I take the long walk into the city, past neighbor apartment complexes and into the bustle of the late afternoon.

I sense someone delectable nearby, the voice in my head comments, and it almost sounds like its moaning in anticipation.

Fine. Where?

But I don’t really need to ask. I know without it telling me because I can sense it too…

A boy who looks about nineteen brushes past me. Strawberry colored hair, grey eyes, tattoos everywhere — there’s one that stretches across his face: it’s a dragon.

I whirl around and tug at his sleeve. He stops and looks at me, confused.

“Hey, I know this is weird, but,” I play up the charm, looking shy and blushing, “I’m kind of lonely, and I just sort of got this vibe about you… that maybe you could make me feel a little less lonely?” I push a hand back through my hair, pushing my bunny hood back so he can see my face.

“Look, um,” dragon guy looks like he’s totally weirded out — is absolutely about to reject me… but then he gets caught in my eyes… and his eyes trail down my body… he takes in my lil’ shorts, my ass, my legs, my ass again… “W-What?” he finishes lamely.

“Could we maybe just, I don’t know, talk for a little? You look like a really interesting person, and I honestly kind of desperately need someone to… talk to…” I bite my lip and look away, then back at him.

“Um, okay?”

“Great! Lead the way.”

Like he’s in a trance, dragon guy licks is lips and mumbles, “We’re close to my shop… I was just heading there to…”

“Perfect.”

He leads me down the street to a tattoo parlor. We walk through walls tacked with hundreds of posters of ink designs and make our way to a small office in the back. The door squeaks as we head inside.

“So you’re a tattoo artist?” I start.

“Uh, yeah,” he’s obviously still weirded out. Which is just fine.

“So, do you think I should get a tattoo?” I ask him.

He chuckles awkwardly, “I think that’s a decision that can only be made by you.”

“I don’t think so,” I say, “If I was going to get one, where on my body do you think I should get it? You’re a professional, I trust your advice.”

He just freezes up, doesn’t know how to respond.

“Hmm,” I purr, stepping closer to him. I lift up my sweatshirt, exposing all of my stomach and chest, “What about here? Maybe I should get lotus flowers on my chest? Ooh!” I turn around and pull down the hem of my shorts to expose my lower back and ass crack, “What about a tramp stamp? That would be hilarious, huh?” I chuckle. Dragon guy is still frozen.

I reach out and playfully tap him on the nose, “Hey, I’m just messing with you, relax.”

“Are you?” there’s a subtle heat to his words. Dragon guy is confused, annoyed and most definitely aroused. I lean in closer to him.

“Mayyyybe?”

He grabs me and pulls me into him so that we’re pressed up against each other. Bitch is already half-hard. Before he can do anything else, though, I reach my hand up and place my finger against his lips, trailing it down his chin.

“You know, I actually do have a tattoo,” I tease, “Want. To. See?”

He moans and nods slowly. Hesitantly, he releases me.

Good, good. He is going to be delicious, the voice in my head coos.

I rip off my right shoe and sock. There’s a long scar on my foot that extends almost up to my ankle. It’s a weird scar. It looks like there are fangs coming out of my scar. Because there are.

The creature trapped inside of me bites into dragon guy’s leg and starts sucking his blood. Literally, the mouth in my foot is sucking the blood out of this idiot. Dragon guy’s eyes roll back in his head, and he thinks that something very different is happening.

It’s hard not to feel a little guilty as dragon guy cums in his pants. (It’s also hard not to fucking guffaw.) He is going to wake up thinking that he had hot sex with me in the late afternoon. Sex intense enough to leave him lightheaded and dizzy. (Which he will be from blood-loss.)

The fangs sticking out of the scar slowly retract. I put on my sock and shoe. I step over dragon guy’s unconscious body and trudge back home.

Why couldn’t you have just done that yesterday so I didn’t have to give you nightmares? the voice in my head is cocky. I don’t answer it.

Ok, I should probably explain all this shit, right? You are probably starting to figure out why I don’t want to tell Emmy about my magic…

I’ll start by introducing the voice in my head. He has a name, but I just call him “King,” because he is literally the fucking Vampire King. And he is currently incarcerated.

I am a prison. Yes, I am a walking, talking magical prison. The scar on my foot is a portal, capable of containing and trapping a single person, no matter how powerful they are. (But if they are powerful, they can fuck with me and my subconscious, which King does.)

When I have someone trapped inside of me, I can use some of their powers or abilities, but it comes at a price. King is using his immortality to keep me sixteen. In exchange, I need to feed him blood. It’s fucking impossible to explain needing to go off and find random people to get blood from to feed to the Vampire King who lives in my fucking foot so I just say I’m a sex addict. Truthfully, I haven’t been fucking anybody. (King’s abilities make them think that that is what is happening, which makes the story more believable.)

King technically doesn’t need to drink blood if he just sits there in the prison — he can’t die unless I die. However, in order for me to use his powers, I have to give him something that he wants. (If he doesn’t get it, his power to fuck with my subconscious and give me fucking horrible nightmares gets amplified. Don’t ask what they’re about. Nosy bitch.)

So why is the Vampire King trapped in my foot?

It’s my job. The Club pays Emmy and me to do what we do — take care of normals by cleaning up the streets. We’re a team, sending gangsters and seemingly untouchable criminals to prison left and right. Emmy has no idea that we’re secretly getting extra money because The Club is paying me to keep the Vampire King incarcerated for his crimes. I am the only prison that can contain him.

I don’t feel like explaining The Club right now. I’m fucking tired.