The apprehension surrounding this unknown serial killer doesn’t dissipate by the time I return to my apartment; in fact, it deepens to the pit of my stomach where I feel the most uneasy. I can’t describe this feeling as fear as I am rarely fearful, but my long life has taught me that it pays to be careful. It is disadvantageous for multiple bloodsuckers to compete for the same food source without drawing suspicions of the general public and each other, so I know this means I must lay off the random feedings until I know more.

This is where Paul Mackus proves himself useful.

He is prompt in his arrival at my apartment, shifting uncomfortably every so often as though he is expecting to be walking into a trap despite doing it so willingly. He stands in the middle of my kitchen, arms placed firmly at his sides, as I face him with nothing more than a satin robe covering my lace underwear. He’s pretending to not know what happens next, even though I’m sure he knew what to do with his other students.

“Would you like something to drink, Paul?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Um, yeah, water is fine.”

I retrieve a bottle of red wine from the cabinet and begin to pour him a glass against his wishes. “You don’t have to be scared, Paul.”

His worried expression falters, only slightly. “Yes, but uh… do you have a roommate? Will someone see us here?”

“And if I do?” Paul’s face instantly loses color, and his eyes make a beeline for the door, so I laugh. “I’m just messing with you. I do have a roommate, yes, but she’s gone for the night. It’ll be just you and me.” I don’t give him any more time to protest before latching onto his arm and leading him to my bedroom. By now, he knows he’s in too deep to leave so he gives in reluctantly. It doesn’t take long for the wine to settle in and for his calloused hands to start roaming all over my body, touching me in places I haven’t felt in a long time.

We have sex—noncommittal on my part, but he feels everything. He falls deeper into my trance with every stroke while his heart is wondering how this can be. How can sex with a stranger feel so good? I don’t have to say anything; he knows I am more than what I let on based on the way my blue eyes burn into his soul when we fuck shamelessly. But if you ask him, we’re making love because that’s what it feels like.

When it’s done, Paul is speechless … until he stuns me by asking, “what are you?” I hear his heartbeat quicken with his question, so I look up at him to see his dark eyes fighting with a mixture of fear and curiosity, confirming what he’s feeling inside.

“I’m a vampire,” I say.

He sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t say more. He believes me. “Are you going to kill me?”

I raise his hand and begin to move my thumb along his arm, tracing his veins. “No.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

I bring his wrist to my mouth and kiss it softly. As I continue to touch him, his heartrate continues to accelerate, and I hear the familiar thumping rush of his blood traveling through his veins. My teeth instantly ache—this is the real sex.

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

“You want my blood,” he concludes.

“Ding, ding, ding,” I chuckle.

“Why am I not afraid?”

“Maybe it’s your mommy issues, or maybe you desperately want the stories you tell in class to be true so you can have something to focus your attention on when you’re not hating your very existence.” My assertiveness shuts him up and he’s left to look at me with bewildered eyes, wondering how I could possibly know about his past trauma, but that’s the beauty in humans. They tell you a lot without speaking.

I sink my teeth into his wrist then and allow the sharp edges to puncture his vein and it’s not long until the red pools into my brain and all I can think about is blood. It has a magical effect on me. Even after 700 years, I still feel like I’ve taken a hit of the sweetest drug every time the red blood cells traverse my throat like it’s made just for me. Paul writhes beneath my grip, trying to escape yet trying to stay still at the same time. He wants this just as much as I do but it’s in his nature to want to run away from things like me.

I release him and wipe away the remnants from my mouth with the back of my hand. “Thank you, Paul.”

He becomes fascinated with the puncture wounds on his wrist. “Chloe,” he uses my name for the first time tonight, “why are you here? At SavU? Why did you tell me your secret?”

It’s not so much a secret as it is me withholding the truth. I don’t ever claim to be human, but somehow people assume. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m here for love?”

His brows pull together into a frown that perfectly matches his downturned lips. “Love?”

The memories of my life with my fiancé flicker through my mind, but I stop myself before it can make me sad. “I was betrothed once—long, long ago. He was my everything and he was taken from me.” Paul rushes to offer his condolences as many humans do with loss, but I continue before he can get the words out. “I’m here to get him back.”

Paul’s mouth opens, then quickly closes. His brows have grown more curious. “I don’t understand.”

I make myself smile even though my stomach feels like ice, envious of his ignorance. “That’s okay. It’s probably better if you get some rest—” I gesture to his wrist as I slowly inch off the bed to create distance between us, “—it can be very draining.”

As though suddenly realizing, he gasps and falls back onto the bed to stare absentmindedly at the taupe-colored ceiling. He makes several attempts to draw in air to nourish the blood he has lost and before he’s able to recognize it, he slips into a deep sleep that’ll be sure to leave his mind hazy when he wakes. He won’t remember what I’ve done and even if he does, he will be too forgetful to trust his own memories. He’ll think we had sex, and that is as much as I’ll tell him until the next time.

A sigh escapes my lips.

This life is a lonely one, for my nature does not allow me to form close relationships. In the past I’ve felt guilty about feeding on people, especially when they couldn’t remember the events afterwards. I had built myself a long reputation of using humans for my benefit without them ever knowing the true nature of our relationship; it was how I convinced myself it was better than feeding on strangers. It was something they would want me to do to survive, I told myself because believing otherwise would forever haunt me.

So now I am left to feed on a donor as though it is the first time every time.

I don’t want to be this.

I don’t love being a vampire.

No one can love a vampire.

No one aside from the love of my life.