Chapter 1

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The unknown.

The waiting game.

These concepts create the highest degree of fear we, as a human species, are capable of feeling. And why wouldn't they? Waiting causes impatience. The unknown causes anxiety. Mixing them together births a putrid shade of terror, one I personally prefer not to wear.

"Any word?"

Kelly slides into the booth across from me. Steam rises out of the small opening from his coffee cup. He pops off the plastic top and swipes up a packet of sugar. The steam shies away from the sudden onslaught of cool air, making room for the small granules of sugar spilling into the eager abyss. They melt on impact. Kelly uses his finger to give it a single stir before putting the top back in place.

He takes a small, hesitant sip, slurping it louder than my granny does with her soup. A few wisps of his long hair come loose from his pony tail. When he tucks them behind his ear my eyes become fixated on the two, circular scars fading on his wrist.

"No," I finally answer. "Not yet."

Kelly shrugs. "Don't sweat it, man. They're the ones who have to feed like clockwork, not us. He'll get in touch with you, no pun intended."

"How do you know my vampire will be a male?"

"I don't. For years I thought my vampire would be a man, and look how that turned out?"

He laughs as if the whole thing is a big, morbid joke. I remember the first time Kelly was summoned for his consort services almost four years ago - to a female vampire who changed over just before her 75th birthday. He told me that even though her skin is as smooth and flawless as the surface of a frozen lake, you can tell she's old.

"When's the last time you saw her?" I ask, nodding to the scars that once again have my attention.

Kelly follows my gaze down to his wrist. His care-free grin slips. "It's been a while. Over a month, maybe? I think she misses the taste of her last consort's blood."

I nod, unsure of what to say. Since vampires are only assigned a single consort at a time, some of them don't adjust to the change in taste as well as others. But as the Agreement states, a consort is only required to assist in feeding their vampire for 29 years - from the ages of 21 to 50. At this point they are discharged and a new, younger consort takes their place.

My thumbnail scrapes along the edge of the table, the unevenness jabbing into the pads of my flesh every once in a while. I've been eligible to take on my role as consort for almost three weeks now. Does my new vampire already miss the taste of their old consort? Is that why he or she is taking so long to reach out to me? What if they don't like the taste of my blood?

I don't think I've ever heard of a vampire requesting a different consort, but I'm sure it's happened at some point in the past. Then again, maybe not. Requesting such a thing would require the vampires to communicate with us. Since the Agreement that took place hundreds of years ago, communication between the two species has all but become extinct.

It's seen as taboo now, really. We don't talk to them, and they don't talk to us.

"Did you try using bags first?" I ask Kelly after a stretch of silence.

He takes another sip of coffee. Kelly is one of few who participates in face to face feedings. More and more it's becoming acceptable - and preferred - for vampires to request their consort send bags of blood rather than offer up a live-feeding by tapping a vein.

"Of course," he answers dryly. "But after the majority getting returned only days after I sent it out, I thought I'd at least offer a different route."

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