neck. Mario was biting her. And sucking. And with each strong pull he took from her throat, she felt herself getting weaker and colder.
“Please. He’s going to die,” she said. She was probably going to die, too. She welcomed it as an alternative to the blood dripping into her mouth.
Mario lifted his head. “Don’t worry , Dori. When he’s drained, we’ll bring another.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I’m full, however. We’ll have to let gravity do the rest.”
“Gravity?”
A knife flashed, and then slashed across her throat in a bright ribbon of pain. Somehow she stayed alive long enough to feel the blood flow down her neck, dripping down onto the floor below through a hole in the table she was strapped to.
This isn’t happening.
But it was. She got colder, and weaker, and colder, and weaker, until finally she lost consciousness. She dimly heard Lady Macbeth saying, “ Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” But it wasn’t the King of Scotland’s blood that flowed so freely. It was her own.
Charles was breathing hard, and sweat broke out on his brow. “You okay?” Doreen asked.
He nodded, putting his arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”
“Mario’s dead.”
“So am I.”
“He’s not coming back.”
Thank God. She nodded, smiling thinly. “Ready for more?”
He nodded.
She didn’t know how many times it had happened to her. A young woman, hale and hearty, replaced the old man, and Doreen could do nothing but watch as the life left her. She tried to stare Mario down the next time he used the knife on her neck, only to fall once again into unconsciousness. If he cared whether she stared or not, he didn’t show it.
One evening came that was different. It was not the first time she asked for a victim to be spared. But this time Mario smiled at her. Lately, Mario and the pretty vampire who worked with him had been gathering the blood that came from her in buckets.
“I’ll let him go. But you’ll do exactly as I say, until I have my revenge on the man who reduced me to this.”
“Yes.”
“Drink, then, from this cup. The blood of binding will bind any vampire to an oath she speaks. Swear you will help me until the death of Kent Carlisle is accomplished, and I am Lord of a city of my own.” He lifted a green plastic juice cup with red liquid.
Good god, if I was a vampire, I’d have a better sense of the dramatic than a juice cup. “I swear it,” she said. I am a vampire.
Mario bit his thumb and dripped a little of his own blood into the glass. He ripped the tube away from her, and poured the liquid on her lips in a thin stream. She thought of closing her lips, but she knew it would do no good, and besides, she was hungry. Her hunger was an urgent thing, far beyond anything she had felt before her world had shrunk to the basement she had been in for days, weeks, or months. She drank the blood down, and it satisfied her.
“Blood of binding,” she said, at last. “How is that made?”
Mario smirked, but didn’t answer. The other vampire took out the current captive, and she saw neither of them ever again.
“How long was it from then to when you came for Kent?” Charles asked.
“A month and a half. I didn’t have any idea who Kent Carlisle was, only that Mario hated him. I shouldn’t have promised.”
“The man’s life was at stake. You did what you could to save him.”
“Did I?” asked Doreen. “Did I save his life by promising to help Mario kill your friend? I have no idea what happened to him, not really. Mario didn’t drink his damn blood of binding, after all. And I don’t think he’d have any trouble leaving. I don’t even know if saving his life was why I really did it. Maybe I was tired of being bound to that table, and of being force-fed blood.” If I don’t know now, I won’t ever really know. All I remember was the overwhelming feeling it all had to
“Please. He’s going to die,” she said. She was probably going to die, too. She welcomed it as an alternative to the blood dripping into her mouth.
Mario lifted his head. “Don’t worry , Dori. When he’s drained, we’ll bring another.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I’m full, however. We’ll have to let gravity do the rest.”
“Gravity?”
A knife flashed, and then slashed across her throat in a bright ribbon of pain. Somehow she stayed alive long enough to feel the blood flow down her neck, dripping down onto the floor below through a hole in the table she was strapped to.
This isn’t happening.
But it was. She got colder, and weaker, and colder, and weaker, until finally she lost consciousness. She dimly heard Lady Macbeth saying, “ Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” But it wasn’t the King of Scotland’s blood that flowed so freely. It was her own.
Charles was breathing hard, and sweat broke out on his brow. “You okay?” Doreen asked.
He nodded, putting his arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”
“Mario’s dead.”
“So am I.”
“He’s not coming back.”
Thank God. She nodded, smiling thinly. “Ready for more?”
He nodded.
She didn’t know how many times it had happened to her. A young woman, hale and hearty, replaced the old man, and Doreen could do nothing but watch as the life left her. She tried to stare Mario down the next time he used the knife on her neck, only to fall once again into unconsciousness. If he cared whether she stared or not, he didn’t show it.
One evening came that was different. It was not the first time she asked for a victim to be spared. But this time Mario smiled at her. Lately, Mario and the pretty vampire who worked with him had been gathering the blood that came from her in buckets.
“I’ll let him go. But you’ll do exactly as I say, until I have my revenge on the man who reduced me to this.”
“Yes.”
“Drink, then, from this cup. The blood of binding will bind any vampire to an oath she speaks. Swear you will help me until the death of Kent Carlisle is accomplished, and I am Lord of a city of my own.” He lifted a green plastic juice cup with red liquid.
Good god, if I was a vampire, I’d have a better sense of the dramatic than a juice cup. “I swear it,” she said. I am a vampire.
Mario bit his thumb and dripped a little of his own blood into the glass. He ripped the tube away from her, and poured the liquid on her lips in a thin stream. She thought of closing her lips, but she knew it would do no good, and besides, she was hungry. Her hunger was an urgent thing, far beyond anything she had felt before her world had shrunk to the basement she had been in for days, weeks, or months. She drank the blood down, and it satisfied her.
“Blood of binding,” she said, at last. “How is that made?”
Mario smirked, but didn’t answer. The other vampire took out the current captive, and she saw neither of them ever again.
“How long was it from then to when you came for Kent?” Charles asked.
“A month and a half. I didn’t have any idea who Kent Carlisle was, only that Mario hated him. I shouldn’t have promised.”
“The man’s life was at stake. You did what you could to save him.”
“Did I?” asked Doreen. “Did I save his life by promising to help Mario kill your friend? I have no idea what happened to him, not really. Mario didn’t drink his damn blood of binding, after all. And I don’t think he’d have any trouble leaving. I don’t even know if saving his life was why I really did it. Maybe I was tired of being bound to that table, and of being force-fed blood.” If I don’t know now, I won’t ever really know. All I remember was the overwhelming feeling it all had to
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