Page 8 of Blood Lovers (American Vampires #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT - PAUL

It’s always about the bliss.

Zecharyet Wagner is having a very bad day.

I find him at the funeral.

He is late twenties, married—widowed now—and the goodness emanating from him is strong enough to taste. His heart is pure, and I do love the pure ones.

My own heart shriveled up and died a dozen generations ago, at least. So this goodness, along with his beauty, is his downfall.

It’s not just that I crave him, though I do. And it’s not just that I must possess him, though I will. It’s just… all of it.

He’s the one .

He is the kind of man with morals and ethics. He goes to church on Sundays and after the service he teaches his religion to the smaller children of the parish, while his wife, Jane, teaches the older ones.

They have three children of their own. Charlie, seven. Nancy, six. And the new edition, baby Susan.

They were married on Jane’s eighteenth birthday and she wasn’t even pregnant. I was there watching from the back of the church and even though it was a modest wedding—both of their families were lower-middle-class—she looked stunning. They honeymooned in the Poconos.

And when they came home, they moved into a brand-new three-bedroom house at the edge of town and started making babies immediately. Fucking every night. Sometimes twice.

To say I was enthralled is an understatement. This man of morals is a fuck monster. He takes her from behind, he takes her on top, he takes her on the bottom, he sucks her pussy and watches her masturbate.

They are like a porno. And if they were born six decades later, they would set up a webcam in their bedroom and make millions of dollars letting people watch them.

Or... probably not.

No one calls him Ryet. It is Zecharyet all the time. Even Jane adheres to this preference when she’s moaning his name during sex.

He is, quite simply, the American Dream and despite how horny he is, his belief in God is absolute.

I must possess him.

But he must choose me first.

The only way to possess a man like Zecharyet is to make sure he has no other options. To make sure that I am his saving grace.

So that’s what I did.

He does not cry at the graveside of his wife and three children. He simply stands there, stoic. I think he is mad at his God, which is delightful in and of itself. Because we have the same god and He makes me angry as well.

Ryet’s suit is too big. He’s a hard worker, a mechanic, but the only suit he owns is the one he got married in and his chest and shoulders have filled out since he was eighteen, so this one is borrowed.

There isn’t much left of his little family as far as remains go. They were burnt up in the fire, crispy and black, so all four caskets are closed.

They are small, as well. His cute wife was a mere five feet tall. A casket for a baby—oh, that baby. Even I can admit that it’s all quite sad.

He goes back to his modest home afterward. The people—and there are many—follow him. There is a party of sorts. Food is served and people start drinking even though it’s Tuesday and barely three o’clock in the afternoon.

Ryet has a fifth of Jack Daniels in his hand as he stands solemnly in the middle of his tiny living room, surrounded by pictures of his former love and offspring. He pretends to listen to his friends and family as they go on and on about the virtuous woman he was attached to and his disgustingly gorgeous children.

It will take time for him to get over the woman and the offspring, but get over them he will.

I’m here to make sure he does.

I bide my time. I spend the afternoon wandering the tiny Ohio downtown. I browse the five-and-dime. I get a milkshake and look out the window of the diner. I wander over to the car lot across the street and sweep my hand down the side of the brand new 1957 Ford Thunderbird. It is a beauty in Inca Gold.

It’s like… gazing at a sunny day.

I meet up with Ryet after dark. He’s already at the corner bar, drinking his sorrows away.

Drunk, actually. He is quite drunk.

His friends are all there. Johnny, or Tony, or Billy—whatever the hell men are calling each other these days. There are women too. Shameless sluts who think they might have a chance. If they wait for him, and pretend to be his friend through these terrible times, they might be the one invited into the empty bedroom that he no longer shares with his wife.

Sorry, ladies. He’s taken. I didn’t go to all this trouble just to give him over to the likes of you, now did I?

I chuckle to myself in my booth on the far end of the bar. I’m dressed like these people. Jeans, white t-shirt, cigarettes in my sleeve, and slicked-back hair. It’s quite a fun look, actually. The jukebox is pumping out a song called ‘All Shook Up’ and the kids are dancing in a corner.

It’s a jovial atmosphere. Too fun for a man in mourning. But this is the only bar in town.

Johnny, or Tony, or Billy tries to get Ryet to go home around ten. But the bar won’t close for another hour, so he stays.

The boys want to stay with him. That’s what your boys do. But they work tomorrow and Ryet has been given the week off to get over the loss of his family.

Isn’t that terrible? A week. To get over the utter destruction of your entire existence? It’s pathetic.

But he won’t be going back to work next week. He won’t even be going home tonight. Hell, this will be his last look at Ohio for decades.

Because Ryet is mine. Now and forever.

I leave before he does and go out to the alley. Then I strip off my clothes, take a deep breath, and shed the human form.

It’s not fair to approach him in my beautiful state. That would be cheating.

I need him to choose me. The real me. Wings, and fangs, and hideous face.

He needs to crave the monster.

If I just wanted another mindless minion, I’d hang out with Josep or Lucia, wouldn’t I? Or with the endless number of halfbreeds Lucia has started collecting. They will all be dead soon, so I don’t even try to stop that process.

I want Ryet, the real Ryet. And I want him to want me, the real me.

That’s the only way this will work.

So I become the demon bloodsucker that I am. And when he stumbles into the alley, drunk for nearly half a day now, I stand right in front of him with black wings outstretched.

He sees me, but he’s not frightened.

I never thought he would be. He must be my equal. Not an easy feat—I am quite spectacular. But the moment I saw Zecharyet Wagner ten years ago, fighting outside a bar two towns over, I knew he was the one .

