"Look at it?"
He thought some more. "Well, I guess it reminds me of my dad, you know? And my grandfather. We all had the at one time or another. We all talked about it. And sometimes..." But Charlie suddenly got choked up and couldn't continue.
So I finished for him. "And sometimes when you looked at it, or when you touched it, you could feel your father and grandfather nearby."
Charlie wiped his eyes and nodded and looked away.
Chapter Seven
Admittedly, the blood wasn't very Christmassy.
It was late and I was alone in my office with a packet of the good stuff, freshly delivered today from the slaughterhouse in Norco. As I slit open the top of the plastic bag with a fingernail that was a little too thick and a little too sharp, I reflected on what I knew about blood.
Fresh blood energized me, lifted me, made me feel more than human. With fresh blood flowing through my veins, I felt like I could do anything. And for all I knew, maybe I could.
Acquiring fresh blood is another issue altogether.
I'm not a killer, although I have killed. To drink fresh blood implies two things: it has either been taken...or freely given. The freely given part was a concept I was still wrapping my brain around. One of the perks of dating Kingsley these past few months was that he always kept a fresh supply of hemoglobin for me. Where he got it, I may never know, and he wasn't telling. All I knew was that it made me feel like a new woman. Hell, like a new species.
But I will not take blood unwillingly from humans, although I certainly could if I wanted to. I imagined there were others like me out there who took from others when and where they wanted it. I suspected that many of the missing person cases around the world were a result of this, although I could be wrong, since I'm not exactly immersed in the vampire sub-culture. I'm immersed in my kids and school and work, and dealing with an ex-husband who had revamped his efforts to bring me down. How he would do this, I don't know, but if ever there was someone who ran hot and cold, it was Danny.
Bi-polar, as my sister put it.
I studied the semi-clear packet of blood. The packet was no bigger than my hand. I didn't need much blood, and a packet this size would keep me going for three or four days. I didn't need to drink nightly, although I could, if I chose to. As I studied the packet, a thick animal hair rotated slowly within. Shuddering, I fished it out and flicked it in the waste basket.
Blech.
Hating my life, I brought the packet to my mouth, tilted it up, and drank deeply as the thick blood filled my mouth. I ignored the bigger chunks of flesh, and only gagged two times. I kept drinking until the packet was empty, until I'd squeezed out every last drop.
When I did, I shuddered and closed my eyes and willed the blood to stay down. I kept my fist over my mouth and kept shuddering. When I opened my eyes, I saw him standing there, in the far corner of my office, watching me.
The man from the dollar store.
Or, as Fang put it...my guardian angel.
Chapter Eight
I gasped.
I might be a creature of the night, but that doesn't mean I don't get startled. My first instinct was to dash toward the door of my office, which is what I did, blocking the stranger from further access into my house. One moment I was sitting at my desk, downing a packet of cow blood, gagging, and the next, I was standing guard at my office door.
"I didn't mean to startle you, Samantha."
"Of course not, asshole. Which is why you appeared suddenly in my office. You have five seconds before I throw you through that wall."
I was a mixture of rage and confusion. The adrenaline-fueled rage for obvious reasons. The confusion because my inner alarm system had been completely bypassed. What the hell was going on?
I kept an ear out towards my kids, listening hard, but all I could hear was Anthony's light snoring. Tammy wasn't snoring, but I could sense her there in her room, curled up in her bed, one arm tucked under her pillow.
"Your extrasensory skills are progressing rapidly, Samantha."
"What do you mean?" I asked, perplexed, angered, wracking my brain for an explanation of how he had appeared so suddenly in my office. I found none.
He watched me from the corner of the room, hands folded in front of him, smiling serenely. His blondish hair seemed to lift and fall on currents of air that I sure as hell didn't feel.
He cocked his head slightly to one side. "Your image of your sleeping daughter, of course. Your psychic hit is completely accurate."
At any other time I might have rushed the guy. At the least, slamming him up against the wall to get some straight answers. But I held back. For now.