Blood Ex Libris Page 11

  “It’s just, when you talk about the, um, kee and the am’r, you make it sound like they are two completely different things. Aren’t am’r just people who live a long time? Well, after they have died, I mean; they start as people. Living human people. You know what I mean.”

  “I know you have a great deal to learn, micuţo, but you must be careful how you talk around us until you do. Nu, nu, do not take offense. You come from a different worldview, and now you must change how you see and quickly. You are one of us, and you must get used to it. But until you do, do not speak unless we are alone. Am’r can have, ei bine, an attitude problem. Assume they do until proven otherwise or until I vouch for them.

  “Remember, you are entering a new world, an utterly different and dangerous one. You will do best to stay back, be quiet, and learn. In time, you will be able to navigate on your own, but for now, it is my job as your patar to teach and guide you.”

  “And I need to be a good little frithyputhy and keep my mouth shut and look pretty?” I was feeling a little sullen.

  “Frithaputhra. And yes, I recommend all those things. Do not worry. You are bright, so you will learn rapidly and soon be a strong feminist vampire!” He laughed. “Yes, I say ‘vampire,’ but it is because neither feminist nor vampire is a correct word. We do not need feminists among the am’r. You will find all the gender equality you could hope for. Where we are not equal is age. Am’r get stronger with age, not weaker, so you must respect your elders. Since you became am’r-nafsh only yesterday, everyone is your elder, what we call an ‘aojysht.’ You may feel like it sucks, but the only way to make it cease sucking is to live a long time and become an aojysht yourself. Then everyone around you must keep their mouths shut and look pretty.”

  I was a bit ashamed of my outburst, but I hadn’t had enough sleep, and things were moving too fast for me to keep up. “Sorry, Sandu. I know all too well I have no idea what I’m going into. I get cranky when I’m nervous.”

  “You are speaking to someone who used to impale things when he was nervous.” Sandu crinkled his eyes at me in that smile I loved. “Just try to ignore your nerves and take everything in—what is done, what is not done, what is said, what is not said. If you are polite and respectful, you will do just fine. But we now have landed. We must hasten to catch the next flight.”

  Sandu led me unerringly through JFK. I breathed through my mouth and lurched after him since there was too much sensory information for me to effectively take in any. It worked reasonably effectively until he stopped in his tracks, leaving me to walk blindly into his back. He held me up and all but carried me back to a store, where he proceeded to try sunglasses on me. The salesgirl offered unnecessary advice until he found a pair he liked and purchased them.

  I didn’t want to take them off, even for them to be rung up. They not only blocked the brightness but somehow they also made me feel that I could kinda-sorta-maybe deal with all the sensory assaults. The price of those sunglasses—more than I had spent on my new wardrobe three months ago—flashed up on the register as they were rung up, but my sticker shock was muted by my deep and profound need for my brand-new security blanket. I focused on my breathing and vowed I would care for these glasses as I had never cared for anything previously in my life. I got a glimpse of me wearing them as we went passed a mirrored bit of wall on the way out.

  Oh, yes, I love them. No one’s ever taking this blankie from me!

  We got on the plane to LHR in good order, first-class again. I could get used to this. I had never flown in any class but cattle before. I tried the champagne this time and spent the entire time before takeoff exulting in the sensations.

  The complexity of the flavors was entrancing. The simple feel of the bubbles in my mouth would have been enough to get me drunk. However, I felt no tipsier after the glass was done than if I’d stuck to the water. Since I hadn’t eaten all day, I should’ve felt something.

  Sandu turned away all offers of drinks and food, reclined his seat as soon as it was allowed, and with the free sleep-mask donned, a signal to all and sundry that he was not to be disturbed, went right back to the sleep of the undead.

  I decided to enjoy first-class to the hilt this time since I was stuck with my boring seatmate. I got my champagne refilled whenever the flight attendant came my way. I got the steak entrée after enjoying the smoked salmon appetizer. I got the ice cream sundae with every topping. I was hungry, but even more, the experience of taste was like a kid playing in a huge new playground. I relished every bite and tried not to moan too loudly.

