Tokyo's Last Vampire: Division 12: The Berkhano Vampire Collection by Tiffany Wayne

Author:Tiffany Wayne [Wayne, Tiffany]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shadow Quill Publishing
Published: 2018-03-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The beating of our hearts entwined as I fed, the slowness of mine rising to meet the quickness of his.

One beat.

Two.

Three.

Visions came as soon as the first trickle of his blood trailed down my throat. It tasted just as I expected…dessert…whereas the blood of others was only an appetizer. I saw a gangly, young Kenshin in awe of his father’s strength. I saw him train so hard in the martial arts that his small, battered body fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow each night. I felt his father’s wilting stares of disappointment as Kenshin attempted magic and produced little. What good was floating a pencil when your opponent could hurl fireballs? I accompanied Kenshin to his rooms where he lay upon his bed and read books, hour after hour. Inspector Imanishi, Detective Chen, James Bond, and Jason Bourne. Anything with adventure, he devoured.

My body heated as I accompanied a wary Kenshin to the flesh den. I felt his anxiety as Miya led him to a back room, and I sensed his fear fade as she sat on the bed and began to talk. They talked for hours, sharing stories and laughing. He hadn’t lied. She was a friend. That said, he didn’t leave a virgin that night. After hours of talking, Miya coaxed Kenshin into something more. I felt like a voyeur, an intruder, watching events unfold, yet I couldn’t close my eyes to it. He touched her with tenderness. Such affection. She responded in kind, seeming to enjoy herself.

I was straining to hear what Kenshin whispered to Miya when his real voice forced itself into my dream, yanking me out. “Stop,” he yelled. “Stop. No. No. Please no.”

Mustering every ounce of strength I had, I raised my fangs from Kenshin’s forearm. “Did I take too much?” I gasped, pushing away and backing into the corner of the bed.

Kenshin slapped a hand over his bleeding wrist, but it was already starting to heal. “Are you okay?” he asked, breathing fast.

“Are you?” I replied, my confusion growing. I glanced down at my hands and arms, wondering if maybe his blood, like Miikio’s, hadn’t helped. I wasn’t one hundred percent healed, but my angry red burns had magically morphed into what appeared no worse than a sunburn. “What do you mean?”

Kenshin’s head shook, distress written in every line of his face.

My stomach dipped as panic rose. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—”

Kenshin reached out to touch me but then pulled back as if burned. “I’m so very sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” I yelled, checking my body up and down. I touched my face thinking maybe I’d transformed into some kind of hideous monster. It felt the same. “What’s wrong with me?”

Kenshin got up to pace, his strides quick and jerky. After three lengths of the room, he reached the far wall and punched it, then drew up both sleeves and slammed it again.

“Are you mad?” I whispered, fearing his answer. “You don’t have to let me feed from you again.

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