Wishful Sinful [REVISED]

Part 13: Eat Me, Drink Me

Within the hour, August and the rest of the band were gathered together, back in the suite. They were all pretty shocked to see Jared tied down on top of a blood-soaked bed, evidence of his death still crusted on his skin.

Lenore had covered him with a sheet before everyone filed in; Jared swore he caught her sneaking one last peek at his cock before she did so. The sheet didn't cover the dried blood around his throat, however, and the blood pooling into the mattress seeped through to the top layer. Dorian must have prepared them somewhat as to what had transpired, but actually seeing it was another matter.

August visibly blanched but said nothing. Jared guessed he was in the loop about the whole vampire thing, though obviously still very human. "I can start taking bags down to the bus, maybe. Anything ready to go?"

Dorian pointed to the three bags by the door. "Haven, Jared, and I are packed up. I got Jared's things together for him. Everything but essential toiletries, but we can carry those down later."

The driver nodded, grabbing the bags, clearly relieved to have a reason to leave.

Erik let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of blood, yo. You're lucky you didn't die, dude. I mean...you know what I mean."

"Looks like you'll be paying for a new mattress," Paul said to Dorian.

"I could care less about the cost. At least Jared's still with us."

"Might want to give them a little extra, not to ask any questions," Raul suggested.

"Yeah. We should check out, and find somewhere else to stay, once Raul has gotten the camera footage from the front desk."

"On it," Raul said. "Let me get my shit together and take it downstairs. I'll go talk to the desk clerk and meet you in the lobby."

"Wait," Paul said. 'The mattress. The blood. Some of it's Lysander's, right? You said his thrall pumped Jared full of it."

"Why didn't that turn me?" Jared asked.

"You have to bleed out first, nearly completely, then swallow the sanguinem." Dorian explained. "I don't know of anyone who's turned a human by transfusion before. Maybe it would work, but they'd have to be next to death first. And by the time you were being turned, you'd lost a lot of that cursed motherfucker's blood. But Paul, what were you getting at?"

"Can't the witches use the blood to track Lysander? If they could isolate his essence within it? Or would Jared's blood mixed in muddy the results of a scrying?"

"It's definitely worth a try," Dorian said, stroking his chin. "That and the dagger. Errol touched it, right? Damn, Paul, you're a freaking genius."

"And yet Erik gets all the pussy."

"Hey!" Erik retorted. "It's not my fault. Blame Pothus."

"Who's Pothus?" Lenore asked.

"The Greek god of sexual longing," Paul explained. "He's the namesake and evident patron saint of the line of vampires Erik's descended from. Eric can snap his fingers and make you..."

"Trade secrets, bro. When she wants to know, I'll demonstrate." He grinned saucily and winked at Lenore.

"Hm, that seems like cheating," Lenore observed.

"It is," Paul agreed.

"What about you, Paul? You must have some kind of wicked-cool hoodoo of your own?" she asked.

"It's nothing glamorous."

"Tell me," she insisted.

"I'm a Son of Miseria. My 'mojo' attracts those who grieve or suffer despair so grave, they long for death. I feed from them, to give them a momentary taste of their own mortality, and of passion, after which, they generally conclude they'd rather live, after all."