Page 43 of Vampires of Eden

Sighing, I push off the door. On the whole, I’ll call this progress toward my healing journey. When I tell her, Leoni better be proud. I want my fucking gold star.

CHAPTER 11

Alexander

Pale yellow sunlight floods the room as my eyes flicker open.

Groaning, I pull the comforter over my head and flip so that my back is toward the window. Buffy was at my spine, but now that I’ve changed positions, she shifts as well. Protesting and snuggling into the concave of my body and flipping onto her back. After a moment she purrs deeply, like there’s a little motor inside of her.

I drift off, but my mind and body are heavy. Burdened. Images of the night before and my second evening with Lord Cherrington haunt my psyche. Restless, I open my eyes.

Why should I get out of this bed ever again? I have no desire or motivation to do so. There’s nothing good beyond it. Buffy is here. It’s warm. I’m alone, safe and nobody is leering at me or being uncomfortably handsy without my consent. Expecting me to smile and reciprocate some shallow and gross affection.

Every time I’m forced to spend time with Lord Cherrington, a singular, haunting thought floats across my mind.

Is this how Oliver felt about me?

The moment it does, I want to crumble and die. It shatters my heart into a thousand pieces and I can’t take it.

Who was I before the engagement ended? That cavalier, thoughtless purebred swaggering around as if the whole world rested in the palm of his hand.

I don’t even know that vampire anymore.

My existence feels split into two halves—before Oliver left and after.

“Aack.” Buffy makes the cutest yawning, chittering sound ever as she stretches her body in a long arc. The ending result is that her front paws are placed on my nose and chin.

I snicker and speak in a soft voice. “Do you want breakfast, Buff Buff?”

With her eyes still closed, she offers a dry and soft meow in response.

“Alright.” Gently, I grab her leg and kiss the velvety pad of her paw. She’s definitely worth getting out of bed for. Always.

I pull the comforter back and the sunlight is an assault on my being. The glare almost makes me hiss, as if I might burst into flames like they do inBuffy. Slowly, I get up, scratching the wild mess of my hair as I head over to the locked wardrobe opposite the bed. I keep Buffy’s cat food inside of here. My food, too.

Buffy hops out of bed and meets me at the wardrobe, affectionately prowling around my ankles and stretching as I choose her breakfast. Her bowl and automatic watering fountain are on top of a weaved mat near the large glass doors that lead out to my private balcony. I fill her dish, ditch the packaging, then return to the wardrobe.

Inside, I keep a small refrigerator with an electric security keypad. I enter the combination and the door pops open. Under a soft blue light sits five packets of deep red blood. I’ve been stretching these out for weeks, so I’m not too concerned. Usually, I only allow myself half of a bag per week. I already had my half over the weekend, but… I need this right now. Badly.

Grabbing a fresh one, I close the refrigerator and wardrobe, then go sit on the floor in the pouring sunlight near the patiodoors where Buffy is eating. With my legs folded, I unscrew the small cap atop the bag and bring it to my lips.

I drink, slowly. Breathing deeply and indulging.

The unfailing comfort of this blood washes over and through me. The essence is flowery and bright against my tongue, like a nostalgic and breezy spring afternoon. Oliver’s blood takes me back to when my life was uncomplicated and fulfilling. When I’d wake up feeling excited—anticipating what the day might bring. What the future might hold.

I looked forward to the promise of being with the vampire that I loved. I couldn’t wait to finally be mated with him and I’d spend my nights fantasizing about all the things we would do. Everything that we would share and discover, together.

My throat catches and I stop drinking because I almost choke. Heat wells in my cheeks and behind my eyes. Unthinking, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. When I look, there’s a smear of blood there.

Why am I so fucking pathetic?

“Can I come in?” The muffled question is accompanied by a knock at my bedroom door. Startled, I scramble to my feet.

“W-wait just a second,” I call out, stalking over to the refrigerator as I secure the cap on the blood bag. I stash it back inside, close the wardrobe, then take a quick look at myself in the mirror. There’s a smear of red on my lip, so I use my fingertip to clear the stain. My eyes are glassy and bloodshot and I look like a sad sack, but I quickly run my hands through my hair to quell the chaos of it. “Come in.”

Raphael cracks the door open, then peeks inside. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”