"Jane!"
Her heart stopped beating when she heard her name called in such a manner. But as the figure approached and the shadows slid off his features, that sudden burst of anticipation turned into sheer confusion.
"Jim?" she asked, her jaw slack.
What was he doing here?
The unspoken question was answered the second light hit his face. Jane immediately sat up, the spike of adrenaline clashing with the chemical inside her body.
His state wasn't quite right.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked. His irises were swallowed by black— a glossy, dead hollow that resembled those of a shark. Except, unlike that misunderstood creature, his appearance actually meant something.
"Sure…" she heard herself saying. Though slightly unwilling and not in the mood for anything except to be left alone, she waved at the waiter.
"Can you get him a seat?
"Right here. Thank you."
The armchair was set down a few inches away—close enough for them to talk over the music, yet far enough to quiet the visceral reaction rolling through her stomach.
You will look like that one day, Jane.
Jim sat down. His knees bounced in a frantic rhythm while his hands clung to each other into a fist.
He looked… rather scary.
"Can I have your blood?"
Jane frowned. What the hell was wrong with people today!?
"I haven't eaten for days. You're the only person I know," he kept talking, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush.
A scoff came from her right side. Clearly, someone didn't mind his own business.
Jane ignored the noise and kept her focus on Jim. "I have said it before. I don't want to do that. Besides, you can go to the cafeteria."
As it turned out, there was more than one way for a vampire to feed: fresh blood coming from living humans, or processed pills—still coming from living humans, just less fresh and more freeze-dried.
The latter was for those who couldn't secure the first option.
"Except they are low quality," Samuel muttered through the rim of his wine glass. Jane glared at him, catching the slight, amused curl of someone who eavesdropped.
"Yes! They taste like nothing!"
Jane's brow furrowed. They should have tasted like something—strawberry, pungent rose, or artificial iron. Elly said so.
Unless… he couldn't taste anything.
"Please… You can't ask me to come back to them when I have tasted yours!"
His sudden change of tone made her flinch. Cold sweat poured down her back—was her long-time fear finally come true? That with good taste came thirst, and she would be hunted to death?
No. Jane forced herself to calm down. Nothing like that had ever happened. Not with Peter, nor with Rose, nor with the customers, which led to only one conclusion.
"So you're just greedy," she said, standing up from the sofa.
Pointing the tip of the balloon toward the floor, Jane released her finger and threw the scrap away. What a waste.
"No… please. You would understand one day, Jane—"
"Stop it!"
Her shout cut through his sentence just in time. They stood face to face, with Jane looking more like she wanted to eat him alive. First, he interrupted her time for his stupid request, then he was about to out her to everybody!
"I do not care, Jim." The words escaped without any thinking. "Stop acting like I'm your only option because I'm not. Don't want the free stuff? Fine. Go find someone else's blood to drink."
She spun on her heel to leave, but within not even one step, her body was yanked backward.
"How dare you... disobey me," Jim stammered, his pitch rapidly escalating into a snarl. "I'm in a higher rank than you! When I ask you to be my subordinate, you accept!"
Her breath caught in her throat, but they quickly turned back alive, filled with anger.
"No, I'm not." The corner of her lip curled into an unmistakable smirk. "And who do you think you are?" You can't just drink my blood because I have this pin—you need to ask for my permission. And I acknowledge that that is bulshit but you don't have what it takes to force people!"
The whole world seemed to vanish, swallowed by the thrumming of her own heartbeat.
The first to suffer was her hand, crushed inside his, but Jane didn't regret it at all, not even after seeing his face covered in veins intertwined across his face… and his sharp nails…
"What do you mean?" his voice shifted from a desperate beg to a low hiss that escaped through the narrow gap between his fangs.
"You know what I mean," Jane said, softening her tone. She tracked every twitching muscle in his face while slowly and carefully pulling her hand out of his hold.
"So... that is it? All it takes for you… is money?"
"You're twisting my words, Jim. That's not what I meant," Jane said, keeping her voice low and her subtle movement hidden.
But his grip only locked tighter. The skin over his knuckles stretched into a bloodless white, and the crushing pressure ground against her bones to the point her fingers went numb.
She had no other choice.
With a deep breath, Jane forcefully pulled her hand. The sudden release sent her stumbling into a random stranger. A small scream escaped through her teeth. His claw had drawn a line across her flesh, tearing a deep line from the base of her wrist to the meat of her palm.
Pulling her sleeves down and pressing on the wound, Jane quickly moved toward the exit.
"What's that smell?" she heard someone say on her way out.
Behind her, Jim's voice cracked into a shattered sob that was somehow louder than the bass.
"I've…wondered… why did you refuse me… then choose… someone of the same rank?" he gasped for air. "So it all comes down… to my background."
Jane stood still, frozen in her spot. He was mistaking Samuel for her master, but clearing it up was the least of her concerns right now.
Instead, there was this… image flashed in her mind. His father's grey car parked outside the school gates; the window rolled down, revealing his mother waiting in the passenger seat. They were always the first to come.
"There's nothing wrong with your background, Jim," she said softly, not turning around. "It's just not… what… I was looking for."
Swallowing the lump rising in her throat, she added, "You can think I was forced, if that helps."
Disgusted. Pretentious. She was, from the start to the end, never forced.
The music was still on, but the space behind her fell cold, silent, and empty. No bitter sobbings, no blame, just nothing.
"Jim?"
She turned around, and the sight sent chills down her spine.
His tongue dragged, licking from the pale side of his thumb to the meat of his palm, down to the crease of his wrist. Everywhere it touched, the thick crimson smeared a thin wash the color of watermelon juice before that, too, was swept away, leaving nothing behind but a glossy sheen.
It was her blood. And that wet, sickening sound was what she had mistaken for a cry for help.
"See," he said, a grotesque, manic smile tearing across his face. "Just a little bit won't harm you."
"And oh…it's even better than I remembered, Jane."
Jane ran. She ran so fast lights turned into streaks, and the crowded floor dissolved into a blur of faceless bodies.
Slam!
A broad, solid chest nearly knocked her out of the race. Trembling and freaked out, all Jane could do was scramble sideways, slip past the tall figure, and flee toward the entrance.
It was only later that night did she realize it was Peter.