3. Chapter Two

I stare at the last drop of Grandie blood in the bag, terror clawing at my insides along with hunger. I haven’t been satisfied since that witch cursed me. I’ve had to ration my supply for hundreds of years. I can’t remember the last time I sank my fangs into a vein and drank until I felt full.

Since I let two Grandie’s escape all those centuries ago, I had to hunt them back down. I didn’t capture them. I didn’t hold them hostage, but I did take their blood. I let them get on with their lives and every month I’d go to them, filling blood bags. They were never injured. I mystified them, a gift vampires have to alter the human mind if necessary. The two Grandie’s had no idea I took their blood.

Eventually, they had children, and I had hope that I’d be okay.

But the last child descended from one of them recently died. Most of the family died in a horrible house fire. I managed to save a few, again, but it seems my luck has run its course. I’m doomed to be hungry. I can’t die. I’ll starve until I wish for death but that damn witch’s magic will keep me alive.

All because of the horrible massacre my coven is responsible for.

I stretch out my tongue and ring the plastic bag, the last few drops escaping and spreading over my tongue. I groan as the flavor hits my taste buds.

A growl works its way up my throat, frustration building, and I toss the plastic bag, smashing my fists on the counter. A large crack veins in the stone before a chunk falls to the floor.

“Fuck!” I roar so loud, that the crystals dangling from the chandelier clink together. “What am I going to do?” I can’t stomach anything else. Most vampires can also eat human food, but I’ve tried, and it only makes me sick.

It’s Grandie blood or nothing.

I wish I knew what made them so special. Their blood tastes unlike anything I’ve ever had before. It almost makes me feel high. Vampires can’t get high, but drinking the sweet red nectar is as close as it will ever get.

I hang my head, running my fingers through my black hair, then rub my hands down my face, centuries of exhaustion and hate hitting me at once.

I had nothing to do with the massacre. I had nothing to do with the bloodlust, yet I’m punished for the crimes I never committed.

“Goddamn it!” I roar, swiping my arm across the counter, knocking over the bowl of fruit.

I don’t know why I bother trying to keep a home normal. I always have to throw away the food I get, but it gives me a piece of normalcy.

It’s the one thing I didn’t want that witch taking away from me, but it seems she has beat me in that game as well.

The manor is quiet.

Silence used to be my best friend. I preferred the deafening sound of the shadowed corners to the parties my coven used to have.

Now, I fucking hate silence.

It reminds me how alone I am.

I’ve moved all over the world. I’ve met a thousand people. I’ve tried every blood type but not one of them tasted the same. Every person before my curse with Grandie blood had a distinct flavor. Some were spicy or warm, but not because of body temperature. Something else, something that heated my stomach. Some were subtle, like a hint of vanilla that brought comfort.

But Grandie blood, it’s better than any of that. It’s an explosion of flavor with an undertone of something sweeter than any candy imaginable. My mouth waters at the mere thought, the hunger growing so savagely, I begin to cramp. I catch myself on the broken marble countertop, my head pounding as if someone dug inside my skull and started hammering from the inside.

I’ve been barely getting by for hundreds of years. I’m always starving, rationing the blood I had so I didn’t go crazy with hunger. What am I going to do? Live forever as a withered skeleton because that damn witch made sure I couldn’t die, binding me to her magic.

I could take my own head off or rip my heart out. I’m not sure where her magic stands on that but I’m curious if I’d be brought back to life.

I bet I would.

Witches are tricky like that.

“Bitch,” I grumble under my breath, wishing I could turn back time and run for my life before I was cursed.

There are too many unknowns in my situation.

Vampires, unlike the myth, do not live forever. We have the opportunity to, but it isn’t easy. We have three options. First, we have a two-hundred-year lifespan. Second, some vampires choose to have a mate, a companion they love since they never met their fated mate, which increases their lifespan to a thousand.

Last, but not least, the one every vampire craves more than life itself.

