He really hated leaving her like this. He discreetly scented the air and swallowed a groan. His knees nearly buckled in ecstasy. She smelled so damn good. Type B positive blood, but not like any B positive that he’d ever scented. She smelled mouthwatering. The only downside, she wasn't a virgin. Virgin blood was like fillet mignon to him and would have made a rather welcomed treat today.
There was still something about her blood that drew him…..
He inhaled again. Her scent was far more inviting than any virgin’s. Damn, as he forced himself to go up to the counter he actually contemplated breaking the promise that he’d made to his sister by taking this woman out back and draining her.
It had been forty years since he’d promised not to feed from the source and he’d never come closer to breaking his word than today. He looked back at Cloe who was now reading a pamphlet on Alzheimer’s. If he drained this young woman his sister would never know.
Cloe didn’t live in town. Otherwise he would have definitely noticed her by now. Maybe she was visiting someone? Or maybe just passing through town and stopping to fill a prescription? If that were the case then Marta would never know that he took her.
Shit.
He felt his eyes start to burn and his gums throb as his fangs slid down. Casually, he pulled up his hood as he signed for his sister’s medication. He could do this. Marta would never know. If she did find out he would simply explain about the draw this woman’s blood had on him and hope that she didn't go after him with that damn cane of hers. His stomach growled as her scent grew stronger.
He didn’t need to turn his head to know that she was now standing next to him. Joe must have waved her over. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pharmacist push a small white paper bag towards her.
“Thank you,” Cloe said as she signed for her medication.
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her out for coffee, lunch, anything to get her out of this store and away from human eyes when she said, “See you around, Hoodie. I mean, Christofer,” she added with a wink.
He froze.
She was staying in town?
Shit!
His stomach roared in protest, demanding a taste of the blood that was starting to drive him out of his f**king mind. Cloe playfully patted his stomach, sending a new awareness through his system and making his c**k twitch in pleasure. It took him by surprise, robbing him of the ability to breathe as he struggled to get his body under control. He hadn’t allowed himself to react to a woman in nearly fifty years and he didn’t want to now, but it looked as though what he wanted no longer mattered.
“You might want to feed him,” Cloe said with a wink as she stepped past him. He watched as she bent over to pick up a red shopping basket and nearly growled. Did she know how delectable that little round ass of hers was?
Without a backwards glance, she headed down an aisle. Damn it! If he stayed here any longer he’d follow her down that aisle and drain her. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. For a moment he stood there, struggling with the need to go after her. A not-so-discreet cough reminded him of the reason why he couldn’t. With one last glance in the direction that she’d disappeared, he grabbed his sister’s prescriptions and practically stormed out of the store. He jumped into his car and drove the usual five minute ride home in two.
He slammed the car door shut, rocking the car, and headed for the back door of the large white farmhouse that could really use a paint job. Once inside, he dropped the medication on the kitchen table and headed for the basement. He hesitated at the door for a moment as he contemplated going out back and getting back to work, but the loud yawn that escaped him reminded him that he’d spent the better part of the last week working and could really use some sleep.
“Christofer, is that you?” Marta’s scratchy voice called out from the living room.
“Yes, it’s me. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” he said as he closed the door behind him. Not that it mattered since he could still hear everything Marta said or did perfectly and she knew it. Well, as long as he was paying attention, which he did at least forty percent of the time.
“I forgot to tell you that-”
“Tell me later, I’m going to get some sleep!” he yelled loud enough so that she could hear him as he walked across the large finished basement to the refrigerator. He yanked the door open and grabbed two bags of blood and headed over to his bed where he flopped down on his back. He closed his eyes as he drank, imagining that it was Cloe’s blood, but it didn’t work.
His stomach knew that it was getting a cold substitution. Disgusted, he tossed the empty bags aside and picked up a book, hoping that a little distraction would get his thoughts away from where they didn’t belong. When reading didn't help he tossed the book aside and closed his eyes, hoping that a nap would help ease the tension in his body.
As he drifted off, he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve such a f**ked up existence.
Chapter 3
Twenty minutes later Cloe was pulling into the wide driveway of what appeared to be an old farm. It was actually very pretty even if the large white farmhouse looked like it could use some work. She looked around, noting the dirt road that continued ahead of her, winding past an old shed for a few hundred yards until it ended in front of a large white barn. The property was large and had a homey look to it that put a smile on her face. She’d always loved old houses.
After taking a moment to check to make sure that her hair and clothes looked decent, she made her way up to the front door and knocked. A moment later an old woman with a slight curve to her back opened the door and greeted her with a welcoming smile.
“Hello, Ms. Petersen?” Cloe asked, returning the smile.
“You must be Cloe. Please, come in,” Ms. Petersen said as she slowly moved to the side. With a murmured, “Thank you,” Cloe stepped inside.
“Let’s have a seat in the living room,” Ms. Petersen suggested as she slowly walked towards a small sitting room.
All of the furniture was small, elegant with small patches of worn brown leather covering the barely-there padding on the back of the chairs and seats. In short, none of it looked comfortable. No wonder Ms. Petersen was hunched over. She would be too if she had to sit on this rigid furniture every day. Lace doilies covered all the tables as well as the backs of each chair, making the room look very old fashioned.
Upon further inspection, she noted the layer of dust, stacks of newspapers, junk mail and dull floors. If the rest of the house was anything like this then it was going to need a good cleaning, which of course was one of the reasons that she was here.