Lust for Life (13 page)

Drinking a beer near the stove, Shane watches Dexter and me circle from the living
room to the kitchen and back.

“He’s doing great now,” Shane says. “He listens to you.”

“When I have food.” I turn abruptly to the left, cutting off Dexter’s path. He nimbly
keeps pace, not missing a beat. “Good boy.”

“You ever wonder if the Control could make him mortal again?”

“He’s undead like us. That’s a one-way street, right?”

“But he’s not naturally supernatural. He was vamped in a lab. So maybe the lab could
un-vamp him.”

I come to a halt next to a framed painting of a field aglow with fireflies, one of
our few pieces of art. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Even when you were human, you never wished you could take him for a walk in the sunshine?
Let him play with his own kind? Let him just be a dog?”

“If we let him be a dog, he’ll die.” I hold up the fingers of my left hand to signal
Dexter to sit. He obeys. “The ones his size are old when they’re six. Besides, Dexter
is who he is—not only in how he was born but how he was made.” I lower my hand and
my boy lies down, still looking up expectantly.

It’s not part of the training session, but I sit and wrap my arms around his thick
neck. He thwacks his tail against the floor, hard as a puppy, and rubs the side of
his head against my hair, petting me without hands.

Shane comes over. “I guess it’s the same trade-off we all make. A longer life, but
one lived in darkness and isolation.”

“Dexter’s not isolated. He has us. He has Lori and David and all the DJs. As long
as dogs are part of a pack, they’re happy.” I look at Shane over Dexter’s broad black
shoulders. “Trust me, I know this stuff.”

I’m no Dog Whisperer, but I used to volunteer with animal rescue. I’d socialize and
train dogs at the shelter so they’d be more adoptable. Unfortunately, once I had a
dog of my own, not to mention a full-time job and part-time college, I couldn’t fit
in volunteer work. The vampires were a big enough charity case.

Shane sits beside me and scratches behind Dexter’s ears in the way that only he knows
how to do. Dexter’s eyes roll up and he starts to kick his back leg, in the throes
of doggie ecstasy.

I ponder Shane’s words about us living in darkness and isolation. “Would you be human
again if you could?”

“I try not to think about it, especially now that you’ve turned, too. I don’t want
to dwell on all the things that’ve been stolen from you. Sunlight. Food. Freedom.”

“What food do you miss most? For me it’s mac ’n’ cheese. Or doughnuts, I can’t decide.”
Surprisingly, we’ve never had this conversation. Maybe it’s Dexter’s presence between
us, or maybe it’s the fact that David will be here in a few minutes, so we can’t talk
too long or get too maudlin.

Shane thinks for several moments, sipping his beer (which thankfully, being a liquid,
still tastes like beer to us). I envision his mind sorting all the possibilities alphabetically,
then letting go of that list to rearrange them in order of preference. Whereas I’m
fine with two top choices, being inherently dichotomous, he probably wants to declare
one single food the victor, as if by setting his target more precisely, it becomes
more attainable.

“Pancakes.”

“That’s a good one.” Unfortunately, I know from experience
that even though pancake batter is technically liquid, it tastes like milk of magnesia.
Coffee and beer only have taste because of the caffeine and alcohol used to make them.

“When I was a kid, Mom made pancakes every Sunday after Mass. Originally she made
them before Mass, but then we kept falling asleep in church. She learned to use pancakes
as a bribe to get us to behave there.”

“Brilliant tactic.”

“Then I got diabetes, so I couldn’t always have them. Mom would make me eggs instead.
And I could never have syrup.”

“That sucks.”

He nods. “So definitely pancakes.”

“With syrup.”

“With syrup.”

The doorbell rings. Shane goes still for an instant, then looks at me. For a moment
his eyes are tinged with sadness and anxiety. Then he smiles and says, “Speaking of
breakfast . . .”

•  •  •

Dexter beats us to the door, forgetting the training session in his excitement. He
knows how his favorite people knock, I guess, so he barks only at strangers, who tend
to leave quickly upon hearing that sound. Jehovah’s Witnesses are not a problem.

We open the door for David, who smells freshly showered. Unscented soap, of course,
like all FOVs (Friends of Vampires).

