The corner of his mouth lifted. “Okay, I thought about it. But after you clocked me in the jaw, I knew better than to hope.”
“You deserved that.”
“Probably.” He inclined his head, conceding the point. His teasing expression disappeared and he hesitated before saying, “Should I assume you want to feed alone?”
The subtext to his question was clear. And the answer was, yes, I needed to be alone. I’d never enjoyed the awkward phase that followed sex. If he came with me, we’d be dancing around the subject all night. Plus, I never hunted with a partner. Too distracting. “Yeah.”
He smiled, but it was forced. “Try Times Square. The tourists make for easy pickings. Just make sure you don’t leave a trail.”
My fangs already throbbed in anticipation. I hadn’t had fresh blood in weeks, and the prospect made my adrenaline surge. I nodded. “Gotcha.” I finished zipping on my boots and rose.
“And Sabina?”
I turned and looked at him. “Be careful, okay?”
My stomach clenched. Already, things had changed. When he’d sent me off to Tiny’s, he’d said, “Don’t f**k it up.” But now I was just running out to feed and he was suddenly worried about me. On some level, his concern warmed me. Who didn’t like having someone give a shit about whether they came back? But on another, it put my guard up a little. When someone worried about you, it meant there were expectations. Ones I wasn’t ready to deal with. So I just smiled carelessly and said, “Don’t wait up.”
Times Square at night can blind a person. My sensitive eyes squinted at the swirling neon lights and flashing bulbs that invited worshippers to pray to the gods of consumerism. The area isn’t just rough on the eyes; it’s hell on all the senses. The scent of exhaust mixed with hot, putrid steam rising from sewer grates. Taxi horns and shouts mixed with blaring radios. Tourists who stopped to watch the lights on Broadway found themselves bumped and jostled by an erratic river of humanity.
I loved it.
I’m sure natives avoided the tourist-trap vibe, but to me, the place hummed with energy. The high was almost as good as the one I got from blood. Almost.
Sex with Slade had sent me over the edge, unleashing the hunger. But the truth was, I didn’t need just blood. I needed space. Slade and I made a lot of sense on paper. Common backgrounds, similar outlooks on life—we each understood how the other ticked. But if we were so right for each other, why couldn’t I muster any of the sweet anticipation that always accompanied finding a new lover?
If I was being honest with myself, I’d admit that sex with Slade had a lot more to do with running from my problems than with running toward a relationship with Slade. A slight prick of guilt accompanied that admission. Slade had been there for me when no one else was, but I didn’t believe he was looking for more than a few nights of mutual pleasure any more than I was. I still hadn’t changed my mind about leaving. Whether Slade agreed with that decision or not didn’t really matter. I had to look out for myself now. And right then, I needed blood more than I needed air.
I stalked through the crowds, past the megastores and chain restaurants. Underneath the urban stench, the perfume flowing through mortal veins teased me. My fangs throbbed at the promise of fresh blood. I wove my way through the crush, looking for an easy target. The problem was there were too many to choose from. I felt like a kid in a candy store, faced with the task of finding the perfect sweet.
The choices seduced me. Did I crave the teenyboppers dancing outside the MTV studio? Too young, I thought. Their blood needed time to mature. The guy with the “Repent” sign standing on the milk crate? I shook my head. His blood probably tasted bitter—like guilt.
Ah, there. Right there.
He had his eyes on a tourist’s purse. I had my eyes on him. He was young, built, rough. He’d be wasting away in jail within two years, tops. As I watched, he snatched the middle-aged woman’s wallet from her purse. She’d been too busy arguing with her husband to notice.
The mark took off running like a gazelle through a sluggish herd. I took off after him. He took a right on Forty-eighth Street and ducked behind a building. I found him in a dark corner, going through the wallet. Amateur.
“Whatcha got there?” I could have just taken him without the banter. But I enjoyed drawing out the anticipation.
He dropped the wallet and pulled a knife with a wood-and-brass handle. “Back off, bitch.”
I snorted. “Put that toothpick away.”
He jabbed the knife in my direction. “I’ll cut you.”
“Not if I stab you first.” I sank my fangs into him before he could blink. He struggled, of course. But the sound of metal hitting concrete told me he’d dropped the knife.
He smelled of desperation. It mixed with the scent of smoke in his hair and the cheap cologne he’d applied by the bucketful.
Oh, his blood was a potent brew—hot and rich. Young males always offered the biggest high. Of course, the spliff he’d smoked before heading out for the night also helped. I’d be craving snack cakes and pizza within the hour, but I didn’t care. My cells greedily consumed his vitality. My nerve endings buzzed from the high.
Eventually, his body went limp, and I let it slide to the pavement. I hadn’t killed him, but he’d need more than cookies and juice when he woke up. Grabbing some discarded boxes, I covered him. By the time he woke or someone found him, I’d be long gone. I grabbed the paring knife and stuck it in my boot before I walked away.
After feeding, I walked in the opposite direction of Vein. I told myself I just wanted to enjoy the night a little longer, but the truth was I wasn’t ready to face Slade or reality. Not yet. For a little while longer, I wanted to enjoy the blood surging through my veins. I wanted to roam the night like a real vampire again. The sun wouldn’t rise for several hours, bringing with it a new day and tough decisions to be made.
For several blocks, I was content to just experience the pulse of New York beating around me. The blood had heightened my senses, and with every step there was a new scent, a new sight, and new sound to experience.
After a while, though, the shadows of Central Park loomed up ahead. My steps faltered. I looked around, trying to get my bearings.
Now that I’d escaped the dense forest of skyscrapers, I could see the sky. To the west, the full moon was a heavy crimson orb. The Blood Moon. My stomach dipped. With the chaos of the last couple of days, I’d forgotten all about the festival.