And he’s so beautiful.

Have I mentioned that he’s beautiful?

Gorgeous. Much prettier than his late wife. I can’t take my eyes off him.

He pushes me out of the way, slurring an obscenity. But I catch his eyes and, well, it’s over.

That’s all it takes. Just a glance and he’s entranced.

The alcohol makes it a little bit more difficult. But he has no chance of getting away.

But I can’t enchant him into being my scion. That is a choice he must make. So I must sell him on the idea. Show him how good it could be. Never mentioning the downside, or the future, or the consequences.

He is agreeable—so drunk—and the particulars are ironed out with haste.

Then he’s in my arms. I embrace him. Holding him close. Our chests pressed up against each other as I lean down into his neck and push my teeth into his skin until the tips enter the jugular.

Ohhhh, he is sweet. And young. I love the young blood. It’s so intoxicating. He is nearly still as I hold him there, his heartbeat pounding through my head as I suck the life out of him.

When I pull back, he looks startled. Like he forgot, momentarily, that he was being eaten by a demon.

“What the fuck?” He barely manages these words.

But I put a finger on his lips to hush him up. “Be good now, Ryet. We’re almost there. Just one last step.”

There is a struggle, but he’s already agreed. Once you make a deal with me, it’s done. There’s no going back now, my boy. I bite my lip, bare my teeth at him as our shared blood rushes down my chin, and then he’s right there.

I didn’t even have to convince him. Not even a little prod. And, oh, he has no idea what this simple act does to me. It makes up for centuries of disappointments.

His mouth covers mine in a kiss. Our tongues dancing in the blood. Twisting together—a metaphor, perhaps. He sucks on me, taking my blood into his body, and I take it back into me.

We share ourselves and when he pulls back, his eyes hazy and drugged with his newfound bloodlust, I just look at him.

Beautiful him. Gorgeous him. Perfect him.

“More.” He’s moaning the word over and over again, reaching for me.

I tap him on the nose and chuckle. “That’s enough for now, my boy. But don’t worry. There’s more to come.”

I take his hand and lead him to the little house where I’ve been staying. I strip his clothes off, and take him in my bed, and press my mouth to his, and I let him drink all he wants. Just this one time, he gets all he wants.

And when my hand slips down his body, and I find him awakened and hard, I know—I feel in my shriveled-up heart—he is special.

He eagerly clings to me. Begging for more. His mouth searching for a faster flow than my lips will allow him. His teeth grazing across my neck.

I let him.

He is the only one I’ve ever afforded this privilege.

I give him bliss until he is moaning and writhing, his hands pumping between his legs.

Bliss.

When it’s over, and he’s settled down—half on top of me, half on the bed—I tell him the cost of this bliss.

“You are mine.”

And he agrees.

Not that he had a choice, but he agrees.

I come out of this memory sucking on the old feeder’s neck, her disgusting blood flooding my body.

Oh, to be back in that night with Ryet. That first night when his blood was so young and so pure. He was my bliss too.

He ruined me. He really did. I will never find another like him.

But I can be satisfied with one. I can.

Suddenly the blood in my mouth tastes like mold, and piss, and shit. I push the feeder off and she falls sideways off the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

I feel tainted. Gross. I want to vomit, actually.

She got in my head, I realize. She got in my head and—

“He will never love you.”

All of my thoughts pause. “What did you say, witch?”

“You heard me.” She’s growling at me, baring her teeth, her mouth filled with blood from my long drink. “He will never love you.”

I force a smile. “Ryet, you mean? Oh, my dear. He’s loved me since the moment we met. I am his bliss.”

“You are the Devil. You are not worthy of a man like him.”

“We’re talking about the same man here? Zecharyet Wagner?” This time I force a laugh.

“You think you’re stronger than us, don’t you, demon? But you’re not. And when you took my blood just now, you took my death too. And the next time he drinks from you, he will die .”

“Shut up, you bitch.” I pick her up and throw her across the room. My body begins to change as the anger inside me brings out the memory of the devil I am. “Lies!”

“Truth! You are killing him! And you can’t hurt me now.” She sings these words out. “I’m already dead, you see. You drank the dead blood, monster!” Her cackling laughter fills the room.

“What are you talking—” But I stop mid-sentence. Because I know what she’s talking about. “ No .”

She’s hysterical with laughter now. “You’re still drinking, demon! You’re still—”

I wake up, the dead witch in my arms, my mouth full of black blood. Black witch blood. Rancid, foul, putrid, dead , black witch blood.

I spit it out, then vomit. It comes up, and up, and up. And my body, unable to retain the human form due to the poisoning, reverts back to demon form. Wings unfurl, clothes rip apart, claws appear.

I am at the door. Out the door. Down the hallway.

Echo is there. “What the hell? Paul?”

She has never seen me like this. Almost none of them have.

I need to get away. I need to dig, and bury myself, and heal.

But there are hundreds of humans here. Watching me.

Watching me be weak .

I stop on a small rise of a hill outside near the steaming-hot pool where dozens of naked humans are frolicking. And I look up at the moon like a wolf. I tip my head back and I scream .

It echoes through the night. The terrifying bellow of a demon.

My body is fire and I scream at the pain.

“And he hates you!” The old feeder sings and cackles these words through the night. She’s haunting my reality now. “He hates you, he hates you, he hates you…”

I need fresh blood.

I need her blood.

And I can’t have it until he has had her first or all these decades will go to waste.

I scream again.

And then the purple comes and I go… somewhere else .