My, What Big Teeth You Have

Vampire Teeth - repost

F*ck me, I forgot I already had a sfw book posted (it was titled The Mildest Bite, which I unpublished and then forgot about, only to make a whole new effing book for the same purpose.) Lowkey feel like my OSDD is starting to affect the decisions I make when it comes to writing as well. 🤡 So I'm just reposting those stories in here.

Welp. Happy reading!

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The healing power of a vampire lies not in their blood, but their teeth. The extraction shop is brightly lit to combat the night outside, and it smells of old blood and a strange, musty smell that comes from the tiny jars filled with single fangs behind the counter. Those jars go for crazy prices, as you can see from their labels.

The young shopkeeper leans on the counter and frowns as you track mud on the floor as you step in. His hazel eyes flick up to meet yours, a little disdainful. You wince at the full assault of his handsome face.

"Sorry for the mess," you say, your countryside accent comes in strong. "I came straight from the night market."

"Yes, yes," the shopkeeper grunts, returning to carefully polishing empty glass jars. "What can I help you with?"

"My mother is terribly ill, and the doctor said nothing more can be done for her. I'm here as a last resort," you announce, keeping your chin high even as he stares at you doubtfully.

"Miss, you don't look like you have a penny to your name," he says, running a hand through his sleek, short black hair. "I wish I could offer help to everyone who needs it, but I have a business to run."

"Oh, I'm not asking for charity!" You tell him with a small, embarrassed laugh. "Isn't there any other way I can pay?"

"Unfortunately not," he replies crisply. "I can run this store perfectly on my own."

"You misunderstand me. Again." You decide to stop beating around the bush and take your chance with the truth.

You push up your sleeve slightly, turning your arm so your wrist is facing upwards. No other words need to be said. The shopkeeper licks his bottom lip and glances warily at the door of the shop.

"Did anyone see you come in?" He asks.

"No. I am discreet about it," you say firmly. "Please? For the price of just one fang."

He drums his fingertips nervously on the counter.

"Fine," he says. "You know how much to give?"

"I know my limits, yes. I assure you I can walk out of here without a twitch in my step. If I go against my word, you are free to throw me out onto the street."

"Very well. Do be careful, he may be weak, but he is cunning," the shopkeeper says. "Go now, before someone comes in. If there is someone here when you come back, act as if you are under my employ."

"Understood."

He lets you step behind the counter and through the back door, which leads down into the basement which is almost entirely dark, save for a single candle that is about to gutter out.

The shop above may look clean and sparkly with its jars of polished white fangs, but the setup below is paltry. There are enough cells to hold three vampires if the shopkeeper were to be so lucky. As it is, there is only one bloodsucker huddled in the far corner of the cell. The metal door is ajar but even if the vampire wasn't chained, he would not have had the strength to walk out by this point.

Giving vampires blood from the vein is illegal, and that is why extraction shops had to find other means of feeding them, usually with blood from cows. Vampires need more substantial fare than that, so no amount of cow's blood could sustain them for long. They withered and faded into nothing soon enough, dying off eventually.