“Hey.” He lifts a six-pack of our favorite microbrew. “Is it weird that I brought
beer?”

“It’d be weird if you didn’t.” Shane steps aside and lets him enter, giving him a
warm shoulder pat.

“Good. It’s been a long time, so I’m a little rusty on protocol.”

David has always been the donor-of-last-resort for the DJs, opening a vein in an emergency,
if a regular donor moved away or was sick.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, as if he’s here to sell us an insurance policy. “You want
a drink?”

“Yeah.” He grabs one of the beers and offers the six-pack to Shane, his hand shaking
a little. I don’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that he might be as nervous
as we are. At least one of us should be sanguine about this. (Heh, sanguine.)

“We have some energy drink, too,” I tell him. “Hydrate you.”

“Wonderful. I’ll double-fist.”

I try to chuckle, even though what David said wasn’t really funny. I’m starting to
wish I’d insisted on a perfect stranger for my first bite, or one of Shane’s donors.
Someone laid-back like Rick, the bassist in Shane’s nineties cover band, Vital Fluid.
He’d probably jump at the chance.

But David’s here now, when I need him.

“I heard the Control scheduled your tribunal for Friday night,” he says to Shane.
“That was fast.”

“Might as well get it over with. If I have to be punished for staking Jim, I don’t
care.” Shane looks at me. “It was worth it to know she’s safe.”

“Safe from having my head ripped off,” I say with a nervous chuckle, “but not safe
from fading.”

“Right.” David takes off his jacket. “Speaking of which, where do you want to do this?”

Shane gestures to the couch. “We could try here, but the living room’s pretty dark.
The guest bedroom has a good lamp on the headboard, so she can see what she’s doing.”

David shifts his jaw. “Actually, I meant, where, uh, on my body, did you want to do
this?”

I am now official proof that vampires can blush.

“Oh.” Shane rubs his nose self-consciously. “Arm? Easy to see the veins, and that
way you can sit up if you want.”

Right. Biting a human above the heart can give them an air embolism that could kill
them instantly. Good way to ruin a meal.

Oops, I just made myself laugh, inappropriately. I turn it into a cough, which isn’t
believable, since vampires don’t cough except to cover up inappropriate laughter.

“I’ll go scrub up in the bathroom and meet you there.” David takes a large swallow
of beer, which I hope will help him stop fidgeting.

When he disappears, I look at everything in the living room except Shane.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks me.

“Are you? This is even weirder than I thought it’d be.”

“It’s for a good cause. The only cause I care about.” He comes over and runs a soothing
hand down my arm. “I know you’ve drunk from humans before, but there’s nothing like
biting. It’ll give you strength like you wouldn’t believe.”

“That’s like saying a protein shake gives you better nutrition by drinking it through
a straw.”

“Blood isn’t a protein shake, and you know it.” He grasps my shoulders gently. “I’m
sorry. I’ve been trying
to shield you all these months, make it seem like being a vampire isn’t a big deal,
that it’s just like being human with a different diet and schedule, but it’s not.
It’s magic.” Shane runs his thumb over my lips. “And part of that magic is sinking
your fangs into someone’s skin, making life flow out of them and into you.”

I think of my cousins. “The vampires who live with Travellers don’t bite people. They’re
healthy enough.”

“But they’re tame. They wouldn’t win a fight with a normal vampire.”

“I’m not fighting vampires.”

“No, you’re fighting something much bigger. You’re fighting time, and for that you
need all the strength in the world.” Shane leans over and kisses my cheek, right in
front of my ear. “Let me give you that strength.”

I slide my arms around his back. I want to stay in this life, just like we are, as
long as I can.

Even if it means believing in magic.

13

Lust for Life

When we enter the guest room, David is waiting for us, propped with pillows against
the headboard, wearing a black sleeveless undershirt. A stack of dark brown towels
sits where the second pillow would be. The bedspread and carpet are also dark brown—not
to make the room look masculine, though it does have that effect. It’s to hide the
bloodstains.

A spare, haunting tune comes from the MP3 docking station on the nightstand. “Found
this new English band, The xx,” David says. “Hope it’s okay, Shane. I thought something
minimalist would be soothing.”

