Page 114 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Pete didn’t notice my horror. Sedge did, though, and fixed me with a chilling grin. In the rising moonlight, his canines glinted, much longer, much sharper than I’d seen on any other fae. “I take it you’ve never supped with a Vampire before.”
“No,” I croaked, wanting to run for the hills. “I thought they were fictional.” I swallowed hard at the preternatural gleam in his eyes. “Should’ve known, though. If there are Nixies and Witches in this world, why not Vampires too? Why not Werewolves or Franken-monsters? Is Santa Claus real too?”
Still focused on his dribbling wound, Pete smirked at my babbling, truly enjoying my flusterment.
As did his friends. Ox chortled into his dinner, Tansy tittered like a tickled mouse, and Olea looked at me like I was a kitten batting butterflies.
“Calm your heartbeat, lady,” Sedge said. “Before it bursts.”
I blinked. “You can hear it?”
He nodded.
Ox snorted. “Golly, Vampires have such keen senses, Sedge can hear me mustering up a fart before I let it fly. No question he can hear your heart racing.”
Sedge’s chuckle somehow enhanced his dangerous mien. “You’ve no need to feel ill at ease with me. I’ve never had a taste for Danann blood—smacks too much of sour wine.”
Is it weird to hope I don’t taste like that?
Tsking, Olea rose from her seat, set her bowl on her log. “That’s enough, Peter.” She marched over to him.
“I can spare a bit more,” he argued.
“He has enough stored away.” She clamped her suddenly glowy hand around Pete’s wrist, jerking it away from Sedge’s stew. Pete frowned as her light intensified, concentrating itself around his self-infliction. “We lucked into an icebox of human blood at the market last we went. He has all he needs for now.”
When Olea released Pete, his wound now a thin pink scar, he tersely thanked her. They both returned to their suppers.
I watched Sedge dip a stout finger, stirring the garnish of Pete’s blood into his soup. “So, Vampires do eat regular food? As well as blood?”
Sedge nodded, sipping his supper. His cheek wriggled as if the taste wasn’t quite to his liking. Were the bacteria of Tacker’s bite still present in Pete’s bloodstream? Or did Sedge taste the Penicillin? Either way, he didn’t complain.
“Do you only drink human blood?” I inquired, both curious and disgusted.
“We can subsist on other bloods,” he said. “In fact, Elf blood was our staple before humans existed—and before we signed an alchemical treaty with the Elves, banning us from feeding on them. Human blood is by far the most nutritious, howbeit—keeps me the strongest.”
I glanced down at my stew, praying for my appetite’s return. “How—how do you get it? I mean, is it always available in the market? Or do you solely rely on your friends to—donate?”
“Is that your diplomatic way of asking if I hunt it?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Sedge eyed me above his bowl. “Hunting’s been tough since the portals closed. Where once we were free to slip into the human world and freely slake our thirsts, now most of us turn to less-fortifying blood—weakening us—the strongest of Danu’s races.”
Vampires running amuck on earth, killing with the same resignation Pete displayed when hunting us dinner? The portal closures were a blessing in that respect.
“We Vamps are mostly sensible, lady,” Sedge continued as if he’d read my mind. “We take what we must from our prey, but we oughtn’t kill them. That’s wasteful. When humans can regenerate their blood supply, it benefits us to let them live. In fact, back when keeping humans as pets was legal, one adult could feed a family for many years.”
Pets?
“The practice was outlawed, of course, though the slave trade expanded. Then the portals closed. Now we rely on secondary methods of feeding or hope we stumble across free humans—a rarity these days. Slaves are hoarded under lock and key by their masters, who sell their blood to my kind at extortionate rates only the wealthiest of us can pay.”
“Aye,” Ox concurred. “And since Galena’s farm shut down, Gentian and his allies have all but taken over the blood market.”
Galena’s probably hadn’t been a typical farm.
Sedge’s mouth twisted. “They starve my kind into a mad state, drive them to desperate acts of survival, and then make the rest of the realm afraid of us with their ballyhoo.”
Conversation lulled, the topic at hand clearly an onion of political turmoil in my kingdom. I yearned to peel away its layers, yet I held my tongue. So far, I hadn’t offended Sedge by prying, but I didn’t want to press my luck.
