Page 13 of A Whisper in the Dark

In the harsh light of day, it’s immediately apparent that Oldbel is a district of very few beauties—most of the buildings are rundown or fading. Weeds sprout through cracks in the pavement and there are broken windows everywhere I look. The only ones awake are the addicts, several of which I slink past as they get their fixes in alleys or slumped against walls.

I’ve always thought of this part of New Ve as colorless, and it’s unfortunate to be proven correct.

Keeping to the shadows, I push my senses out until I pick up the scent of blood. A lot of blood, making its source unmistakeable.

A feeding unit.

Within minutes, I’m standing outside yet another dilapidated building. If I weren’t so desperate for blood, I’d walk away now. That’s probably what the owner of this site counts on—vampires who are too hungry, too desperate to care what this place looks like or whether it’s entirely legal. I exhale heavily, shame and embarrassment clinging to me, and cringe as I pull the glass door open and step inside.

Immediately, my nostrils are assaulted by a sharp mixture of blood and bleach. I try to focus on the mouth-watering metallic instead of the poor attempt at making this place seem clean. A quick glance around tells me it’s far from it.

The facility is comprised of just one room. The only attempt at privacy for the feedings are thin, stained sheets between each bed. The tiles are peeling from the subfloor and the walls have spackle patches all over them. There’s an enormous reddish-brown stain on the floor. Overhead, one of the fluorescent lights flicker. A fan hums in the corner, despite the chill autumn air outside.

I go through the motions of paying for and picking a feeder from the human waiting room. It’s a new process for me, as I’ve always had feeders brought to me at the mansion, but it’s straightforward enough.

My eyes immediately go to a middle-aged woman sitting in the middle of a row of chairs, wearing faded jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt with some whiskey brand logo on it that undoubtedly no longer exists. She’s knitting what looks to be a scarf, her hands working the multi-colored wool with her needles, but she’s looking straight ahead. The feeder’s eyes are void and faded, a reminder of how powerful vampire venom truly is.

Her gaze becomes more alert when she notices me standing in front of her, and she gets up, leaving her knitting behind. She moves quicker than I expect her to, her heart beating with excitement. Her body knows it’s about to get its next hit of venom—she’s practically vibrating.

As I cross the room, following her towards an empty bed, I ignore the stares of humans and vampires alike who clearly know who I am—I can’t find the will to care at this point.

“I’ve seen your face before,” the woman says as she sits on the bed, the cheap sheets crinkling under her like paper.

“Oh, yeah?” I mutter, hardly aware of anything but the throbbing vein in the side of her neck. I lick my lips, my fangs sliding down as I inch closer.

Usually, I’m one for niceties. I’d like to think I’m good at making feeders feel comfortable, allowing them to enjoy the process as much as I typically do. Not today, though.

“You’re that princess,” she realizes. Her expression is distant. Dreamy. From the marks on her neck, chest, and arms, this is far from her first feeding today. I wonder how much is left—will it be enough to sate the monster?

“I’m no princess.” I slide my chair closer to the bed.

The feeder moves her long, dark hair away from her neck, granting me access, and my pulse races in response. “Really?” she says faintly. “You look exactly like—”

I touch her arm, cutting her off. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really… I’m really hungry.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, turning her face away and baring her throat. She folds her hands on her stomach and exhales.

Without a moment of hesitation, I sink my fangs into her. The woman gasps, whimpering as I slice through her skin and into her jugular. Drinking deeply, I close my eyes, reveling in the way her essence explodes over my tastebuds. I swallow greedily, her blood smooth and almost sweet as it passes over my tongue and down my throat, warming my stomach like red wine. It doesn’t take long, a few minutes maybe, before the throbbing in my gums recedes. My heart slows, my mind quiets. The woman moans as my venom trickles into her bloodstream, having mixed with my saliva as I fed. Her grip on the sheets loosens, and her pulse sings with subdued bliss.

When I open my eyes, the world comes into focus, like I’ve been looking at it through a broken camera.

Pulling back completely, I lick the blood from my lips. The woman is barely conscious, but her pulse is steady enough that I can leave without worrying I took too much. I haven’t always been good at remembering to track the human’s heartbeat while also satiating my thirst, but years ago, Father himself trained me how to feed properly. I think he could see how much the bloodlust bothered me.

Just as I step away from the bed, though, the human stirs. She blinks up at me blearily. It feels strange to thank her, but I also can’t bring myself to leave without a word. “Take care of yourself,” I mumble. “You really need take an iron supplement and some vitamin B twice a day. Or evening, I should say. Good… good luck, with everything.”

The girl blinks again, and this time, it’s as though she’s looking through me. “The blood man is coming,” she murmurs. “He’s coming, coming, coming. Silver teeth. Better run.”

I know it’s the venom speaking, but the eerie words, combined with her happy expression, make my skin prickle with goosebumps. Without responding, I turn my back on the woman and hurry away.

Though she was hardly unwilling to let me feed on her, the guilt is already setting in. It feels like a monster with physical form, stalking me every step of the way, breathing hot air onto my neck. As I push the door open, I bow my head against a gust of wind, thinking of those lessons with my father, once so tender-eyed and affectionate as he looked at me.

“You can do this, Charlotte. You just need to focus. Think about how sad you’ll feel if you hurt one of your favorite human pets. Hold onto that while you’re feeding. Use that to make yourself stop when it’s time.”

I blinked the tears away. “But how will I know?”

Alexander Travesty, a creature I’d overheard our servants call the devil, smiled angelically at me. “When you’re feeding, there’s a moment you’ll have to listen for. The human’s heart will race for a few beats… and then slow drastically down. That’s when you know it’s time to make a choice—stop feeding, or continue drinking and risk taking its life.”

“Okay, Father,” I said in a small voice.

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