“It’s fine.” Shane sweeps off his own T-shirt, mussing his hair. He always does it
before biting, to keep the blood off his clothes. As usual, my pulse speeds up at
the sight of his bare chest. A weird thought flits through my brain: I’d like to see
Shane and David with their shirts off, together. Maybe that’s not such a weird thought.

I look down at my cami, wondering whether to keep it on. The low cut of the neckline
means it’ll stay
clean, and if not, that’s what a sink full of cold water is for.

“That shirt’ll be fine,” Shane says as he climbs onto the bed to David’s right side.
“Come here.” He angles the reading light on the headboard toward David, who shades
his eyes against the glare.

As I approach the bed, I can hear David’s heartbeat. I crawl to kneel on his left
side, wishing I could do this without thinking of the pain I’m causing.

“He’s right-handed,” Shane says, “so we’ll use the left arm.”

I nod politely and try not to lick my lips. Despite my hunger, my fangs aren’t popping.
In fact, it feels like they’re shriveling back up into my skull.

Shane sits behind me and extends David’s arm over a folded towel, flat at his side,
so that his forearm is below his heart. Then he guides me to scoot down to put my
face inches from the limb.

Shane’s finger traces the vein that arcs over the edge of David’s forearm, front to
back. “This is the radial vein. It can be bitten in a lot of places, but his least
painful spot is halfway down, where it crosses from the front to the back of the arm.
Now, without biting—I repeat, without biting—run your tongue along the length of it
so you can feel the heat. You won’t always be biting under a bright light.”

I do as he says, sliding my tongue along the vein. Shane’s right: I can feel the heat
in the vessel even through the skin.

“Got it?” he asks. I lift my head and nod at him, not looking at David. “You sure?”
I nod again. “You ready?” I shake my head. “Why not?”

I open my mouth and point inside. “Nothing but blunt instruments in there. Performance
anxiety?”

“Maybe if we—” David looks from me to Shane. “Can you give us a couple minutes?”

Shane goes very still, then seems to measure the distance between me and David. “Okay,”
he says, barely parting his lips. He slides off the bed. “Call me when you’re ready,
and don’t start without me.”

When he’s gone, I can’t take my eyes off the door, and I find myself wanting to run
after him.

Instead I shift over to sit next to David. The headboard wobbles as I lean back against
it. “So.”

“So . . . I can’t say I ever foresaw this event.”

“Why would you? You’re not clairvoyant. Not that I believe in clairvoyants.”

“I know. I’m just making awkward conversation.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid we would skip that. It’s not like with you and Shane, when
you could talk about football or music to ease the tension.”

“You like football and music.”

“Yeah, but when I’m crazy nervous like this, I can’t think of any teams or bands but
the Dallas Cowboys and Mötley Crüe.”

“Hm. There must be a supermodel who’s slept with both.”

I laugh, much too donkeylike. “Yeah. Am I your first first?”

“First first what?”

“Were you ever someone else’s first bite?”

“No, other than Elizabeth.” It’s the first time he’s mentioned her since I’ve been
a vampire. His voice doesn’t catch on her name like it did years ago, and
there’s no change in his pulse or body temperature. Lori has turned his life around.

I hold up a hand to swear. “I promise I’ll be gentler than Elizabeth was her first
time.”

“You better be, or Shane’ll have to stake you.”

“You think he’d choose you over me?”

“It’s his responsibility as an Enforcement agent. Besides, I sign his paychecks.”

“Duty and money versus love and sex. He won’t have to think about it very hard.”

“Hopefully it’ll be a moot point.”

“Especially if my fangs don’t pop.” I fumble in my mouth, feeling my gums for any
sign. “Itsch like dey ran aray up in by head.”

“Here. Try this.” He takes my hand in his own warm, warm, holy-crap-so-warm one, then
places it on his chest. “Feel that?”

I close my eyes and let my fingers curl, relaxed, their tips resting on his shirt.
His heartbeat pounds straight through my palm, leaving a hot glow in the middle. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s for you tonight.”

My elbow twitches in reflex to pull away, but he doesn’t loosen his grip.

“Not metaphorically,” he adds. “I’m not giving you my heart like in a song. That heart
belongs to Lori. I mean, it beats for you literally. To save your body and hopefully
your mind as well.”