Chapter Text
Shane Hollander never planned on becoming a vampire.
Probably because, up until about a year ago, he didn’t even know that vampires existed.
That’s life, though. It’s full of mysteries. Or whatever.
It all started last June. Shane’s twenty-seventh birthday had come and gone in the blur of playoffs and, before he knew it, the Metros were hoisting the Cup in victory in the seventh game of the final round against Los Angeles. They were champions for the third time in Shane’s career, and the entire league was well aware that there was even more success to come.
The future was bright.
Naturally, the team went out to celebrate. In twenty-four hours, they were due to board a private plane back to Montréal, where they’d be greeted with parades in the streets and a city full of proud fans. Until then, however, Shane’s teammates were determined to drag him out for a night of debauchery in the city of angels.
It went about the same as it always went whenever Shane did his best to be a good sport, which was that he pasted on a smile and played along, but secretly suffered the whole time. He was their captain, though. It wasn’t right for him to spend the evening holed up in his hotel room decompressing from the intensity of the past few weeks, even if that’s all he really wanted to be doing.
So… Shane went out. JJ chose some random club downtown and the guys kept the alcohol flowing, taking over the VIP section with all the rowdy excitement of athletes who had just achieved the greatest possible victory that they could ever hope for. Again.
Shane was one of the only people that night who remained devoted to moderation. Still, with some coaxing from the guys, he’d gotten himself reasonably buzzed.
But, even then, the lights were too bright. The music was too loud. The bass was too strong. Everything was too much.
So, he slipped outside for some fresh air.
This is when things got a little hazy for Shane.
He remembered seeing a commotion toward the front of the club. Maybe a celebrity had caused a stir at another venue nearby. Eager to avoid the rabid paparazzi, he ducked down a narrow alley. He wandered for a while, seeking quiet and solitude, telling himself that he would turn around and go back as soon as he could hear his own thoughts again.
But Los Angeles wasn’t a familiar place to him, and he wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings.
Nor was he mindful of what lurked in the shadows.
Which is exactly how Shane found himself backed up against the side of a dumpster by a wild-eyed man wielding a jagged knife. The details were hazy, but Shane could recall how desperate the man had looked.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Shane had assured him. “You can take whatever you want. It’s okay. My wallet. My phone. Whatever you need…”
The man did exactly that, making sure he kept the rusty blade of the knife aimed menacingly at Shane’s abdomen while he claimed Shane’s valuables, including the Rolex on his wrist.
And, when he was done, Shane was foolish enough to hope that it was over. He could find his way back to the club, alert the authorities, use Hayden’s phone to cancel his cards, and replace his own phone as soon as he got back to Canada. Plus, he had plenty of fancy watches to spare. No big deal. Just one bad experience on an otherwise good night in a foreign city that maybe, someday, he might even be able to laugh about.
Except, Shane misjudged the desperation in the man’s gaze. Maybe he thought that Shane would chase after him. Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight at all.
The point is, the man made a last-minute decision to slide the blade of his knife right up underneath Shane’s sternum, the serrated edge clawing its way through skin and flesh and muscle and, eventually, right through the fragile membrane of Shane’s left lung.
And maybe Shane still could have been somewhat okay at that point, as long as the man left the weapon in there.
But, blinded by pain, Shane couldn’t react fast enough to prevent the man from dragging the knife back out of his body, turning a very bad stab wound into a definitely fatal one in the span of just a few seconds.
Shane’s memories of what happened next were nothing but flashes of sensation.
Cold, rough pavement as he collapsed forward. Warm blood spilling past his fingers as he instinctively clutched at his abdomen. White-hot agony burning throughout his entire body and the dizzying panic that came with the realization that he was no longer breathing properly.
There was the sound of retreating footsteps, shuffling clumsily.
And then… the strangest sounds of all…
A shout of surprise. An animalistic snarl. A disturbing squelch.
Then, more footsteps, lighter and much more graceful as they rushed toward Shane.
Shane, who was definitely dying.
Dying, at the age of twenty-seven, in a dark alley. Alone, except for this other random person.
