Blood To Blood (10 page)

“In part,” Mom continued,
“The Nest serves as an urban alternative to hunting. Now, sweetheart, do not
misunderstand me. There is nothing wrong with hunting. It is who we are. But we
are also so many other things. Civil. Humane. Courteous. In a nutshell, this is
a place where you can feed in a way that honors humanity.” 

She followed my gaze as I
continued to stare at the couple. He was still moaning. “It is rude to stare,
honey,” she said turning my head to look at her. “No matter what type of blood
drinker you are, there is a very pleasurable aspect to feeding directly from
the source. For Shimshana, it is even more so. If you take the feelings of
connection you experience while drinking a donor from a glass or thermos and
multiply that by one hundred, you still could not gauge the level of pleasure
you receive.”

I could feel my eyes pop out
of my head. Eventually, we came to a stop. “This is our family's booth,” Mom
said. We were at a plush red couch in a private candlelit area. There was a
low, round wooden table painted black, with elaborate flower designs. Thick
burgundy draperies covered the wall behind us. Classical music emitted from
speakers on an iPod dock. We sat down.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk
about sex.”

I nearly choked on the air.
“Mom!”

“Yes, I know we talked about
mortal boys years ago, but now that you are an adult there are a few more
pieces of the puzzle you need. Angel, newborn appetites are the strongest and
since you will be hungry for at least a year, the best thing we can do is
provide you with your own donors.”

Donors? More than one person
to drink in? Gulp. This was better than Christmas.

“But with donors comes
responsibility. The pleasure you will get when feeding this way can feel very
sexual. For both of you. Your donors will be yours and yours only, simply
because it will take all they have to cater to you. You will feel strongly
connected to them, and them to you. But having sex with them will be
irresponsible on your part.”

“I know, Mom.” I rolled my
eyes. “Because I'm saving myself for that special guy.”

“Yes, but that is not all.
Our donors benefit physically from the relationship. It lengthens their life
spans and takes away many of their common ailments. They also heal a little
more quickly than non-donor mortals.

“But the other side of the
coin is this: donors are vulnerable to us in almost every way. Physically,
mentally, emotionally. If we do not encourage them to have lives outside of us,
our donors will choose to exist for us alone, and waste their lives living from
feeding to feeding. It is our moral responsibility to take care of them on all
levels.” She took my hand in hers. “Besides, you will know when the right guy
comes to you. All of those special feelings you have will be for him alone.
Because when we love, we love fiercely, and with our entirety. And he will be
strong enough to handle you. I knew that when I met your father.”

“Ewww! Can I eat now?”

She inclined her head
slightly. Almost instantly, someone was at our table.

“At your service, Elder,” he
said, bowing deeply.

Mom gestured to me. “My
youngest. She needs two. This will be her first time.”

“I have the perfect matches.
The first will be a young man. It will be his first time as well.” Mom nodded
her approval as the “waiter” discreetly vanished behind an elaborate partition.

I sat on the edge of the
couch, back ramrod straight, hypnotized by the sounds of feeding. I wiped away
beads of blood sweat from my forehead. Mom offered me a tissue from a nearby
box. “You will not drain your donors, Angel. To do so will kill them.” Her
words snapped me out of my trance.

“We prefer to keep our
mortals alive,” she continued. “We leave them with a certain amount of blood so
they will remain healthy. If you take the right amount, they will feel slightly
weaker, but will be fine once they replenish their energy in the Rejuvenation
Center. You are not allowed to take beyond that amount.”

She pointed to a bell. I'd
noticed earlier that every table had one. The bell was attached to some device
that resembled a timer. “Once this bell rings, you must stop,” Mom continued.
“That's the rule.”

I wondered who or what
enforced that rule, and what the consequences for disobedience were.

“How do people become
donors?”

“They are almost all
referrals. Once their application is approved, they go through a background
check, screening process, and physical, emotional, and psychological
evaluations. The best ones are chosen and waitlisted. Then they go through
training. They are compelled to never reveal to any other mortals any
information about this place or their role as donors. Once bitten, it is physically
impossible for them to give anything away.”

“Wouldn't you and Dad be
more...ummm…comfortable...if my first donor was a girl?” I looked back at the
couple who were now stroking each other, and entwined on the couch.

“It makes no difference,
Angel. You are an adult now. Would you like your first to be a girl instead?”
Her face was expressionless in a way that only a two-thousand-year-old mom face
could be.

I thought about it for two
seconds. “No, Mom. I want a guy.”

The waiter returned, followed
by a tall, muscular guy. He was a little over six feet, and despite the
muscles, he had a lean build. Black hair and kind, almost black, eyes collided
with brilliant white teeth. He looked a little nervous, but his smile was dazzling.

“This is Justin,” the waiter
said. “Let me know if there is anything else you require.”

Justin sat down and we faced
each other expectantly.

“Since this is your first
time, they make it a little more instructional than usual,” Mom said. She smiled
at Justin, and gently tilted his head to the side to show me a diagram drawn on
his neck. “Don't worry kids, the marker is non-toxic. You'll place your teeth
exactly how this illustrates. There's also an instructional brochure in the
small side cabinet there. You'll have to figure out the rest on your own.” She
stood and picked up her purse. “You have all the time in the world.” She left
us alone.

Justin and I continued to
stare at each other long after Mom left. I strained to block out the sounds of
mealtime from all around The Nest so I could focus on him, but it seemed to be
a losing battle.

“So, you're Angel.”

“Yep.”

I didn’t want to make small
talk; I wanted to chow down. But how rude would it be to just pounce on him
like...a piece of meat? My nails sliced into the palms of my hands as I
struggled to control myself. “Are you nervous?” I asked him.

“Yep.”