  After dinner, I switched to the port. Why the hell not? After that, because I could, whiskey. And I’d thought the champagne had complex flavors! I should by this time have been lurching up and down the aisle, telling everyone I loved them and serenading the plane with a medley of ill-chosen songs, but I felt nothing except full.

  And ready for a nap, but not in the drunken exhaustion way—just still tired from not enough sleep and too much stimulation. At some future point, I was going to find out if I could get drunk anymore, but first, I dug out the eye mask and earplugs from my amenities kit and crashed out beside Sandu.

  He was the one to wake me when we reached London. It was night, and Sandu looked healthy and happy again. I felt astoundingly well for someone who had no idea what time zone she was in. If am’r-nafsh did not get jetlag, I was not going to complain. Sandu navigated us smoothly through Customs—a thing I’d only experienced by watching TV—and we found ourselves with time on our hands before our next flight to OTP, or as Sandu called it, “Aeroportul Internațional Henri Coandă.” Sandu had threatened to buy me more clothing, and he was as good as his word. Next thing I knew, I was being escorted into shops with names on them I’d also only experienced through TV. Sandu scoured the racks with his eyes, lit on one or two items of which he approved, and next thing you know, I was in the dressing room being attentively waited on, likewise in a manner I’d never previously experienced. Not being given the option of choosing my own clothing might have been frustrating, but it turned out Sandu had exquisite taste. I couldn’t have picked better clothes for my body type and personal taste. Anyway, since I wasn’t choosing the clothing, the fact that I was obviously not paying for any of it shouldn’t upset me. Well, that was what I repeatedly told myself.

  “Does ‘patar’ also mean ‘sugar daddy?’” I asked as we waited for the last bag of sexy new designer clothes to be rung up. Sandu laughed, and I marveled again how much I loved that warm, rich sound. “Ahhhh, dragă Noosh, nu, it is not a direct translation. However, you are my responsibility as I teach you, and it gives me a good excuse to spoil you as much as I like. Also, I am taking you to meet my people and my family. Old friends, and even old not-friends. I feel a desire to show you off. I sincerely hope you do not mind.”

  “Mind? Well, I’m not used to it, but I think I could get accustomed. Are you ri…will your bank account mind if I get used to it?”

  “Very diplomatically put, draga mea. If you go on like that, I shall worry much less about you meeting your new people. To answer your question, I can and hope to spoil you unstintingly for decades to come, until you have all the money you could want, as well. Am’r do well with long-term investments. And we know where to find buried treasure since we were often there when it was buried. Indeed, it is the best sort of long-term investment, I have learned over the years.”

  I wanted to ask a great deal more about that, but the sale was rung up—on a boring old credit card, sadly, not with ancient treasure. But that card had no discernable credit limit, I noted as our shopping progressed, so maybe it wasn’t boring after all. I used the ladies’ room in the next VIP lounge for the usual purposes—Sandu was right: if I ate, I must still eliminate—and also transferred the clothes from their various shopping bags into in my new carry-on, which was from a designer whose name-brand bags I’d never thought I’d flaunt. Changing into the first of the new outfits was a joy, not just because of the shiny newness, but because I was r
eady to be in something clean that hadn’t been worn for the past ten hours. I emerged into the lounge wearing black leather leggings and a midnight-blue cashmere tunic with silver stars all over it. Also, new leather ankle boots. I felt like a million dollars, although I didn’t think the outfit had cost quite that much.

  I spun to look for Sandu, and his stare made me regret having on any clothing at all. We were both glancing around for a more private corner of the lounge when our flight was announced. I regretfully thought it was probably for the best since being thrown out of the airport for indecent behavior or whatever the Brits would call it was probably not effectual in getting where we were going. And even with a complete lack of jetlag, I was ready to be out of the limbo of no-longer-here-but-not-yet-there. Travel to far-distant locales sounds romantic when you read about it, but getting there was turning out to be mostly tedious. Well, except for the shopping.

