Then, woodenly, I got up and walked to the small refrigerator that was located in one corner of the room, opened the door, and reached for a bag of blood. The only bag of blood.
It was heavier than I’d expected.
A darker red, too.
“Hurry,” Pavlov griped.
I narrowed my eyes and hurried, all the while keeping my annoyed look on my face and aimed at the rude man.
“Here,” I retorted.
Constantine took it, ripped the top off, and drank it like a vampire version of a fucking Capri Sun sans straw.
I watched Constantine’s throat work instead of concentrating on the fact that he was sucking down blood as fast as I downed the sugary kids’ drink.
And then frowned when, once finished, he immediately ripped open his vein again with his mouth and returned his wrist to Chen’s still not drinking—at least that’s what I assumed he was supposed to do—mouth.
“Fuck!” Constantine cried when the blood continued to pour out the sides of Chen’s mouth.
I really, really wished I could figure out what the hell he was supposed to be doing. All it looked like to me was that Constantine was draining himself dry over a dead man’s mouth.
“Need more blood.” Constantine gave me a look.
I licked my dry lips.
“There was no more,” I murmured. “Is there somewhere else I can go get you some?”
All three men cursed long and loud.
I bit my lip.
“He’s gone, Con. Just let him go.”
Constantine’s head dropped. He looked absolutely defeated.
Then, like the dumbass I was, I offered my own blood up for the taking.
“You can use me,” I murmured hesitantly, then offered up my throat with a tilt of my head. “Here.”
I don’t know what made me say it.
Fear. Horror. Pity for the man that looked so defeated.
Whatever the reason, I was ready and willing to offer up my vein to the man.
And did.
Constantine looked at me.
“It doesn’t turn you.”
I blinked.
“I know,” I said, surprised that my voice was so sure when all I wanted to do was leave.
I couldn’t leave, though.
Not with some man that was so nice to me lying near the brink of life and death.
“It might hurt.”
Pavlov snorted.
I glared at him.
Constantine’s now on the too-cold side of alive hand latched around my wrist instead of my throat, and I looked down at him with worry-filled eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispered, emotion thick in his voice.
I bit my lips as the man brought my wrist up to his mouth, then ran his lips up even farther to the bend of my elbow.
I’d never seen anyone in my life feed from the bend of the elbow, but apparently Constantine was going to use that access point.
“There’s more meat there,” Abraham answered my unspoken question. “And hurts less. With Con out of blood like he is, he can’t manifest his powers to ease the pain.”
I realized what he meant moments later when Constantine’s fangs sank into the meat of my elbow, drawing a pained cry from my mouth.
A pain that only lasted a fraction of a minute before all pain ceased to exist.
It was replaced with a burning heat that started to filter slowly through my veins.
It started at the bend of my elbow and moved up my arm and down to my hand at the same time.
My fingers started to tingle, and then my nipples hardened.
The burn moved, following the arteries that ran through my body, until it came to a stop to pool somewhere deep in my belly.
I wasn’t aware of crying out, but the moment I did, Con pulled away from me with a growl.
I sagged to the couch, Con’s strong arm wrapped around my body to guide my way.
I blinked, my vision going hazy for a few long seconds before I finally focused on the man that still had his wrist over the still dead man’s mouth.
Then the dead man jerked.
I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it or it really happened, so it took me a few minutes of my hazy brain working to finally realize that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
The man really had moved.
His hand. Then his feet. Followed shortly by his eyes snapping open.
Then Chen was up and moving. Straight toward me.
Before he could even make it more than a step, all three men slammed him back down, kicking and screaming.
And, for a really scary instant, the body with the missing face started to transform before my eyes. One second his mouth was just a misaligned piece of meat with an opening, and the next his face was just… there. Back like it was, only this time with fangs.
I gasped and pulled my knees up to my chest, watching with dawning horror that this man wasn’t the Chen he used to be.
I bit my lip in worry, scared for him and the man he no longer was. Was he ever going to be his old self? Had Constantine been like this once upon a time, too?
How old was Constantine?
Abraham and Pavlov handled Chen as Constantine turned to me, studying my face carefully.
“You need blood,” he said, bringing his still dripping wrist to my face.
I recoiled.
“A blood exchange isn’t enough to cause the transformation,” Constantine explained. “I have to will you to be what I want you to be. Trust me, if I wanted your life, I’d have it.”
His words were enough to send a solid rack of shivers down my spine.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay,” he told me bluntly. “I took a lot. But you’ll be perfectly fine if you just take some of mine now. By morning it’ll be like nothing even happened.”
I closed my eyes, knowing in my heart he was right.
I bit my lip, then nodded. “Okay.”
Then Constantine offered me his wrist.
“I’ll bite and you suck,” he ordered.
His hands went to my hips, and I shivered.
Chen thrashed on the table.
Pavlov cursed, and Constantine offered me his wrist again.
I took one tiny lick, and a memory from a long, long time ago assaulted my senses.
I’d tasted something very similar to this before… and it tasted good.
“Take him to the holding room at the basement level. I’ll get him as I leave later.”
Then, as the two men took Chen away to some holding cell below us, I took a healthy suck on Constantine’s wrist.
The moment I did, my whole body seemed to catch fire.
My heartbeat started to pound its usual uneven staccato, and I started to breathe heavily.
It lasted only a matter of seconds, but when Constantine disengaged his wrist from my grasp, I was practically humping his leg.
“So… you’re sick.”
His simple words had my eyes widening.
My heart started to thump erratically once again.
“Yes and no,” I hedged.
“You have an irregular heartbeat.”
I nodded. “I do.”
We’d already talked about this.
“And?”
“And I’ve had one since I was a baby, remember?” I shrugged. “Then it was discovered when I was in an accident that nearly killed me years ago that it had gotten worse. I’ve lived a fine life,” I snapped.
He didn’t reply.
I sighed.
“I’m supposed to take it easy, but I find myself unable to do so,” I finally muttered darkly.