“Come on, let’s get started.”
He sits, scooting a few inches farther away, though we weren’t that close to begin with. That’s starting to bug me now—what does he think, that I have lice or something? Please. I was bathing fastidiously while his ancestors still thought dirt insulated them against disease.
Except… he has vampire ancestors, so that’s probably not true. Not entirely, anyway.
“Do you know much about vampire abilities?” I ask, mostly in the hope of getting him to loosen up a little. If he’s too tense, this is doomed to fail.
He shrugs. “Only what I’ve learned since coming here. Most of it has been unlearning what I thought I knew.”
I nod. “Humans have vivid imaginations. So you know we’re not actually dead”—couldn’t help myself—“have no issues with sun, religious artifacts, garlic, all that?”
“Yeah. Uh, do you mind if… I mean, I have some questions, but I didn’t want to offend anyone.”
I laugh outright. “But you don’t care if you offend me?”
For a second, I see agreement on his face. “No, that’s not what I meant,” he says quickly, but there’s no mistaking the fact that his tone is just too polite for it to be true.
“It’s okay; you can ask me anything.” I wave a hand dismissively. “There’s no point in me trying to help you if you can’t ask questions.”
He hesitates for a second longer, then ventures, “Human myths all talk about wooden stakes and beheadings for killing vampires.”
“Ah. Well, if you shove a sharpened stake into any living being’s heart, it’s not going to be pretty. But most of those myths say we turn to ash when stabbed in the heart, right? That doesn’t happen. In fact, due to our accelerated healing, if the stake is removed and there’s access to blood and medical care, it may not even be fatal. Beheading is, though. I don’t know of any living creature that can survive without its head. Maybe an earthworm? And hey, I had a lover once who called me a worm, so I guess I have a chance of surviving a beheading.”
He blinks at me, obviously overcome by my wit. “So… you don’t instantly turn to ash when you die?”
“Nope.”
For a second, he says nothing, then takes a deep breath. “Uh, I get that vampires don’t need to drain a body of all blood when they—you—feed. Is that the right word? I don’t…”
For the first time, I realize he really is unsure about asking these questions, and I lean forward. “Noah, I know we don’t always get along, but I meant it when I said you can ask me anything. I’m your on-call vampire expert, and I won’t be offended if you ask something out of ignorance. Yeah?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
“Good. So, yes, we do call it feeding. No, we definitely don’t need to drain a body of all blood. I doubt there’s ever been a vampire who actually can in one feeding. That’s a lot of blood. Most of us don’t feed from a live body anymore, anyway. The advent of blood banks has changed a lot of things about feeding.” I have mixed feelings about that, to be honest. Sure, I love the convenience of being able to grab blood from the fridge when I need it instead of having to go out and find a donor or pay for and house a long-term donor, but there’s nothing quite like fresh, warm blood from a willing being. It’s like e-books. They’re cheaper, easier to store, and more convenient to buy, but sometimes you just can’t resist the lure of a paperback.
Now he looks intrigued. “So you don’t need to actually drink from people?”
“Yes, we do,” I correct, “in the sense that animal blood is lacking the enzymes we need. But the blood doesn’t have to be drunk from the vein, no. These days, most don’t.”
“I didn’t know that,” he says. “Sam gave me links to archive sites about the different species, but I’m still wading through the history parts. It talks a lot about the contractual obligations of vampires to their donors. Does that still exist?”
I quirk a brow. “Interested in becoming a donor? You’d live a very cushy life.” I’m laughing even before he recoils, pushing his chair even farther back from me. “I’m kidding. Yes, some vampires still keep donors. The contracts you’re talking about are only for long-term donors. So if a vampire went out and picked someone up for just a single feeding, there are no obligations—other than to ensure they’re safe and healthy afterward. But if a single donor is providing blood repeatedly, a contract is put in place to protect both parties. We don’t require a lot of blood—maybe half a pint a week for a mature adult, more for young adults and children—but that does have an effect. It’s up to a vampire to ensure their donor is receiving sufficient nutrients, medical care, and is comfortably housed. There’s usually also a stipend. Depending on the vampire, their donor might be able to give up work entirely for the duration of the contract.”
“So poor vampires just go with the… uh, the single-use donor option?” He winces, but this time I laugh so hard I’m gasping for air.
“Single-use donor option? Shit, I have to write that down. We have to put that in an official document somewhere.”
He doesn’t seem to find it as funny as I do—not sure why, since he came up with it.
I swipe away a tear and blow out a breath. “Where were we?”
Noah has a unique talent for conveying entire monologues with a single glance. Right now, for instance, his scathing look tells me that I’m an abject disappointment to my species and life everywhere.
“Poor vampires,” he reminds me.
“That’s right. Yes, vampires without the means to support a long-term donor would just find a… single-use donor”—my voice barely quivers with laughter. I’m so proud of myself—“each time they needed to feed. Obviously, they’ve benefited the most from modern practices. There’s much less risk associated with a bag of blood from the fridge, or blood-infused food products, than there is with finding a donor and feeding from the vein.”
He leans forward. “Risk? You mean risk of the human being hurt?” There’s an edge to his voice now.
“Not even close. The chances of a human being accidentally hurt during a feeding are incredibly low. Mostly because vampires will only feed on humans as a last resort. We prefer to feed on any other species, including other vampires. The risk is usually of exposing our existence to humans. Let’s say, for example, that I was a vampire living in the eighteenth century—”
“Which you were,” he mutters.
“—and I needed to feed. I don’t have enough money to support a donor, so every week, I need to go out and find someone who can help. In most large cities, there was a network in place within the community to help, but if the city was smaller, options were limited.”
“And even more so in rural areas?” There’s a hint of fascination in the question.
“Exactly. Let’s say, though, that I lived in a decent-sized city. I probably had a group of contacts I could reach out to who would let me feed from them. One of the benefits of the community and CSG is that the species tend to support each other. But maybe one week, nobody is available—they’re out of town, or sick, or someone else fed on them already this week. So I go to a bar or somewhere people congregate, and I find someone who’s willing to help me out.”