his hair. “I spent my childhood in front of a TV. You spent yours on a beach.”

  “Several beaches.”

  “Yet, we both ended up here.”

  “Meant to be,” he said and yawned.

  “Want to head back?”

  “I guess I could use a nap,” he said.

  Only Ian napped at midnight.

  Luckily, his neck had stopped bleeding, but the bite marks were kind of obvious. It didn’t help that his shirt was covered in mud. He tied it on the back of his bike, unwilling to litter, and they piled the empty bottle of sparkling wine and the hideous Mexican blanket back in Celia’s bike basket. Ian, post-bite, was okay to bike. He only weaved a little.

  When they got back to the Sleeping Gull, Celia was less than pleased to find her front door open, and Danny on the front porch. He was in head to toe seersucker but no shoes. Apparently, he had acclimated some to beach life. His hair was hidden beneath a light blue newsboy hat, and he smoked a thin cigar.

  There was no avoiding him. He stood up straight when they neared.

  “Stop for a snack?” He winked at Celia after casting a glance at Ian’s neck.