Doubull Indemnity

9

Greg, Is Doing Just Fine

"You okay? Getting thirsty or something?"

No, I was not okay! I was still evidently hanging on the rope of Isla's spell and she had the guts to ask if I was thirsty!

Huh.

Was I thirsty? I tongued my gums. No, I guess. Not terribly. Sure, that telltale prickle in my veins was beginning to poke at me, but it was nothing urgent. Nothing ravenous. Oh, but that was the pickle, wasn't it? Because I should be thirsty right now, shouldn't I? Should be positively parched. How long had it been since I'd had a drink? Weeks. Who was the last donor I...

I drank from Isla.

Isla looking up at me with those big dark eyes, worrying her lip, the red color smeared across it like blood on sheets.

A burst of mulled wine and mossy earth coated my tongue at the memory of my fangs sinking so easily into the plush flesh of her thigh. Her blood had been warm and rich and sweet as it pooled in my mouth. I drank greedily. Sunk my teeth in a little deep. Little too sharp. Lured in by her melodic pulse and warm flesh and intoxicating scent.

Suddenly, the steakhouse's ladies powder room was infinitely too small. Isla's heartbeat echoed off the walls. Reverberating as a sharp ring in my ears. Her heat seeped under my clothes. Through my skin. Wormed into my very bones. Freshly dug earth and sweet wine and her floral soap clung to me like a film.

A fang of mine dug into my lower gums.

"Uhh," she whispered, "you can speak right now, right?"

"I'm fine." Pinched my nose. No, no I wasn't fine. I was trapped. Rather, she was trapped. In here. With me, a vampire who'd already had a taste for her blood. "I have to go back to work. Before I miss—you know."

Isla's shoulders slumped.

"I'm going back to my date," she said, hand already on the door. "Can you, like, at least wait until tomorrow to rat on me to Nazira? Thanks."

Woman didn't wait for my response before skedaddling. I didn't give a nickel about her probation magistrate or the conditions of her work release and or that I was supposed to be her fanging sponsor or whatever. Not in that moment, at least. Meant to say as much, but the door had already swung shut behind her.

How was I going to frame this for Isla's probation magistrate?

Hell, why bother asking myself? Already knew I wasn't going to snitch on her.

I sighed.

Splashed some water on my face.

Counted to ten Mississippi as I waited for my fangs to retract.

Slipped on out of there just as another woman was rounding the corner.

Her back was to the staircase. Isla's, not the lady in the can. I watched her stand up a little straighter as I descended into the main dining room. She shivered. Just a touch. Didn't turn around to look. Not even for a little peek. Me, meanwhile, I was the sap who couldn't look away. Who wanted to taste those shivers under my tongue. My mouth watered.

Unlike the usual dry itch of thirst, my craving for Isla throbbed in my veins hot and humid as a summer's day. Wasn't a swell forecast for our professional relationship, that's for sure.

My wine glass awaited me back at the bar. Commotion from my earlier performance had died. All the glass swept off the floor and the waitstaff back to business as usual. Good. Hated making a scene. Hopefully the manager had some overcooked steaks or something better to worry about than me.