  We boarded the final flight. In just over three hours, I told myself, I could hopefully not set foot on another airplane again for a while. The next round of champagne and nuts came at us and we both passed them up. “Oh, Sandu, I did want to ask you something.” He looked at me and inclined his head, waiting for my question. “Can I, um, get drunk? Tipsy, even? I tried to on the last flight, but it didn’t work.”

  “Ah, draga mea, I am sorry I did not foresee that being a problem. I have not considered getting drunk in too many years to count. No, alcohol will no longer touch you, I am afraid. You can only get drunk by vhoon-drinking now. You might enjoy the taste of various spirits, though. Are you terribly unhappy about that?”

  “Well, it’s not a problem, to be honest. It’s not like I ever drank much anyway. It just reminds me that I don’t even know, never mind understand, all the changes happening in me.”

  He looked grave. “I realize now there may be changes I shall not remember until you ask about them. Such a long time has passed since I was kee. You might have concerns about things I no longer recollect. Please be patient with me, and together we will just, ei bine, muddle through.”

  The thought of the graceful, widely-experienced Sandu muddling made me laugh. He took my laughter as a sign I was OK with everything, which was perhaps not perfectly accurate. However, he distracted me by pulling me to him and subvocalizing that I should go to the lavatory...and in a few minutes, open the lock on the door.

  Seriously? He wanted to join the Mile-High Club? The thought of it aroused me to the point where I could barely walk the few feet to the tiny door. I didn’t know how we would both fit inside and manage to do stuff. I also didn’t know if we would get caught. I had never done anything like this. It was definitely not the old me. But the excitement of it mixed with the need of feeling Sandu inside me and I pushed all thoughts of how things could go terribly wrong out of my head. I shimmied out of those tight leather leggings on the idea that once Sandu was in this teeny room as well, it would become well-nigh impossible to extricate me.

  Since it had taken me a good number of minutes to work my way out of the skin-tight and stiff-with-newness leggings, I gulped nervously and slid open the lock on the door. A moment later, Sandu entered, his eyes positively glowing with excitement. The lock clicked shut, and the light flickered back on.

  Sandu kissed me and pressed himself against me. He was entirely ready to go, and probably a bit uncomfortable. I stifled laughter when I thought he might have had more trouble walking to the lav than I had. As if he knew I’d been laughing at him, he kissed me more roughly, leaving me breathless. He spun me around, and pulled my new panties (a sleek, sheer thong) to the side. He had his cock out and he rubbed himself against the outside of me. I moaned, and rubbed right back against him, feeling the head sliding between my labia, back-and-forth over my clit. He nuzzled my neck, and I tilted my head to the left, to give him access to that other erogenous zone, loving the feeling of his lips and tongue running over my skin. He paused. “Which do you want in you, first?”

  I paused, too. It was thoughtful of him to ask: if his cock was in me first, I’d feel the bite primarily as pleasure. If he bit first, I’d get pain before the pleasure rose up and it all mixed into one. For the old me, the obvious choice would have been the former. But the new me: well, she’d learned pain could be a seasoning to make pleasure all the better. I wondered if this made me any more deviant than just wanting to have sex with a vampire in the first place? But the new me quite liked the idea of being deviant for deviancy’s sake. “Bite me,” I told Sandu.

  His cock jumped. I guessed, while there was no wrong answer in this moment, I’d still made the best choice. His tongue played over my skin in just the right spot, teasing both of us. He kissed my neck gently. I felt his lips draw back, and I tried not to wince or pull away in anticipation of pain. I felt the first hint of sharpness, and then the intense pinch of that penetration. The teeth pushed in deep to get to the jugular, the differently sharp sensation of sucking followed. It hurt, oh yes it did. But there was pleasure, too. Maybe I’d just learned to associate pleasure with being bitten, or maybe there was something special to an am’r bite—I wasn’t going to untangle it all just now. Under the pain, a throbbing pleasure moved through me. I moaned again, and moved my hips urgently against him, pleading for more.