He remembered thinking to himself, I never got to fall in love…
Pathetic last thoughts, maybe, but what can you do?
“Shit,” the stranger had whispered in a gentle, masculine voice. “Oh, fuck. This looks bad.”
Shane had tried to respond with something like no fucking shit, dude but all that came out was a pained groan.
“Fuck, that’s a lot of blood,” the stranger had continued. “Shit, shit, shit.”
The stranger might have been touching him with nervous, fluttering hands. Might have shrugged off his hoodie to try to staunch the bleeding.
Shane only knew pain.
Through the torment of it all, though, he twisted his face toward the sound of the stranger’s voice and tried to catch a glimpse of his face. Later, his brain would fill in the missing details and color in the memory’s blanks with the image of dark skin, full lips, and gleaming teeth… dripping with blood. It dribbled down his chin and soaked into his collar, staining it scarlet.
“Oh, holy fuck. You’re Shane Hollander,” the stranger had gasped. “Aw, man. Shit. This really sucks for you. Dude, you just won the Stanley Cup, like, three seconds ago, didn’t you? There’s no fucking way you can die right now. That’s totally unfair. Also, not to be shallow, but you’re way too hot to die.”
What the fuck are you talking about? Shane had tried to ask.
Instead, all he managed was a wheeze and a whimper.
“God, Rose is probably going to kill me, but… whatever. Fuck it. Okay.”
The man had taken a deep breath then, making Shane acutely aware that this was something he was no longer capable of. If Shane hadn’t been on death’s doorstep, he might have thrown a punch at the guy for showing off.
“Alright, so I know you’re, like, internally bleeding and coughing up blood and all that right now, but I need you to try to swallow this for me, okay?”
By then, Shane’s vision had gone completely hazy. He saw nothing but blurs of shadow and odd streaks of red, plus tiny white lights popping and fizzing at the edges of his periphery. But he could feel it when cool skin was pressed to his lips. Could hear the gentle coaxing of the stranger as Shane choked on his own blood and then choked on something else, too. Something sweeter than his own blood. Thicker, too. Like warm honey. It trickled down his throat without Shane having to do much, all thanks to the fact that he was pretty sure the blood-soaked stranger was cradling his head and force-feeding the weird liquid to him, which was inexplicably coming out of the stranger’s wrist.
“Good job. Great. Awesome.”
For some reason, the stranger sounded a little freaked out. Shane didn’t understand that. It’s not like he was the one currently dying.
“Alright, bro, so… I’m really sorry about this part, but unfortunately… I’m going to have to kill you now.”
And that must have been what happened next, because Shane couldn’t remember anything after that except a flash of burning agony in his neck, a loud crack that echoed inside his skull, and then complete darkness.
So, in a lot of ways, the night that it all began was also the night when life as Shane Hollander knew it ended forever.
***
“Miles, what the fuck?”
“What was I supposed to do, Rose?”
“Um, take him to a fucking hospital!?”
“With blood all over my mouth and another dead body left behind? I’m a Black man, girl! I’m not about to get caught by the cops when they start investigating why I’ve got the blood of a sports legend and a random white guy all over me!”
“You should have called 911 and fled the scene then! Put in an anonymous tip! Something like that!”
“They would’ve been too late! I’m telling you, he was half dead by the time I got there. Honestly, the dude must be stubborn as fuck or something, because there’s no way a normal human would have held on for as long as he did with a stab wound like that.”
A very long, very loud sigh followed that.
Then, the exasperated woman murmured, “What did you do with the other guy?”
“Uh, I left him there?”
“Miles!”
“What? I grabbed all the shit he stole from this poor dude so there wouldn't be any connections to—”
“We’re supposed to be smarter than this, Miles. We’re not fucking vigilantes. It’s not our responsibility to go around saving random guys from violent muggings. We are not superheroes.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Rose! Honestly, I had my sights set on a different snack, but then I scented Hollander’s blood and it smelled so much more delicious, and by the time I got there and realized what was happening, I had to think fast!”
“And thinking fast led you to turning someone into a fucking vampire?”
“He was dying!”
“Well, now he’s actually fucking dead!”
