He’s the Vampire, That’s Why
By Michele Bardsley
By Michele Bardsley
“Why are you taking off your clothes?” asked Dr. Michaels. “You don’t have to be naked to finish Turning her.”
“Turning the other woman created a bloody mess,” said Patrick O’Halloran as he deposited his clothes onto the lab table. “It’s easier to wash down the lab than get blood out of clothing.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe these people have all survived the process.”
“Yes, it is a very curious and unexpected outcome,” agreed the doctor. “Only one in ten humans make the transition. And of those, not many survive their first month.”
Stan Michaels often told people information they already knew. He wasn’t trying to show off his intellect. He had a habit of verbalizing his thoughts. He conversed with himself even when in the middle of talking to other people or, in Patrick’s case, vampires. He knew well the odds of Turning humans. He’d been alive-ish for more than four thousand years.
Fully naked, Patrick strode into the empty room with its single metal table. He slid onto the cool surface and held up his wrists.
“You really believe these precautions are necessary?”
“She’s wearin’ the ring, Stan.”
“I’d say it’s superstitious to believe a claddaugh ring has revealed your soulmate, but I’m talking to a creature who, by all things scientific, should not exist.” Stan clicked the bespelled silver manacles onto Patrick and backed away. “Mating with a Turnblood is ill-advised.”
“Why do you think I’m bein’ cautious?” He didn’t want to discuss how he’d almost lost four millennia worth of control during the first part of Jessica Matthews’ Turning. He’d emptied her poisoned blood and fed her enough of his blood for healing and Turning. She hadn’t died, though she’d suffered. Turning was a brutal process. And that’s why Master vampires wiped the Turning memories from their weakened charges. Only Master vampires had the knowledge and power to make more of their kind. Erasing memories was both a mercy for the Turned and a protective measure for the Masters.
“She needs to feed from a main artery,” said Stan.
“I’m aware,” said Patrick drolly. “Femoral.”
“Er. Uh. You’re sure?”
Patrick lifted one eyebrow and stared at him.
The doctor nodded and opened the door, waving for two men to carry in the stretcher that held the lovely Jessica Matthews. The men lifted her onto the table, and hurried away, the metal door clanging shut behind them. He didn’t have to wait long for the Turnblood to roll onto her stomach and crawl between his thighs. The feel of her against his skin electrified him. He felt fire lick along his veins, and the need to claim her fully roared inside him like a caged beast.
When her fangs pierced his thigh, her cheek brushing his fuckin’ balls, he lost it. If not for the manacles and magic binding him, he would’ve taken her. Shame filtered through his blinding lust, cooling his ardor enough to stop straining against his bonds. If he could breathe, he would be gulping heaps of air — and if he could sweat, he’d be drenched. Jessica drinking from his thigh was pure torture, but it would’ve been worse if she’d embedded those fangs into the carotid artery of his neck. So close to his mouth, a whisper away from his lips, a mere breath from his ability to control her mind, and…no, no. He would not override her self-will. He would not force her into a century’s worth of bondage.
After he could no longer bear the torture of the Turnblood sucking on his thigh, he put his fingers under her chin. “That’s enough, love,” he said. “You’re healed now.”
He noted her reluctance, but she still allowed him to help her disengage from his flesh. She sat up, licking her lips to get every dribble of blood smeared on her pillowy lips.
“Where am I? What happened? Where are my kids?”
”Ssshhh. Everything will be explained.” He tilted his head. “Your children are fine. Damian is watchin’ them.” He could read her thoughts easily. She was wondering who the fuck was Damian? Then she tried to tell herself to breathe — and seconds later, realized her lungs didn’t work. Neither did her heart. Her physical form was now undead. She didn’t need the body to work as it did before. Her watched her blink, narrow her eyes, and blink again. Once more her thoughts filtered into his mind: She’d been relying on glasses for a long time. Now, she could see all the way to Canada. He swallowed his laugh. Despite her refuge into humor, he wasn’t yet sure if she’d fall into panic. His other charge, Charlene, had to be sedated after she’d awakened. She’d managed to survive the Turning, but he feared she didn’t have the mental strength required to be a vampire. Only time would tell.
Jessica, on the other hand, seemed to be handling her new circumstances quite well.
“So … with all the, uh, blood-sucking, I’m guessing I’m a vampire now.”
“Yes. We vampires call ourselves deamhan fhola.” He grinned. “It’s Gaelic for blood demon.”
“Oh. Well, that’s certainly … descriptive.” She erupted into giggles, snorting like a pig rooting for truffles. “Me. A vampire.”
“Yes.” He leaned against the wall, his knees drawn up slightly. Jessica was a beautiful woman, and he drank her in with as much yearning as he saw in her gaze. “With eyes like the sea after a storm,” she muttered, quoting a line from The Princess Bride. Her gaze dropped to his groin, and damnú air, he couldn’t do much about the raging hard-on. Her mere gaze had set him alight with desire. He could only imagine what her flesh would feel like under his lips and fingers. His testicles tightened underneath her blatant scrutiny.
“Do not have sex with Mr. O’Halloran.” The command echoed around the room. Jessica’s gaze ping-ponged around the small, sterile space.
“She fed on me like I was the last Twinkie in the box,” he said. “A little thanks might be in order.”
She nodded, and scooted closer to him, her hand reaching —
“If you have sex with Mr. O’Halloran,” said Dr. Michaels, “you will be mated to him for the next hundred years.”