Angelica left his church feeling lighter and happier. She was not Catholic, and her father had been a very lapsed Christian, but she understood the peace one got from being around true servants of God, like this priest was. However, she was of the mind that God helped those who helped themselves, and she did not think prayers would help if she did not step up to her challenges as well.
She got into her car and the second she went to turn on the radio she jumped, immediately wanting to run right back out: Leander was in the passenger seat. She tried her door and it would not open. The car would not drive.
“Get the Hell out of here,” she hissed. “You’re fucking lucky I can’t kill you right now.”
Leander just smiled. “Hex bags. You got Harriet, AKA the Savior of the Covens, to come and help you, I see. I could never recruit her either, no wonder you’re associated with her.”
“So that’s what you meant by you wouldn’t hurt anyone and I’d come to you myself? You killed my friend!” she cried.
He held up a hand. “I said ‘threaten’, not ‘kill’ or ‘hurt’. Semantics, Your Highness.” He winked. “Before you go on berating me, I did not do it to persuade you. I did it to prove a point...which did not get proven.”
“A point? You killed a man to prove a point? What could you possibly want to prove that badly that it took murder?” she asked, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it was cracking. That will need replacing if I survive.
He nodded. “You look so surprised. As if you haven’t killed people yourself.”
“Not innocent people! ...Okay, fine, I’ll bite: what point were you trying to prove?”
“That you wouldn’t care if someone close to you died. I was wrong, and I freely admit that.”
Angelica could not remember the last time she had been so angry. Not even Fiona had brought out the rage that was building in her chest at that moment. “You killed Bart and expected me to not give a damn?” How had this monster once been human? She wanted to shoot him, dispel his demonic essence forever, but she knew he’d just disappear and she’d wind up putting a hole in her car.
“You’re not going cold quickly, and it made no sense. Finally, when I saw you just now, I realized why. You’re dying.” He said it conversationally, as if he meant, “your hair looks nice today” or “is that a new shirt?”
“Like I’m falling for that,” Angelica scoffed, hoping he couldn’t feel the cold hand of fear creeping around her throat.
“You’re drinking blood like crazy, but you’re still cold and weak. You didn’t drive this thing today for the fun of it, you did it because you don’t think you’re strong enough to run like you usually do,” he observed, sounding eerily like Brighton used to. “I can tell you how to stop it, but you probably won’t like to hear it.”
No, she knew she would not want to hear this. Not only did she hate that someone knew more about her than she did herself, but she hated having to take advice from a demon, the only creatures with no redeeming quality. Souls of pure black malice. And yet she had to trust this one, because she knew he was right. She knew it was not depression or stress. There was something very wrong with her, and she had not drank from Danny that day because she was afraid that she would not have been able to stop.
“Go on,” she said, struggling to keep her voice neutral.
“Vampires don’t need to kill to live, that is something you unfortunately proved. You are not a regular vampire by any means. Being from a line directly descended from humans, but born with vampiric blood, your body has been slowly breaking down ever since the moment you were fully turned. Particularly after you used much of your power against Fiona last year. Your body now can’t get enough blood to sustain it, because you’re not drinking it properly fitting to your unique condition,” Leander explained.
Angelica laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Not drinking it properly? Are you out of your fucking mind? I’ve been drinking blood since I was born. I think I know how.”
“Yes, but just as there is a difference in nutrition value between drinking from a pre-made cut or biting the victim, there is a big difference between drinking enough to survive, and enough to thrive. You need to drink a person dry, just once, so your body can get what it needs to thrive. Otherwise, I give you three months before you wither away to centuries old dust.”
Angelica’s mouth dropped as she received yet another bombshell blow of information. “How can I trust you?”
“You can’t...except that I need you alive, so therefore it stands to reason I wouldn’t lie about something that could keep you that way. Oh, and one more thing. I know how your mind works: you want to kill someone terminally ill, or perhaps in an institution or coma. That won’t work. You need a human in the prime of their life, under forty and over eighteen. Perfectly healthy.” He smirked. “Bon appetit, Your Highness.”
About the Author:
S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland.
“Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.”