“Undead!”
“Okay, and what the fuck are we supposed to do with an undead hockey player, Miles?”
“I don’t fucking know!”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Look at his face, Rose! Look how cute he is!”
“He’s not a fucking puppy.” Another frustrated sigh. “Is that what this is about? You’re bored or something? You wanted a pet? Fuck, Miles, if you wanted to find a companion to turn, you should have discussed it with me first. I thought we were in this together.”
“I don’t—shit, girl. I don’t want him as my companion. I don’t even know if he’s gay. I just saw a young, innocent guy bleeding out in a dark alleyway and couldn’t fucking handle it if I let him die there. Maybe it hit too close to home. Either way, I’m not going to apologize for this. I did what I did and it saved a life.”
Those words seemed to work some magic on the exasperated woman, because she fell quiet.
And Shane thought that might be the best time for him to alert these two strangers to the fact that he was conscious again.
He wiggled his fingers and toes, mostly just to check that he still had them. Then, bracing himself for imminent failure, he inhaled a deep breath.
It felt… weird. Not painful, at least. That was a good sign. But it was almost like he didn’t even need to breathe. Like the oxygen flowing into his lungs was almost useless. There was no relief from it, no instinctive sensation that this is what he needed to keep doing in order to stay alive.
“He’s awake,” murmured the masculine voice. The one named Miles, Shane had deduced.
“I can see that,” sighed the girl named Rose. “Do you want to spearhead the welcoming committee or can I go ahead and take the lead now?”
Miles muttered something that Shane couldn’t hear. The world shifted, throwing Shane off balance for a moment, until he realized that he’d been laying on a bed and someone had merely jostled the mattress underneath him.
A smooth palm patted gently at his cheek.
“Come on, handsome. Open your eyes.”
Shane obeyed, blinking blearily against the dim illumination of a lamplit room like it was the bright light of the sun.
He was in someone’s bedroom. It was nicely furnished. Tastefully feminine.
The woman leaning over him was pretty. Wavy auburn hair and big blue eyes. Not his type, of course, but that was hardly her fault. No woman was Shane’s type, no matter how gorgeous she was, he’d learned.
And it occurred to him that he recognized her.
“Oh,” he rasped. “What the fuck?”
Rose Landry, the beloved Hollywood starlet. They’d never met before, but Shane had seen all of her movies. In fact, he was pretty sure she’d recently been filming in Montréal.
And then, when his gaze drifted over her shoulder, he recognized another actor who’d worked with her a couple of times. Miles.
Shane stared at him. This was the man who found him in the alley. The man who was saying all of that weird stuff, who made him drink that strange liquid, who told him he had to kill him…
With a jolt, Shane bolted upright. Rose jerked back, giving him space to sit up on the mattress. He was breathing hard, but mostly out of habit, because it still didn’t seem to be doing much for him.
When he glanced down, he realized that he was shirtless. He expected to see a horrifying wound site where he’d been stabbed, or at least a bandage wrapped around his middle, but there was nothing except smooth skin.
Had it all been a dream? Did Shane have more to drink at the club than he realized? Had someone spiked his drink? Is that how he ended up in an A-list celebrity’s bedroom? Did he and Rose…?
“I need you to relax, Shane Hollander,” Rose said, placing a hand on his thigh.
He was still wearing pants, at least. The same black jeans he put on before going out to celebrate.
To celebrate.
He’d just won the Cup.
And he was supposed to be on his way back to Montréal.
“Fuck,” he gasped, twisting from side to side as he searched for any sign of his phone. “What time is it? Where am I? I have to—I can’t be here right now. I have a flight.”
“Shane. Relax. Please.”
Shane coughed as a burning sensation crept up his throat. It felt like the smoke inhalation, like something was scraping him raw from the inside out, leaving him dry and wheezing.
Miles took a step toward the bed. “He needs—”
“I know what he needs,” interrupted Rose.
She grabbed a large insulated cup from the bedside table and offered it to Shane, prodding his bottom lip with the straw the way a mother might coax a baby to open its mouth for mushy peas.
