Page 25 of Bitten Vampire

When night fallsand I become… whatever I am now, I stand in the kitchen with a peach in my hand and stare at it.

What will it taste like? Sweet? Cardboard? Will it make me sick?

Will my fangs even work properly? Are they… straws? They snap out when I think of them, when I’m hungry or mad. I have prodded them with my tongue, even examined them with a hand mirror. There is nothing elegant or magical, just sharp teeth that extend like an overachieving canine.

I know vampire saliva is an anticoagulant; victims don’t bleed out unless a vampire wants them to, and it seals punctures. Gross. Convenient. Both.

My fingers drift to my neck. Memory pricks.No.

Unless I absolutely must, I don’t want to drink blood. But I can’t deny I’m fascinated by the fangs and what else they can do.

Could I just… bite? My jaw feels stronger. I feel stronger.

Certain tests are essential after suddenly becoming undead. A peach seems a sensible start, even if fuzzy trichomes aren’t exactly human skin.

I raise the peach and bite.

The peel yields with a softpop. The taste is… dreadful. Dry, chalky ash, like a healthy-eating advert gone horribly wrong. Chewing feels like gnawing on a rubber stress ball. I make sure not to swallow. Horrified, I check the fruit, expecting grey rot, but the flesh is perfect—light yellow, glistening.

Still vile.

I bite again just to practise the fang action and lodge my right fang in the stone. After an undignified wriggle, I wrench free.

I carefully rinse out my mouth. Twice.

To distract myself from the lingering taste, I move to Experiment Two: strength. I eye the cast-iron oven. House probably doesn’tcook, food simply appears. Still, it’s hefty.

I crouch, hook my fingers under the lip, and lift.

It moves.

I raise it a few centimetres off the tiles.

What are you doing?House asks, voice cool but amused.Put my oven down.

“Sorry.” I lower it gently, careful not to chip the floor, and rub my hands on my jeans. My fingertips lookdented from the strain. Seconds later, the skin smooths, perfect again.

Interesting.

“Do we have any garlic?”

Why?

“Experiment Three: garlic.”

You do know that’s a myth, don’t you? Same for holy water. Neither will hurt you. But if you must test your limits…

A clove appears in my palm.

“Thanks.” I roll it between my fingers, then toss it in my mouth and give it an experimental chew. It’s worse than the peach. I think anything I put in my mouth as a vampire is going to taste vile.

I clutch my throat, stagger dramatically, and gurgle.

Oh my gosh, Fred! Fred! Oh my gosh!House screams.

I crack and laugh. “Ugh, garlic’s awful,” I say, as House swears at me.

I turn on the tap again—nothing.