Dark Angel 💀 {Erotic Vampire Adventure}

Chapter 3 - Bound By Blood

My razor sharp nail makes quick work of the packing tape as I slam the door shut with the sole of my Doc Martin boot. It's a week's worth of blood boxed up in neat little donation bags. My favorite flavor, type "O." 

Where they get the blood I don't know, and I won't ask. It's better that way.

On top of my food sits a black envelope with a crimson seal. 

That's Gavriel for you, so dramatic. The raised symbol is our group's insignia, a single wing. It matches the brand on my back that Pembroke gave me.

I set the box and envelope on my kitchen table and glance around at the darkened room. A set of bright yellow eyes emerge out of the inky black and fix on me.

"Hey, Spook." I chuckle watching the onyx cat slink out of the shadows.

"Mrow," he tells me, flicking his fluffy tail back and forth.

I turn on the lights and Spook hops up on the counter of my tiny kitchen, exactly where he knows he shouldn't go. He's mad at me. I've been gone for four days.

"I know you have food," I tell him ushering him off the counter and quickly stacking the bags of blood in my otherwise empty fridge.

"Mrow," Spook likes to talk.

I lean over to scratch his head before heading over to the couch, which doubles as my bed, to flop down. I have grungy soundproof windows and bars over the glass to block out any unwanted intruders.

Those cheap "security" measures always make me laugh. Let a robber or a rapist try and break in! I'd love to see the look on their face when they get an eyeful of my fangs coming at their throat.

The neon jungle outside casts lengthy shadows in my apartment as sets of ankles walk past the windows, but that doesn't bother me. That's why I have blackout curtains. This dank place is as close to a coffin as I've ever gotten.

It may be a cruddy studio on the ground floor of a deteriorating East Village brownstone, but it's home.

Gavriel pays for our accommodations in the region of our choosing, and I selected New York. I figured no one would notice a vampire here, and I was right. 

For the past thirty years, I have watched the city evolve with the passage of time, while I remain frozen. It would be depressing if I didn't love what I do.

Of course, Pembroke was right, I never went home ever again. My family thinks I'm dead, and it's against the rules to interfere with their world once we've joined the program. I miss my mom on the odd occasion, but not enough to jeopardize my job or their lives.

Pembroke told my parents I slit my wrists in the bathroom. Not the way I would have chosen to go, but I was going through the change at the time and had no say. Gavriel told me that Austin gave a heartwarming speech at my funeral that left no eye dry in the entire church.

Fake bitch.

It's too quiet in here, so I turn on the stereo and put on my headphones to listen to The Clash at full volume. I need a rebel yell to help me forget the stench of that awful mark's shit-stained pants.

Later, I turn on the valve to my gorgeous walk-in shower. I may not like much about this apartment, but I absolutely love my bathroom. I gutted and remodeled it myself. The black glass shower tiles gleam in the recessed lighting in stark contrast to the glossy white marble floor. I soap up my body trying to wash away the stain of that loser's sweat and piss.

Fun fact about vampires: We don't actually need to shower because we can't sweat or slough off skin cells and our hair doesn't produce oils, but we have an intensely heightened sense of smell. So when the scent of the humans we kill rubs off on us, it's almost unbearable. At least, for me it is.