“Drink,” she commanded.
Shane, who was pretty thirsty, decided to obey.
And whatever was inside the cup was… really good. Warm and smooth and a little bit spicy. He sucked it down greedily, taking the cup from Rose and swallowing large gulps of it until he drained the whole thing and was left making loud slurping sounds at nothing but air.
Miles and Rose watched him drink, and then she reached out to gently pry the cup from his hands.
“What was that?” Shane gasped, licking his lips.
“Blood,” Rose answered.
Shane furrowed his brow. “What?”
“It was blood.”
“Is that, like, the name of a smoothie or something?”
“Human blood, Shane. Like, from a person. Consensually donated, of course.”
Shane continued to stare at her for a moment, then glanced back at the empty cup on the bedside table. Lo and behold, there was an obvious reddish stain on the straw.
But that couldn’t be right. Blood was metallic and bitter. Shane had tasted plenty of his own throughout his life, the consequence of devoting his life to a high-contact sport.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Rose sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Here’s the thing… you were about to die. Miles decided to save your life. But part of that process actually required you to die. Temporarily, though. Just for a few hours. And now you’re undead, mostly immortal, and you will have to spend the rest of your existence subsisting on human blood. Animal blood can do in a pinch, too, but it’s disgusting, so I wouldn’t recommend it. The good news is, though, that you’re not alone. There are tons of people like us.”
“Granted, most of them aren’t famous like the three of us,” Miles murmured.
“Yes, well…” Rose shook her head. “We’re still figuring that part out.”
Shane glanced between them. “You’re crazy. You’re both insane. Is this some kind of prank? Did the guys hire you to…?”
To what? Pretend to stab him and then kidnap him in the dead of night for the sole purpose of trying to convince him that he was a… a…
A fucking vampire?
“I promise I can explain everything, Shane. Really.” Rose squeezed his thigh encouragingly. “And, if it matters, I am happy you didn’t have to die last night. I’m actually a big fan.”
Shane gaped at her. He didn’t know what to think. He needed to figure out where the team was, if the plane had already jetted off back to Canada without him. He needed to text Hayden or JJ or maybe even Mitty. His parents, too. He probably had a thousand missed calls and twice that number of unread texts.
He wanted to go back to sleep, too. The light was hurting his eyes, dull as it was filtering through the gaps in the curtains.
He was hungry, too. Or maybe thirsty was a better word. He wanted more of that drink. His gaze drifted toward the cup on the nightstand, and he was seconds away from grabbing it just to wrench open the top and lick it clean when Rose grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her.
“I’m going to explain everything,” she promised again. “I need you to listen very carefully, Shane Hollander. Can you do that?”
He nodded.
And so, indeed, she explained everything.
He was a vampire. She and Miles were, too.
Vampires existed all over the world, though most of them kept to the periphery of society. For the most part, they were ignored.
But people like them, high-profile individuals who stumbled into immortality on accident, had to be a lot more careful.
Rose had been turned three years ago. She’d been new to Hollywood, an innocent little ingenue who allowed herself to be absorbed into an underworld of glamour and gore. She hadn’t realized that the people she was partying with were lacing the wine with vampire blood, subtly preparing her for remaking without her being aware of it. They’d planned to tell her soon enough, though. They claimed they were going to give her a choice.
But that’s not how it turned out for Rose. Because, one night, an unfortunate accident on a slippery pool patio led to a fall that resulted in a fatal head injury.
And so… she was reborn.
It wasn’t that bad, though. Rose claimed she’d always had a positive outlook on life—and death, apparently—even when things didn’t go as planned. She decided very early on that she was going to stay focused on the silver lining of the situation. Like eternal youth and the privilege of eternity.
Miles, being her closest friend, noticed that something had changed. For a while, he thought Rose had gotten into drugs. She wasn’t eating, after all. She avoided the sun by any means necessary, opting for long sleeves and thick sunglasses whenever they went out during the day. She flinched at loud sounds as if they were a hundred times louder to her ears, and grew irritable whenever they were in large crowds of people when she’d previously loved that exact thing.