A couple tattoos peeked
through the sheer material of his white silk shirt. My stomach contracted in
anticipation. He watched me with a friendly yet guarded stare. Smart, since I
was the hunter and he was the prey. He wasn't fooled into thinking otherwise by
the Nest’s elaborately civilized decor.

“I'm nervous, too,” I said.
“You're my first.”

“I've done the training. I know
what the deal is.” He looked into my eyes, as if to remind me he was not a
piece of meat. “But I couldn't have been prepared for a prettier mistress.”

Mistress? A mental image of
Elvira Mistress of the Dark popped into my head. It made me even hungrier and I
moved toward him until we were close enough to touch. “Let's get started.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Enough with the mistress
stuff, for crying out loud. Please... Just call me Angel.”

“Yes...Angel.” He tilted his
head to the side to fully expose the diagram.

My teeth rested on the
delicate skin. Inhale. Mmmm… I couldn't remember anything from mortal life that
smelled so good. After a second I gave up trying to think. My impulse was to
just be, and allow the wonderful aromas to flood my senses. He waited with his
thumb hovering over the start button on the timer.

Deep inside of me, my
shimshana started to extend and unfurl. Just as Mom said, the feeling I
experienced, now that I was with a person, was sensual… and also amazing, and tingle-y.
Yum.

I bit down carefully as the
instructions indicated, holding the mound between my teeth gently, making sure
not to break his skin as my shimshana probed and penetrated him. He tensed up
slightly before relaxing with a sigh, and I wasted no more time. My intestines
contracted and sucked him in stronger with each pull. The taste and the warmth
was something I couldn't have been prepared for. I soon felt as if I'd known
him for years. There was no sense of time, and I was surprised when the bell
rang. With great difficulty, I pulled myself out of his muscled embrace as my
shimshana retracted.

Justin sighed as he sprawled
all over the couch and I sprawled all over him. I rested my head on his chest
and could feel his heart pounding a mile a minute. I enjoyed the feeling of us
together; it almost felt as if we shared one body.

“Was it good for you.” His
tone was joking but his face was serious.

“Better,” I answered.

And then I was hungry again.
 After a long hug and exchange of email addresses, Justin was led away to the
Rejuvenation Center.

“Number two now,” was all I
said to the hovering waiter.

A
fter The Nest, I was as content as a fat
cat next to an empty milk bowl. Mom plopped me back in my bedroom before we
heard a knock on the downstairs door. Inhaling, I recognized the scent right
away. It was Mr. C., ready to help me get a grip on my now-lethal pipes. Cici
ushered him in, and, yet again, I was down the stairs before I even knew I was
moving. His face registered a few seconds of shock when he saw what probably
looked like me popping out of thin air. Mom had told me I was pretty fast. I
felt bad for making him feel uncomfortable.

“Hi, Mr. C.”

He quickly recovered his face
and eyed me for a drawn-out moment, taking in my appearance and whatever else
he managed to see with those enigmatic eyes. “Angel. You've been busy.”

I grinned. Mom came in. “Mr.
Caulkins.”

“Mrs. Brown. Please, call me
Sheridan.”

“Only if you call me Cleo.”

He kissed her hand a little
too gallantly. “It would be an honor,” he said. There was an air of
understanding between them now, thick with unspoken words.

I found myself in the kitchen
pouring coffee for him and blood for me. Seriously, I was going to have to find
a way to slow down if I was going to look normal in the mortal world. The house
came alive with the strains of Tchaikovsky as Mr. C. played on the grand piano
in the living room. Tchaikovsky was always one of my favorites, but with my new
immortal hearing, it seemed like I'd never heard the music before. Varying
shades of green and purples with hints of blue danced before my eyes.

It was so beautiful, I grew
confused. I fought the urge to go immediately to the living room to be closer
to the music. My hands were frozen in the motion of pouring blood, and a puddle
formed on the floor as I stood there in indecision. Falling onto my knees, I
licked up every drop, knowing this unladylike display would be so uncool with
Mom. Sure enough, as if on cue, she walked in.

She took one look at me with
my tongue on the floor, one look at the puddle, and pivoted out of the kitchen
muttering something about “God give me strength.” I continued my cleanup duties
without missing a beat. Cici roared with laughter upstairs.

When the floor was all
sparkly clean again, I wiped my mouth with a napkin so as not to give poor Mr.
C. another scare. I couldn't imagine what would go through his mind if he saw
blood dribbling down my chin.

“So Angel,” Mr. C. said as I
placed his coffee mug and a ceramic coaster down on the grand. “It would seem
as we have some serious work to do, my dear.”

From my immortal point of
view, the only thing different about him was his smell. It was more intense.
The tang of his blood and skin mixed with the less organic odors of cologne and
cigarette smoke to create a bouquet of age, decay, and resilience. It was an
aroma that spoke of many ups and downs, but not enough to really make a dent in
the world. It was the fragrance of mortality, and it drew me in like honey
attracts flies.

I stayed as far away from him
as I could while sipping out of my thermos. He didn't ask me what I drank. In
fact, he didn't ask me anything pertaining to me on a personal level. Didn’t he
sense that I wasn’t the same? He was the first non-donor mortal to have any
contact with me since I woke up.

“Mr. C. Do I seem different
to you?” I'd never been so bold with him.

“Angel, you look the same.”
His fingers absently tinkled notes on the grand. “But it's clear to me you're
not. And I would dare say anyone who loves you and knows you would see that as
plain as day. You just need to decide how much you want people to see. Your
parents have been very clear with me. Quite honestly, I still enjoy this life
too much to want to know more about exactly how different you are. That being
said, let’s start in the key of C. You will stop singing the very second I say
stop. Understand?” I nodded.