  He was fine with the concept of “more,” and pulled back his hips. I tilted up my ass for the best angle. There was no way to describe the sensation of him pushing himself into me: it was both local to where the action was happening, and yet, it seemed to thrum along all my nerve endings, turning all of me into a being made of sensation.

  One thing got in the way: I could not cry out. I could not scream to release the intensity. I could not make a noise louder than a low moan. Sandu maybe sensed my situation, pulled his head away from my neck, and reached his wrist up to his mouth. He viciously tore it open—which would have seriously freaked me out a mere five days ago—and shoved the spurting wrist into my mouth. He lowered his head and returned smoothly to his own blood-drinking.

  And thrusting into me. As I gulped desperately, I felt like his blood was penetrating my mouth as well: that he was pushing all of himself into me. Mingling with the sensations and the blood rushing exhilaratingly down my throat, it was that thought that tossed me over the edge and I became a human-shaped wave of orgasm. It was all I was, all I ever had been, all I ever would be, now and forever.

  I have no idea how long “now and forever” lasted. But we couldn’t stay in the lavatory forever, and finally could resist no longer. I felt his thrusts become erratic. He seemed to petrify, stone arms caged me, and I heard the muffled sounds he groaned into my neck.

  We stayed that way for a long moment, but ultimately, Sandu detached himself. It became clear I was no good for anything, so he swiftly but with gentle affection leaned me against the sink and dabbed away some drips of blood from my sweater. With another damp paper towel, he spread my legs and gave me a quick clean-up. He contorted himself and somehow got my leggings onto me. A quick check to make sure we’d left no blood on any surfaces, and he opened the door and led me back to our seats, countering the annoyed looks of flight attendants and knowing looks of other passengers by murmuring, “Excuse us, she is not feeling at all well.” I’m sure I was helpfully giving a pretty good impression of not being all right.

  Screw booze. Blood was the way to go.

  I felt like I was not just in a plane that was flying, but I had expanded my skin beyond the metal skin of the aircraft. I could feel the wind rushing around all of me, feel the wet droplets of clouds, and the separate layers of warmer and cooler air. I soared, powerful engines throbbing inside me, thrusting me into the night, thirty thousand feet above the Earth.

  When we got back to our seats, Sandu buckled me back in and held my hand for the rest of the flight. I looked out the window—except of course, the window was in my skin, and I was looking out from where my face was at the nose of the plane.

  We didn’t talk for the rest of the flight, which was for the best since plan
e-shaped creatures can’t speak.

  Chapter Twelve

  I was sobered up by landing. I mean, the travel limbo was finally over, and now we were actually in Romania. Being here meant the next stage of my life—could I still call it that?—was now in progress. And since I had no idea what this next stage of my life would resemble or consist of—aside from “shutting up and looking pretty”—it was sobering. And speaking no Romanian grated at me. Yet one more important thing I did not know.

  It turned out to be just after 5A.M., Romanian time, and a number of flights had come in, and there were crowds milling around in barely organized queues. But Sandu had us through customs in a remarkably short space of time. Everything was conducted in a language I could not understand, and I didn’t see any money changing hands. Maybe he mesmerized the customs people? Maybe it was just Sandu’s experience at traveling, plus his citizenship, but shouldn’t I have slowed things down, being a foreign citizen and neophyte traveler? But I didn’t have to speak to anyone. I was getting used to things working super-smoothly when Sandu was running the show, and I couldn’t complain about missing a chance to experience standing in the customs line for hours.

  Sandu collected the bags from me, and we went out into a rain-damp sunrise. I would have found it chilly before I drank Sandu’s blood, but now the cold damp air just tasted refreshing after stifling airports and the recycled air of airborne tin cans. However, we were in the utter chaos of the pick-up and drop-off area, and immediately the morning freshness was destroyed by car fumes and honking and shouting. Despite the rain, I kept on my security-blankie sunglasses. Sandu was slightly gray-tinged again.