In the end, she told Miles the truth. Then, after some convincing, she made him like her. He’d only been undead for about a year and was still learning. Shane was the first human he’d ever attempted to turn.
But the thing about vampires was that they were, evidently, nothing like what Shane had seen in the movies.
There was no superhuman strength or speed. At most, vampires benefitted only from the absolute upper threshold of what the human body was capable of. Meaning that Shane, who was already one of the best athletes in the world, didn’t see much of a difference. His agility improved slightly, sure, and his reflexes were faster than ever, but he didn’t have to hide a sudden ability to skate at the speed of light or anything like that.
Which was a good thing, actually, because Shane had no desire to change anything about his life even if he was undead now.
The other thing about vampires was the most obvious fact.
They drank blood.
Thankfully, though, it no longer tasted the way blood did when he was a human. It was delicious, and it was as flavorful as any kind of food he tasted when he was alive. Rose explained that, despite the secrecy of their species, there was a whole network of services available to them. Like blood deliveries at home, which Rose helped him arrange as soon as he returned to Montréal. It was all willingly donated and ethically sourced, packaged up cleanly in individual packets that could be heated up and enjoyed without causing a mess.
Shane thought he’d be disgusted by the prospect of drinking blood, but it turned out to be the best thing about his new lifestyle. Gone were the days of meal planning and macro tracking. He got everything he needed from blood alone, and he didn’t have to go through the trouble of deciding how to prepare it or how often to consume it. Vampires really only needed to feed once a week or so. Maybe twice, if you were as active as Shane.
There were some inconveniences, of course. The sun didn’t burn him or make his skin sparkle, but he was a lot more sensitive to the light than he was used to. If he stood too long in it, he felt exhausted and fragile, and usually needed a nap in a dark room and a few gulps of blood to feel normal again. For the most part, however, it wasn’t a huge issue. After all, Shane already spent most of his time inside gyms and rinks and airplanes and buses and hotel rooms. The only difference his teammates noticed was that he’d developed a taste for expensive sunglasses.
Obviously, there were some longterm problems to figure out. Like that fact that Shane’s parents had no idea that their son was technically dead, even while he was smiling and pretending to breathe right in front of them.
And there was the fact that he was no longer aging. He had maybe six or seven years before people started commenting on the fact that he still had the youthful glow of a twenty-something while well into his thirties, and then maybe a few more years after that before he could no longer blame it on a really fantastic dermatologist and a rigorous skincare routine. He might even be able to make it to retirement if he was convincing enough, but fading into obscurity would be impossible for an athlete of his caliber.
Rose and Miles had a similar problem. Sure, they’d be able to last a lot longer thanks to the prevalence of plastic surgery in Hollywood, but they would eventually have to figure out how to explain the fact that they looked twenty-five when they were actually twice that age. Miles was handling it by choosing to take on more indie projects, positioning himself to be easily forgettable in a couple of decades.
Rose was more stubborn than that. She wanted an Oscar. More than one, ideally. Maybe even a whole EGOT, if things worked out the way she planned. She loved the spotlight, loved being America’s little darling.
“We’ll probably just have to fake our deaths,” Rose told Shane some months later when he’d brought it up during one of their FaceTime calls. “Maybe in our late forties? A tragic car accident or something like that. Closed caskets. Then we can disappear for a while, a few decades or whatever, and do something that allows us to avoid the limelight for a bit. Maybe even in a few generations we can come back and blame our resemblance to ourselves on the fact that the original Rose Landry and Shane Hollander were our distant relatives or something like that.”
Shane didn’t love the sound of all that, but he knew it was probably the best plan of action. As long as he got to finish out his hockey career as intended, he didn’t mind spending a few decades lurking in the shadows. He hated attention; only tolerated it because it came with the territory of playing the sport he loved.
But faking his death meant hurting his parents.
Hurting his friends. His teammates.
It meant abandoning everyone he cared about. Watching his parents grow older from afar, unable to do anything about the fact that they were getting grayer by the year. It meant watching Hayden’s kids grow up from a distance, watching all of his teammates live normal human lives without him.
