Page 51 of Taste of Blood

“Will three be enough?” Lazlo asks. I know he’s concerned about the safety of his donors.

“Should be. One is for me.”

“Very good. I’ll send them right over.”

While we wait, I finish getting Cord undressed and look him over.

“Are you trying to take advantage of me?” he slurs.

The fact that he’s being a smart ass is a good sign. I go grab several towels and a bowl of water and start cleaning up his wounds. He moans now and then, but otherwise says nothing.

Other than the two on his chest and abdomen, the cuts are mostly superficial, though judging by the fact that his clothes are soaked with it, he’s still lost a lot of blood.

When the concierge calls to announce my visitors, I tell him to send them up. I’m surprised when Armand is among them. He looks relieved when he spots me.

“Thank god. When I heard a Code 3 and this address, I thought you were injured.”

I’m touched by his concern. “It’s my friend. Hang on, I’ll grab a glass.”

Injured vampires are not allowed to feed directly from donors; too many chances for disaster if the vamp loses control. I make a small cut on the first donor’s wrist and hold the glass under it until there’s a sufficient amount of blood in it, then lick the cut to close it. He rummages in his bag for a bandage to cover the wound then takes a seat on the opposite couch while his two companions stand by.

I bring the glass to Cord’s lips. “Drink.”

His eyelids flutter, then he looks around blankly before focusing on the glass in my hands. He drains it in three gulps and I motion for the next donor and repeat the process.

Cord drinks this one slower before settling back on the couch and drifting off.

“Will he be all right?” the first donor asks.

“Should be, thanks to both of you.”

“That’s our job,” the second donor says.

“What about me?” Armand asks.

I smile at him. “You’re for me–though just for feeding today.”

Cord could probably use Armand’s blood more than me, but I can’t ignore my own needs, especially when I’m trying to take care of him.

I make short work of the feeding and tip the donors generously before sending them on their way. Lazlo calls me almost immediately for an update, and I assure him his donors are fine and heading back to the den.

I change into a pair of sweats and a tee shirt then drape a blanket over Cord and settle back on the other couch to wait for him to come around. My mind is running in circles, wondering who could’ve gotten the drop on someone as experienced as Cord and how he ended up here.

I don’t know how long I sit there, but I must’ve dozed off because I’m awakened by a buzzing sound. I look around and realize it’s coming from Cord’s discarded pants. His phone. I pull it out and look at the screen.

Dante.

I consider letting it go to voicemail, but part of me wants to give him a piece of my mind, so I answer it.

“Cord?”

“No. He’s…indisposed.”

“Did you…is he all right?”

He actually sounds concerned. “He will be.”

“Thank fuck,” he sighs. “Where is he?”