Page 22 of Red Rooster

“’Cept for Sasha, huh?”

Nikita’s mouth set into a hard, grim line. “We’ll take this back to your apartment. Being hungry is making you extra stupid.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lanny said, frowning.

But he was. He was starving. And the refrigerated pig’s blood in the bag Nikita carried called to him in a way that alcohol never had.

“You’re right,” Nikita said as they emerged on the sidewalk again. “You’re not. You’rethirsty.”

~*~

Jamie was beginning to think that leaving the apartment had been a bad idea.

At first, the novelty of seeing and hearing and, God,tastingeverything around him had been the stuff of his wildest imaginings. It was better than Disneyland, being healthy and feeling good as he walked down the street, head held up, lungs working correctly, gaze drinking in everything about a city that was usually just white noise and blurry lights.

But then he’d stepped into his favorite indie coffeeshop and things had begun to go downhill from there.

The exposed brick walls and dark-stained hardwood floors that he’d always found so charming did nothing to muffle the din of voices, clacking laptop keys, and hissing machinery. He heard all of it as a wall of sound, and then the individual notes as well in a layered sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He started to clap his hands over his ears, and then realized that would make him look weird at best, insane at worst. So he crammed his hands in his jeans pockets and tried not to grind his teeth.

And then there were the smells. Coffee, of course, sharper and more potent than was normal, but then the competing perfumes of all sorts of humans. And some salty undertone that made him salivate.

Blood, something ancient and unknowable whispered in the back of his mind.That smell is blood.

As the line inched forward, his nerves wound tighter and tighter, a thread pulling tight. It wouldn’t take much to snap it.

His stomach growled, loud enough for the guy in front of him to hear it and turn around with a frowning glance. Jamie clapped his hand over his belly and gave an apologetic smile. He wished now that he’d choked down one of Lanny’s protein shakes, because he was starving suddenly, lightheaded and frantic. He’d order two sandwiches, he decided, even though he’d never eaten more than half of one at a time. Whatever he couldn’t finish he would carry back with him – and he would go back, that he knew. Being out in public was too much. He definitely should have called Lanny or Trina this morning. Or Sasha – could have used the blond werewolf’s soothing demeanor right about now.

That’s how hungry he was: he could think the wordwerewolfwithout batting an eye.

He finally reached the counter and, voice trembling, ordered two bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwiches and a tall cappuccino. When he stepped to the side to wait, he had to hold himself up against the counter, hands, and then arms shaking. He didn’t know if it was hunger, nerves, some new vampire ailment, or a combination of all three. God knew. He was so far out of his depth.

When the barista passed over his travel cup and greasy bag of sandwiches, he thanked her frantically, spun around, and ran right into the person waiting behind him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he started, juggling his things. And then he saw who it was.

His roommate, Jessica.

She wasn’t wearing her usual makeup, her eyes red and puffy from crying, ringed in dark circles of exhaustion. Her usually sleek hair tried to slip loose from her sloppy ponytail and she wore the stretched-out sweatshirt she usually saved for laundry day or movies on the couch. She was grieving him; or was at least shaken to have had death get so close to her.

They stared blankly at one another a long moment, and then she really saw him.

She dropped her sunglasses and they hit the floor with a clatter. Her mouth opened, and a tiny, strangled sound moved from the depths of her throat.

Oh no.

“J-j-jaime?” she stuttered. “Oh my God, but you’re–”

He bolted.

Someone stood just inside the door of the shop, and Jamie elbowed him out of the way, heard alarmed shouts and a crash of a table. He kept going, didn’t look back.

The exhaust-soaked air of the sidewalk felt fresh by comparison to the shop, but the panic switch had been flipped and he kept going, breaking into a jog and legging it back toward Lanny’s apartment.

Trying to explain that he was live and well would have been difficult. But the impossible thing? The way he’d looked at her, caught her scent, and wanted to press his face into her throat. Wanted to sink his fangs anddrink.

More than he’d ever wanted food, or drink, or sleep, or sex, he’d wanted to bite his roommate and draw her blood into his mouth, down his throat. Had imagined its heat and velvet texture.

He couldn’t handle that urge. Hecouldn’t.