Eternity.

Vampires can live forever when they meet and mate with their beloved.

It doesn’t happen often.

Unlucky me, none of those apply to me. I get to live forever without a beloved, tortured with thirst.

“I need to get out of here.” My voice nearly echoes in the empty kitchen, reverberating my loneliness.

I can’t remember the last time I had someone in my home. I stopped making friends years ago because they all die, and I’m always left alone.

So why not just be alone so I am not mourning anyone. I could have turned others into vampires, forcing them to be with me, but I wasn’t sure if the curse would transfer, so I didn’t risk it. I couldn’t.

And I’m happy with that decision considering I just downed the last drop of Grandie blood in existence.

The cramping in my stomach eases, allowing me to walk to the living room. The soles of my Italian leather shoes click against the hardwood floor, the saddened solo sound causing my heart to ache a little more and my will to live a little less.

The buttery suede of my coat slides against my fingers as I yank it from the wooden coat rack I made myself. I’ve made most of the furniture since all I have is time. Looking over my shoulder, I take in the empty home. The stone fireplace takes up the majority of the wall, the logs inside rotted and old. I can’t remember the last time I sat on the couch and enjoyed the warmth of the flames.

The couch itself wraps around the living room with giant cushions, that once fit together, can make a bed. It’s unused. Same with the large flatscreen television mounted above the mantel.

I used to bide my time well. I found hobbies, and for a while, it was enough, but my joy for life started to fade about a century ago when I kept outliving everything I loved. This land I lived on used to be a ranch, believe it or not. Riding horses, having chickens, donkeys, and whatever else someone would have on their land, I did. It kept me busy.

Until all my animals died.

Again.

And again.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

Just like the house, the many acres of land I have are quiet and empty. Perhaps, it’s time to leave this place behind, but there is a small part of me that doesn’t want to. I moved to so many places and it’s here that feels right.

I slam the door behind me, not bothering to lock it since there isn’t much to steal. I’m in the middle of nowhere so what can really happen? I’m a predator. I might not be able to drink anyone’s blood, but I can still kill them quicker than my prey can blink.

Sliding my coat on, I zip it up, then tuck my hands into my pockets, heading down the steps. The air swirls around me, the colorful leaves rustling against the ground.

I step on them, enjoying the crunch under my shoes. Staring at my truck, I debate if I really want to use the gas or just use my enhanced speed to get to town. It’s interesting how far society has come since the 1600s. The vehicles, the technology, it’s all amazing. I love it. I do my best to stay up to date. I have a phone too, not that I have any contacts. I only use it to play games.

The wind blows again, a heavy gust that hits against my face just as I’m inhaling and opening the truck door. I pause, turning my head to see if I’m scenting what I think I am. Slamming the door, I stand there, tilting my head back as the warmth rushes through me. The smell itself is slight, as if the wind has traveled miles to bring it to me.

My cock awakens, hardening in my pants while my mouth waters for the person this scent belongs to. My eyes shift to crimson, my vision tinting red as hunger grows.

Who the fuck is this? I need them.

Forgetting the truck, I decided to use my vampiric abilities to get to town quicker. I follow the trail of deliciousness that’s giving me hope for the first time in years.

Hope is dangerous. Hope is a fantasy, a dream. I’ve been damned for so long that I’ve forgotten what hope even feels like.

This cinnamon spice mixed with coffee and cream is making me feral. My talons shift, becoming weaponized and long. Snarls leave my lips as I jump over my property fence into the woods. Raking my hands in front of my face, I cut the branches as I run, freeing the path.

My heart hammers in my chest the closer to town I get. My expensive leather shoes are ruined from the mud and probably scraped, but I don’t care. All that matters is finding the person who holds this scent, who holds my salvation.

I come to an abrupt stop when I hit the tree line as I come to the road. Just across it, there’s the city— well— a very small city, but it’s home.

