“Oh shit.”
An uneasy silence settles between us, disturbed by the loud pounding of his heart, the pulsing of his blood through thousands of veins, millions of microscopic capillaries. It’s like the sound is promising me it will provide instantaneous relief—if I just reach over and rip open his skin.
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
“Drop me at my hotel, let me worry about it.”
He’s scared but not as scared as he should be.
“You’re going to have to tell Matt. You’re going to need his help. At least when it comes to getting blood.”
“I’ve been a vampire a long time. I can handle it,” I say.
My hotel is a Hilton. It’s rated four stars and stands on the outskirts of town. Seymour is staying at a Sheraton two miles away. He tries to walk me to my room but I convince him I’ll be okay. The sound of his blood is like the song of the Sirens in my head, calling us both to our doom. My thirst has entered the insane region where I’ll do anything to satisfy it.
I practically run from Seymour’s car.
Matt’s not in our room. He’s left a note. It says something about needing to scout the area for Telar. I hardly read it. I don’t care about Matt or the Telar. Now it’s my own pulse that pounds in my brain like a primal drum that knows only one message: FEED ME!
Perhaps if I was in my old body, and had all of my ancient power, I might have resisted the urge longer. Alas, I’ve inherited Sita’s soul, I am Sita, but for some reason I lack her strength of will.
I pick up the phone and push the button for room service. I order something, anything, it doesn’t matter what’s on the menu. It’s the person who will bring the meal that counts; they are what I’m having.
Nevertheless, waiting for the food to arrive, pacing like an addict in need of a fix, I promise myself I won’t commit murder. I just need a drink, a pint or two, to satisfy my thirst. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I suspect my mind—and therefore my new brain—retains a measure of its old power. When I finish feeding, I can always hypnotize my victim with my eyes and make him forget there’s a vampire in room 1227.
No one need know. Not even Matt.
A knock at the door. I answer in an instant. The odors of rare steak and a baked potato fill the air. Along with the sound of another pounding heart. The guy delivering my meal is six-six and weighs three hundred pounds. His muscles bulge. He belongs on a professional football team. He has sandy hair and trusting green eyes. He smiles when he sees how cute I am.
“Hi. Name’s Ken. You hungry?”
“Yes. Please come in.” He pushes the sheet-covered cart past me, and even though his head is bent low, he still towers over me. The guy doesn’t just pump iron; he looks like he eats it, in between shooting up with steroids.
Why on this of all days did Superman have to deliver my food? Ken’s size means he has more blood to spare, sure, but it also means he is going to be harder to subdue. It is high noon, the weakest time of day for a newborn vampire. At the moment I’m stronger than him but not by much. I need to use my wits as much as my raw strength to get his blood.
But I’ve lost it, totally, I’m way beyond the point of control. The second he goes past me, I kick the door shut and grab the steak knife from the cart and stab the tip in the side of his neck.
Unfortunately, the knife is for cutting steak, not for killing people. The tip isn’t as sharp as the side of the blade. I cut him, true, but his jugular remains intact. Ken whirls on me with fear in his eyes, and anger. To say I’ve lost the element of surprise would be the understatement of the year. Pressing his hand to his neck, he quickly backs up. Yet his back is not to the door, and in his haste he moves deeper into my room.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Ken shouts.
I still have the knife in my hand. I stare at it like I don’t know how it got there. It is only now, in this moment of crisis, that I realize my mind is moving as slow as my body. The old Sita would have hit him with the perfect answer in an instant.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the smell of his blood overwhelming all my senses. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m a mental patient. I just stopped taking my meds. My boyfriend’s supposed to be here. He’s taking care of me.” I pause and wipe at my eyes as if brushing aside a tear. “Did I hurt you? I truly am sorry.”
He realizes he’s not bleeding too badly. The blood is only trickling out, staining his white collar with red drops. Yet the guy is either awfully stupid or amazingly compassionate. These days, the way the world is, it’s hard to tell the difference. Maybe he’s just a sucker for a pretty face. Ken holds up both his palms and tries to calm me with his words.
