Blood Price

Henry's forehead. "I know. I'm sorry.
    I'm worried."

    "S'okay." Tony patted her arm as he came around the couch. "I understand worried." He took a deep breath and rubbed his palms against his jeans. "What do I have to do?"

    She showed him where to kneel, then put the point of her knife against his wrist.

    "Maybe I'd better do it myself," he suggested when she hesitated.

    "Maybe you had."

    His blood looked very red against the pale skin and Vicki felt his hand tremble as she guided the cut to Henry's mouth.

    What the hell am I doing? she wondered as he began to suck and Tony's expression became almost beatific. I'm pimping for a vampire.

    * * *
    Blood again but this time the need was not as great and it took much less to become aware of the world beyond it.

    * * *
    "He's really doing it. He's really. . . ."

    "A vampire. Yeah."

    "It's, uh, interesting." He shifted a little, tugging at the leg of his jeans.

    Remembering the feeling, and thankful Tony couldn't see her blush, she shrugged out of her jacket and headed for the bathroom, wondering if the modern vampire kept anything useful in his medicine cabinet. The extent of Henry's wounds were beyond the tiny first aid kit she carried in her bag although she'd improvise if she had to.

    To her surprise, the modern vampire owned both gauze and adhesive tape. Gathering it up, along with two damp washcloths, a towel, and the terry cloth dressing gown she'd found hanging on the door, she hurried back to the living room, leaning on walls and furniture whenever possible.

    She'd take care of the one deep cut on Henry's arm, and then she'd rest. Maybe for a couple of days.

    * * *

    Fumbling a little with his keys, Greg opened the locker in the recreation room and pulled the croquet stake out of its box.

    "It's just a precaution," he told himself, studying the point. "Just a sensible precaution."

    * * *
    Trying not to think of the depth or the damage, she washed out the wound and, pressing the edges of torn skin and muscle as close together as they'd go, bound them in place with the gauze.
    Henry's arm trembled, but he made no attempt to pull away.

    Tony carefully kept his eyes averted.

    * * *
    With awareness of self came confusion. Who was he feeding from? Vicki's scent was unmistakable, but he didn't know the young male.

    He could feel his strength returning, could feel his body begin to heal as the blood he took was no longer necessary for the mere sustaining of life. Now all he needed was time.

    * * *
    "I think he's finished."

    "Has he stopped, then?"

    Tony held up his wrist. "That's usually what finished means." The cut gaped a little, but only one tiny drop of blood rolled down under the grimy sleeve of the jean jacket.

    Vicki leaned forward. "Henry?"

    "Half a mo, Victory." Tony rocked back on his heels and stood. "If you're going to wake him, I'm out of here."

    "What?"

    "He doesn't know me and I don't think I oughta be here while you convince him I ain't going to tell."

    A second's reflection convinced Vicki that might not be such a bad idea. She had no concept of how Henry was going to take the betrayal of his secret to a complete stranger. In his place, she'd be furious.

    She followed Tony to the door. "How do you feel?"

    "Horny. And a little dizzy," he added before she could say anything. "I don't think he took as much from me as he did from you. Course, I'm younger."

    "And mouthier." She reached out and grasped his shoulder, shaking it gently. "Thanks."

    "Hey, I wouldn't have missed it." For a second his face was open, vulnerable, then the cocky grin returned. "I wanna hear how this all comes out."

    "You'll hear." She pulled a handful of crumpled bills out of her pocket and pressed it into his hand. "Drink lots of liquids over the next little while. And Tony, try not to let the guard see you on the way out."

    Teach granny to suck eggs, Victory."

    * * *
    In the elevator, Greg slapped the two and a half foot length against his leg. He didn't really believe Henry Fitzroy was a vampire, not really, but then, he didn't really believe Mrs. Hughes was dead and she undeniably was. Belief, he had come to realize over the course of a long life, had little to do with reality.

    At the fourteenth floor, he squared his shoulders and stepped out into the corridor, determined to do his duty. He didn't consider himself to be a particularly brave man but he did have a responsibility to the tenants in his building. He hadn't faltered against the Nazis,