And yet, Shane had never felt particularly human. There’d always been something different inside him. As a human, he knew that he would never live a typical life, never marry a beautiful woman and settle down to have beautiful kids and a beautiful white picket fence. That life wasn’t for him. Somehow, he’d always known that, even before he figured out that he was gay.
In any event, the staging of an untimely death was not a pressing issue. Shane wasn’t even thirty yet, and his life really hadn’t changed that much since that fateful evening in Los Angeles last summer. He could deal with all of that stuff further down the road.
So, a year passed. And Shane, who was already so good at hiding who he truly was from everyone around him, barely struggled at all to continue thriving as a vampire in the human life he’d created for himself.
Except for one small thing: he was, admittedly, unbearably lonely.
***
“Wow, Shane. The Montréal supplier really hooks you up with the good stuff,” Rose sighed, sinking down contentedly on the couch cushions with a mug of steaming blood cradled on her chest.
“LA blood isn’t good?”
“It’s fine, I guess. It just always tastes a little too much like desperation.”
Shane snorted. “Well, you could always spend more time here.”
Rose groaned. “Ugh, I wish. I do love this city.”
He nodded, offering her what he hoped wasn’t too sad of a smile. Over the past year, Rose had become one of his closest friends. Not only because Shane relied on her to guide him through this insane new version of his life, but also because they genuinely get along. Rose was great.
Also, it wasn’t a big deal for them to be seen in public whenever their respective travel schedules matched up and they could be in the same city for a sliver of time. They hadn’t even bothered to deny the rumors floating around that they were dating. For Shane, it was a good cover while he remained in the closet. For Rose, it kept the media off her back about whether or not she was dating one of her many costars.
It was May now, and Shane had been dead for almost a full year. Rose was in between projects, so she’d decided to come spend some time with him before she had to head over to Toronto to film an action movie. Meanwhile, the Metros had just been kicked out of the second round of playoffs by game five. Unfortunately, not even Shane’s newfound immortal prowess could make up for the slew of injuries their team had dealt with that season. They’d try again next year.
Thus, in the meantime, Shane didn’t have a whole lot going on besides his usual off-season training schedule.
Sometimes, Miles also came with Rose, but Shane didn’t see as much of his actual maker as he did of her. Mostly because Miles had fallen for another vampire several months ago and had been spending most of his time partying in Europe with him. It didn’t really bother Shane. He was grateful that Miles had saved his life, as complicated and nuanced as the overall situation was, but he knew there was no spark between them.
Shane wasn’t sure he was the kind of person who even could feel a spark.
“You’ve got your thinking face on,” Rose commented.
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a thinking face.”
“Yes, you do. It’s when your forehead gets all pinched right between your brows and your lips get all pouty—”
“I’m not pouty.”
Rose giggled. “He says while pouting.”
Shane snorted and took a sip from his own mug. “Whatever.”
“Hey, by the way, did you hear about the new thing the blood suppliers are offering?”
He shrugged. “Nope.”
Usually, he wasn’t interested in whatever trendy thing Rose and Miles mentioned. Shane didn’t know any other vampires in Montréal, but they were well-connected in Los Angeles, which meant that they had access to all kinds of stuff. Like, blood laced with party drugs. Or blood-infused vodka. Lattes prepared with frothy blood instead of steamed milk. Weird little sweets and confections made from blood and plasma and whatever else the freakish underworld of bored immortals could come up with.
Personally, Shane liked to keep things simple.
Rose leaned in, eyes lighting with glee. “Well, apparently, they’re trying out a live feeder service.”
“A what?”
“Like, the humans they’ve recruited to donate can also elect to be fed from in person now. It’s a whole thing.”
“Can’t vampires already feed off humans?”
“Yeah, but this is, like, monitored and regulated. You can choose from a roster—”
“A menu, you mean?”
“If you want to be crass, sure.” Rose rolled her eyes at him. “But the whole point is that it’s supposed to decrease the amount of accidental deaths that occur from unregulated feeding. Less people will be attacked at random if there are consenting humans willing to open their veins for our kind.”
“In theory.”
“Right. In theory.”