I’m wondering why I haven’t smelt this person before. Why now? I’ve lived here for so long; I’ve lost count of the years. Inhaling again, I follow the scent trail. It’s stronger. Excitement has me quickening my steps, but I have to remember I’m around humans now. I must be careful.

My eyes roll to the back of my head when I take a deep breath. The scent lingers on my tongue, and I can taste warm cinnamon rolls and bread right out of the oven. Nodding my head at a person to be nice, I keep my focus, following the sidewalk, and passing a few stores.

There’s a bookshop to my right. A sales rack is outside filled to the brim with stories told and a thirty percent off sign on top. I’d stop in if I wasn’t on a mission. I love books. I have an entire library at my house full of books I’ve read a hundred times.

“Would you like to try a sample of our chocolate chip cookies?” A young voice chimes from my right. A woman is standing there with a blue apron on and a baseball hat to match. Blue’s Bakery is stitched in the uniform, a muffin surrounding the words.

I wish I could have a cookie. I miss food. I miss trying new things.

“No, thank you. I’m… allergic to chocolate.” A lame excuse but I had to think of something because who in their right mind would turn down a cookie?

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I hope you have a good day,” she grins, a bright kind smile that twinkles her blue eyes.

A sweet girl.

Just the kind of prey I like, the ones innocent, the ones with so much kindness, they end up being a little too gullible which makes mystifying them that much better. It hits me in that exact moment, centuries later, that while I didn’t massacre the Grandie family, I’m still guilty.

I have deserved this misery the witch brought upon me, and it has taken me way too long to realize it.

“You too,” I reply, giving her a closed-lipped smile as I walk on, needing to find the source of the scent.

A sick feeling swirls in my stomach but this time it isn’t because of hunger— it’s guilt and remorse. I’ve been so absent-minded over the centuries. I haven’t been self-aware. I’ve been blaming the witch instead of my own actions.

I’ll have to do better from this moment on. If I get the chance.

My feet stop moving a few stores down from the bakery. I turn, the scent the strongest right in front of the door.

Looking through the glass, my entire existence that’s been in question finally has an answer.

The beautiful man squatting to pet a dog. He has a huge smile on his face, showing his bright smile. His cheeks are red from joy and with every bob of his head, his messy and wild curls bounce. It’s as if his hair has a mind of its own. The curls go in every direction. I want nothing more than to try to run my fingers through it. I bet I couldn’t. His hair is too thick, too curly, but I’d take my talons and gently untangle every curl.

I bet his hair is soft like silk. It’s been so long since I’ve been with another man— another person at all, that I’ve forgotten what intimacy is like. I bet his body would melt against mine as if he is made to be there.

Beloved.

The word slams against every part of my body, shaking the bones under my skin. My fangs lengthen on their own and I swallow, the want for his blood stronger than anything I’ve ever desired. My breathing picks up, my head sways, and my vision tunnels to his neck just as he tosses his head back. His curls bounce with his laughter as the dog jumps and places its paws on my Beloved’s chest, its pink tongue licking my mate’s chin.

I growl low, jealous of a damn dog for getting to touch my mate.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry. I need to go through.” A woman’s voice cuts through my haze.

“Apologies.” I step aside and keep my face turned away so she can’t see how I’m on the brink of fucking losing control.

I’m two seconds away from shattering the glass, snatching him into my arms, and running away, but I know it won’t be that easy.

Somehow, somewhere, a Grandie slipped through my fingers, and by some miracle, the descendant is in front of me.

My Beloved.

It won’t be easy earning his love. I’m going to assume he didn’t have a lot of family, that he was alone, and that thought fucking ruins me.

Any of his sadness, any of his depression, is my fault.

I can’t rewrite history, but maybe if I’m lucky, I can make his future better than his past. And we can carve our own names in the universe. We can etch our love into the stars, into the earth, and we can be together forever.

Then, history will be made right again.

And the Grandie’s will finally get to live.

Forever.