“Is that the only blood you have?” Maya asked in desperation. She was starving, and her body told her she needed to eat, or drink, or whatever vampires called it.
“Samson keeps some O-neg somewhere. Let me check with Carl.” She started toward the door. “Get dressed in the meantime.”
The moment Yvette left the room, Maya slipped into the clothes she’d brought her. Whoever Delilah was, Yvette had been right. Delilah’s size was almost the same as Maya’s. The faded jeans fit her almost perfectly, and the soft, red t-shirt was only marginally too tight around her toned biceps.
By the time she was dressed, Yvette was back with another bottle. Maya read the label when she took it: O-negative. She prayed that this tasted better than the previous bottle and unscrewed the top. The whiff that hit her was even more vile than what she’d spit out only minutes earlier. They expected her to drink that? Nobody in their right mind would touch that awful stuff!
She pushed the bottle back into Yvette’s hand. “I can’t. This is even worse than the other stuff.”
Yvette gave her another skeptical look. “This is the best blood out there. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to get O-neg? It’s like a bottle of the best champagne.”
“I don’t care what it costs. I don’t like it,” Maya snapped. “Why don’t you drink it?”
Yvette raised an eyebrow. “I think I will. The bottle’s already open. No use in wasting good stuff.”
Maya’s stomach growled again, and she hugged herself trying to counteract the hunger. “Maybe I’m not a vampire.”
Yvette tsked. “I know it’s a hard thing to come to terms with, but denial isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’re a vampire, just like the rest of us. Get used to it.”
“But then why wouldn’t—or couldn’t—I drink human blood? That can’t be right. Have you ever heard of a vampire who won’t drink human blood?”
Yvette pursed her lips. “I haven’t, but maybe the doc has. Let’s go downstairs and wait for him.”
“What’s his specialty, vampirism?”
Yvette shrugged. “I’m afraid all they’ve got here is a psychiatrist. This is a bit of a quiet backwater. In New York, we could get you a real doctor, but in San Francisco he’s the only one.”
“There are plenty of doctors in San Francisco.”
Yvette gave her a meaningful look. “Sure there are, but not one who’s a vampire.”
Of course Yvette was right. Maya couldn’t go to a real doctor. How on earth would she explain her hunger for blood on the one hand, but her body’s refusal to drink it on the other? She needed to see a vampire doctor. How a psychiatrist could help her was beyond her, unless he could hypnotize her into drinking the awful stuff. Maybe that was what Yvette was getting at.
For sure, he must have heard of cases like hers. If not, then her own theory made much more sense: she couldn’t be a real vampire if she didn’t want to drink human blood. They had gotten it all wrong—she hadn’t turned. She was still human. Maybe her freakish strength and lack of reflection was just temporary. There was still hope that this nightmare she’d awoken into would end.
Seven
Gabriel kicked the gas pedal down and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge in Samson’s Audi R8 with a speed of close to ninety miles. Traffic was light, and an occasion like this didn’t present itself very often. Besides, racing Samson’s sports car was the perfect outlet for his frustration.
The kiss with Maya had turned him inside out. If she hadn’t accidentally bitten him—and he was certain it was an accident since she was still unaware of her true strength—he wasn’t sure where things would have stopped. Well, he was lying to himself. He knew exactly where it would have stopped: with him fucking her until she’d used her new strength to fight him. Until she would have looked at his naked body and called him a monster.
Gabriel turned off the freeway and headed down the steep road into Sausalito, the once sleepy artist’s enclave where these days no struggling artist could afford the rents or the high home prices. It had become a playground for the rich. No wonder: the views into the city were stunning.
He looked out to his right at the sparkling lights. He didn’t miss daylight. In fact, he welcomed the absence of sun in his life. Nights could be beautiful. They concealed the ugliness of the world and only showed those things that sparkled and gleamed. In the shadows of the night, he could hide the ugly side of his face and be respected for the man he was, not the monster some perceived him to be. At night, he could pretend to be an ordinary man with ordinary desires and dreams: for a loving wife, a family, a welcoming home. He knew he would be a good husband, gentle and loving, if only he was given a chance.