“Why would any human want to take that risk?” Shane asked.
“It pays well, I guess.”
The people who donated their blood in secret were always handsomely compensated, which was the entire reason they did it in the first place. Still, even with the pay offered, Shane couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to actually get bitten by a creature that might not be able to control themselves if they took too much.
“Hm,” was all Shane said.
“It feels good for them, too.”
“Feels good?”
“Yeah, our venom has, like, aphrodisiac qualities to it or something like that. I’ve only bitten a couple of people before—in the early days—but I remember they looked totally blissed out. I thought they were just freaks with pain kinks or whatever, but then someone explained that they can basically get high off it.”
“Oh.”
Rose wiggled her eyebrows. “Kind of hot, don’t you think?”
Shane shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I was thinking of trying it out. Might be fun. Maybe I’ll even meet someone. Fuck knows I’m not having any luck in my dating life.”
“You’d date a human?”
“Why not?” Rose laughed breezily. “It’s not like it would have to be serious. Plus, they’d already know my secret, so I wouldn’t have to hide half my life from them. Seems kind of ideal to me.”
“But wouldn’t you rather meet someone like us? Someone you could actually have a future with?”
Rose downed the rest of the blood and leaned forward to set the empty mug on the coffee table. “Well, Shane, there aren’t many people like us in the first place. I’ve already plowed through the meager vampire options available to me in Hollywood. New York, too. Might as well give humans another try.”
“Right.”
“What about you?”
Shane pursed his lips. “What about me?”
“Have you been seeing anybody?”
“Obviously not. I’ve been busy. With hockey.”
“Right. Busy.”
“It’s true,” he insisted.
“Well, Scott Hunter is out. Maybe you could—”
“Rose.”
She threw up her hands in surrender. “Fine! I’ll drop it. I’m just saying, Shane. You deserve to be happy. We’ve got very long lives ahead of us and plenty of time to find the right person, but that doesn’t mean you have to torture yourself with self-imposed solitude in the meantime.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“You might be a vampire now, but that doesn’t mean the human parts of you are completely dead and gone. It’s normal to crave companionship, or even something as simple as the touch of another person.”
Shane had given her a look. The look he usually gave her when he was no longer interested in continuing the current topic of conversation. So, with a dramatic sigh, Rose dropped the subject.
***
However, a week later, after Rose had left for Toronto to begin filming and Shane was faced with a long, lonely summer looming ahead of him, he was still thinking about everything she’d said.
It had been a long time since Shane had touched another person like that. Since he’d been intimate with anyone, really, beyond the rough hits he received and dealt out on the ice.
He had never bitten anyone.
He’d thought about it, of course. The blood lust, especially in the first few months, was intense. There were times when he thought he might go crazy just from the scent of warm blood pumping through someone’s veins. Especially during a game, when everyone’s hearts were beating so fast and blood was so easily spilled. It came out in droplets, spat onto ice and swiped from foreheads. It was everywhere.
And it was a miracle that Shane had already been a master of control long before he ever became bloodthirsty.
There were the teeth, too. Those were hard to ignore. His gums ached when he was hungry and, even when he was drinking blood from a thermos, his canines sharpened into points. Rose had attempted to explain the science behind it, but even when Shane watched it happen to his own reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t really believe his own eyes.
The teeth were meant for biting. It’s how their species historically acquired the thing they needed in order to survive.
But this was the modern world and that was no longer necessary.
Despite that, Shane couldn’t completely quell his curiosity about it.
What would it feel like to use those sharp points to puncture skin and flesh, to burst through that fragile barrier and feel the swell of hot, fresh blood pouring into his mouth, gushing in time with an active pulse? What would it feel like, to know that he held someone’s life right on the precipice? To taste their very essence, their strength, their vitality?
These questions had horrified him for the past year, but that was before he knew about what his venom was capable of. Could he truly bring pleasure and tranquility to a human simply by biting them? Didn’t that make it fair, then? If he was taking something from them, surely it was a good thing that he could offer something in turn, right?
Too many questions. Since dying, Shane had become incredibly philosophical. It was exhausting.