“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. But you have to put the knife down. Can you do that?”
Again, I look at the knife as if I have no idea how it came to be in my hand. “Where should I put it?” I ask innocently.
He shoves the food cart back toward me. “Put it there, next to the hot plate. You’re going to be all right. I’ll call the front desk and get you help.”
“No, please don’t,” I say as I set down the knife. “If they see what I’ve done, they’ll call the police. I could go to jail. I can’t do that, I can’t stand to be in enclosed places. I’m sick, you see, I need my meds.” I pause. “Can you get them for me?”
“Where are they?”
“In my suitcase, it’s there in the corner.” The suitcase belongs to Matt but that doesn’t matter. The guy is not quite as dumb as I thought. He gestures to the case.
“You get them,” he says. At the same time he reaches over and picks up the knife. “Let me read the bottle before you swallow anything.”
I stroll lazily toward the suitcase, walking past him. “Why?”
“I just want to make sure you’re taking the right amount.”
“That’s thoughtful of you. You’re a nice guy, really.”
He shrugs. “I know what it’s like to suffer from depression. I take Prozac. Been on it for five years. You should never come off all of a sudden. I tried it once and I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.” I kick up with my right foot as I speak, aiming for the knife. I still possess the knowledge of a dozen systems of martial arts, but my nervous system doesn’t recall the precise moves. I feel as if I move in slow motion. My foot manages to connect with his hand and knock the knife away. Unfortunately, as I try to scissor my kick, strike with my other leg and put him down, I stumble in midair and hit the floor.
Ken has had enough of this crazy blond bitch. He runs for the door. But he is tall, with long legs, and has trouble accelerating. I stick out my foot and trip him. He falls face-first on the floor and in a moment I leap onto his back.
“Sorry,” I say as I grab the back of his head, a handful of his sandy hair, and smash his nose into the stone tile floor. My insane hunger adds fuel to the blow. The cartilage in his nasal cavity cracks and he goes limp in my arms. “I really am sorry,” I repeat.
Blood. Ken’s blood, it is all I see, all I can think about. He spouts from his nose and only dribbles from his neck. But I sink my teeth into the latter spot because, well, that’s what vampires do. It’s risky, though—at the back of my mind I know if I drink too deep I’ll open his jugular.
Indeed, I’m only sucking on his neck a few seconds when I feel the pressure of the large vein beneath the tip of my tongue. The pounding of his heart no longer drives me insane. I am beyond that. It possesses me, as does the taste of the warm, lush fluid that fills my mouth. As I let my teeth sink deeper, I feel the jugular slowly split open. . . .
Then I am in heaven, lost on a red river of blood.
I lose the ability to plan and reason. My lust is too primal, it leaves no room for thoughts. I’m no different from an animal. All I know is the desire to feed, to keep feeding until I’m full. The room vanishes from view. Even the pounding of Ken’s heart seems to disappear. Far off, I hear someone moaning. Only later do I realize it was me, lost in the throes of pleasure.
Time goes by. I’m in no condition to count the minutes. It’s possible I pass out. When I do become aware of the hotel room again, I hear a noise. A ringing sound. Groggy, lying facedown on top of Ken’s back, I pick up the phone.
“Hello?” I mumble.
“Hi. This is Mike down in room service. We sent an order up to your room thirty minutes ago. We’d like to know if you received it.”
I sit up suddenly and feel for a pulse at Ken’s neck.
There’s nothing. No heartbeat, no Ken. He’s dead.
“No,” I say. “I ordered a steak but it never arrived.”
“Are you sure? I was here when our server left with your food.”
“I’m quite sure.”
“Is it possible you were in the shower or asleep and didn’t hear him knock?”
“I’ve been sitting here wide awake this whole time. But you know what, I’m no longer thirsty, I mean, hungry. I want to cancel my order.”