Darren - Pickled Onions

I stared down at Sam. He looked so lifeless, like he’d already lost everything that made him human, alive, unique. I thought of his jokes and long words and hopes and dreams, and how awful it would be if all of that just disappeared with his death.

Kneeling, I placed the fingers of my left hand on Sam’s red neck. “I’m sorry, Sam,” I moaned, then dug my sharp nails into his soft flesh, leaned forward, and stuck my mouth over the holes they’d made.

Blood gushed in and made me gag. I nearly fell away, but with an effort I held my place and gulped it down. His blood was hot and salty and ran down my throat like thick, creamy butter.

Sam’s pulse slowed as I drank, then stopped. But I went on drinking, swallowing every last drop, absorbing.

When I’d finally sucked him dry, I turned away and howled at the sky like the wolf-man had. For a long time that’s all I could do, howl and scream and cry like the wild animal of the night that I’d become.

***

I called him back. “Wait a sec.”

There was a strange taste in my mouth. Sam’s blood was still hot on my lips, salty and terrible, but that wasn’t what had started the buds at the back of my tongue tingling. There was something I wanted that I’d never wanted before. For a few confusing seconds I didn’t know what it was. Then I identified the strange craving and managed to crack the thinnest of smiles. I searched Sam’s bag, but the jar must have been left behind when we left.

Looking up at Evra, I wiped tears from my eyes, licked my lips, and asked in a voice that sounded a lot like that smart-ass kid I once knew, “Do we have any pickled onions?”

***

Cirque Du Freak: The Vampire's Assistant, Chapter 32, 34