Page 21 of Santa's Wish
"You and me both." I could barely move my jaw from all the clenching. I'd never felt pain like this before, never broken a bone in my body. Now I had at least two, maybe three broken bones in my right leg.
"I'm going to remove your pants, and then I need to set the bones so they heal properly. Is that all right?"
I swallowed hard. "Whatever gets you into my pants."
He chuckled. "Now is not the time for jokes, but I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor."
Before my brain could register a fresh wave of pain, he yanked my pants off and trailed his hands up and down my leg. Each touch felt like a horde of stinging ants along my flesh. He squeezed both sides of my shin, and the unearthly scraping sensation coming from inside my leg made me gag.
Santa disappeared and reappeared with a giant plastic bowl. My parents owned one just like it. We'd used it for popcorn.
Thoughts of popcorn inspired more bile to race up my esophagus. I wretched into the bowl while Santa made another vicious adjustment to my lower leg.
"Finished with this?" Santa asked, steadying the bowl so I didn't tip it over myself.
I nodded, and he vanished, reappearing a second later, the toilet flushing somewhere in the apartment behind him, with a freshly rinsed bowl in his hands. "You might need it again. I haven't checked your feet yet."
He watched my face, as though waiting for permission. I nodded again, and he moved lower, making tiny adjustments here and there along the bones in my feet. They felt more like bee stings, and I was glad to set the bowl aside without using it again.
"Do you trust me for this next part?" he asked.
I laughed. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"
He glared at me. "Meaning?"
"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have moved in here, wouldn't have gone on a date with you, wouldn't be here. So yes, Santa, I trust whatever you're about to do."
His face smoothed out, and he brought his thumb to his mouth. For the first time, I saw his fangs glistening in the weak overhead entryway light.
"I'm going to give you my blood. It will heal your injuries."
I nodded again, too afraid I would ruin the moment with words.
He cut his thumb open with his incisor and brought it to my lips. His skin was rough against my chapped skin, his blood hot in my mouth. I ran my tongue along the pad, tasting him. I swallowed once, twice before his thumb healed. Still craving the taste, I licked the last remnants of blood from his unblemished skin and released him.
With his face in shadow, Santa's eyes were dark pools in his too-white face. He slipped his thumb between his sharp incisors and licked it clean while affixing me with his predatory gaze.
"You taste like borscht and angel wings," he said.
"Don't you mean bile and blood?"
My words seemed to snap him out of his reverie. He rushed to the bathroom and returned with a cup of something that smelled strongly of mint and alcohol. "Rinse."
I sloshed the stuff into my mouth and swished it around until the taste of bile was a memory accompanied by a harsh sting in the back of my throat.
"Spit." He was back with the giant plastic bowl.
I spit so I could laugh at how silly he sounded. "You're ridiculous."
"You were hurt, and I made it worse before I made it better." He vanished and reappeared without the bowl this time, with the toilet once again running in the background.
"Stand for me."
I shifted, so I was no longer propped up on the arm of the couch, instead sitting solidly on the cushion with my feet on the floor. I felt no pain, even when I pressed down on my heels and pushed myself up with my arms. My right leg was as good as new. Even my left ankle, which I'd injured in a rollerblading accident in eighth grade and twinged like a motherfucker when I hit the ground tonight, felt better than it had in years.
"All that from a little vampire blood?" I asked. "Why aren't vampires working in every hospital from here to LA?"
"That blood comes with a price." Santa took a step away from me.
