Sanguivore

Sanguivore: an organism that feeds on blood, such as a mosquito

Where am I?

I don't know. All I remember is leaving my quarters for...

Why did I leave?

It's not important anymore, I guess. I left, and then there was something in my neck, and now I'm here, but I don't know where here is.

"I see you're awake."

I spin and see one of the higher-ups of the Mars Terraforming Project—Jack Something-or-Other (Old-Shorts?). The way he's looking at me, it's unnerving.

I want to rip his throat out.

Where did that come from?

"I assume you're hungry. Are you hungry, Luc?"

God I'm hungry, but I won't let him win...

"Drink, Luc. The sensation is like nothing you're yet experienced, I'm sure." He opens a steel door and pulls a body out—a young man I've never met. I stand where I am—how can I possibly smell his blood; how can I hear his faint heartbeat, his shallow breaths?

"Drink, Luc."

I obey this time without realizing it. Suddenly I'm on the poor guy, my longer-than-they-should-be canines suddenly hollow, and since he doesn't struggle, drawing blood as well.

The taste is nothing special—a bit salty where my tongue rests on his throat, the rest weird and metallic—but the sensation is like being hand-fed the most exquisite chocolates by my wandering prince.

Like that's ever going to happen.

New instincts tell me to release the man—drink any longer, and I'll die with him. I turn again and glare at Jack Old-Shorts.

"What happened to me? What am I?"

I never knew I could growl like that.

"Luc, dearest, you are now as I have been for almost two centuries. Nothing short of decapitation, UV rays, or a raging bonfire can destroy you now, and all you need to sustain yourself is blood, the blood of others. You, Luc, are a goddess."

I stare, shocked, then run my tongue over my teeth and my mind over his words. It finally clicks.

"I'm a vampire then?"

"If you're going to be so close-minded about it, fine. But I've been watching you, Luc, and we'll have a great time together, I know."

"I doubt that," I reply, even as I catch him off-guard with a kick meant to stun him.

I wasn't expecting him to turn to dust as his head and body separated. But he does, and even though I've known the guy all of fifteen minutes I'm much happier.

I find my way at last to my quarters—the sights and sounds and smells now are almost too much, but I deal—only to find my bed occupied. With things getting so weird, I must have forgotten giving Zechs my entry code. I must have been gone long enough for him to worry, too, because Zechs used to always do this when we were younger and he got worried about me.

I sit on the side of the bed and stroke his hair. I wouldn't have the courage if he hadn't sounded asleep, but his breathing and heartbeat are even.

"Would you spend eternity with me?" I ask, but too loud—he is suddenly awake—blushing with embarrassment and then squeezing me so tightly I would risk dying of asphyxiation if breathing were still an issue.

"Where have you been?" he demands in that fabulous deep voice, and before I know what's happening I've latched onto his neck, sedating him with the chemicals necessary for a transformation as I drain his life.

The instinct to reproduce is difficult to ignore.

When I finish draining Zechs, I make a gash in my wrist and press it to his mouth, forcing him to drink, to be. I wait for hours until he wakes, and we need no words to communicate—he will stay with me and share the feast of the near-immortals with me, fulfill his duties as the childe in our relationship, and at last show that he reciprocates my feelings.