So, one day, he decided to find the answers.
***
“Good morning, Mr. Hollander! How have you been doing lately, sweetie?”
Shane smiled at the familiar maternal voice on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Shirley. I’m good, yeah. You?”
Shirley was his main point of contact for the local blood supply service. She was always so friendly and upbeat, which had really helped Shane feel less like a freakish monster when he first started coordinating blood deliveries to his condo. He guessed that she was a woman in her fifties, and he also knew that she was a regular human who treated this like it was a normal human job.
But, fuck, what the hell did she write on her taxes?
“Oh, I can’t complain!” She chuckled. “What can I do for you? Are you ready to order a fresh supply, or…?”
“Actually, um, I was wondering—well, my friend told me about—I heard that there was a new program, I guess? For, uh, live feeders? Or, like, whatever the appropriate term is?”
Shane braced himself in the brief moment of silence that followed, waiting for Shirley to scoff at him in disgust or ask him why he would ever suggest such a thing.
Instead, she chuckled. “Yes! You know what? You beat me to it, Mr. Hollander! It’s brand new, and we’re not really planning on officially rolling it out for another month, but I guess word spreads fast for the well-connected.”
“Yeah…”
“So, are you interested in having us send a feeder to you?”
Shane cleared his throat nervously. He was pacing the length of his living room, the curtains drawn tight against a sunny June day dawning on the city.
“Is that how it would work? You’d send someone to my house?”
“Yes! Super convenient, right? I can’t believe it’s taken our company so long to make it happen!”
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous? For them?”
Shirley laughed lightly. It wasn’t mocking. If anything, Shane felt like he was a fussy baby that she was cooing at.
“Well, we have an extensive vetting process, of course. We’d only send feeders to reputable members of your community. No history of unnatural violence. Things like that. For vampires with more complicated pasts, we’re working on securing some facilities where live feeding can happen in a more controlled environment, but that’s still in the works. But, in any event, you would certainly be approved to host in your own home, Mr. Hollander. Your record is immaculate!”
He had a record? Who was keeping track? How would Shirley, or any of her mysterious coworkers, know if he accidentally—or purposefully—drained someone of their blood?
“Uh. That’s… good. Cool.”
“We have quite a few available candidates right in Montréal. Many of them have been longtime donors already. I can set you up with someone now, if you’d like? They could stop by as soon as this evening!”
Shane paused his pacing. It was seriously that easy? One phone call and he’d have a human knocking on his front door, willing to be bitten?
“Um, sure,” he replied.
“Great! Now, of course, the service has different pricing than your usual deliveries.”
“Right. It’s no problem.” Shane had more than enough money to spare.
“Perfect, so I’ll be emailing you an encrypted file with our guidelines and expectations. I’ll have you sign that and send it back to me, and that will be the final step in confirming the appointment, but first let’s discuss your preferences so that I can see if anyone in the area suits your needs, okay?”
“Okay.”
Shane wandered over to the dining table and sat down, feeling a little overwhelmed. This was really happening. He was ordering a person. A person who was, for whatever reason, brave enough to waltz right into an unfamiliar home and get bitten by him.
As if Shirley could sense the direction of his thoughts, she said, “Also, just to assure you, all of our donors and feeders go through an extensive psychological evaluation. We don’t want anyone getting hurt beyond what is expected to occur during the procedure.”
Nobody gets hurt, except for a needle in the arm for blood donations or puncture wounds in their skin from teeth. Right.
“Cool. Good to know.”
“So, Mr. Hollander, tell me a little bit about your preferences.”
“My… preferences?”
“Do you have a preferred blood type?”
“Oh, um, not really. They’re all good.”
Shirley chuckled. “What about the feeder themself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you prefer men? Women? Does gender not really factor into it?”
Shane’s first instinct was to say it didn’t matter, but he stopped himself. Rose’s use of the word aphrodisiac echoed in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure that was something he wanted to share with a woman, if he was being honest. And when he pictured putting his mouth to someone’s skin… well, he knew what he truly desired.
“I’d prefer a man, if possible.”
“No problem! What about lifestyle?”
Shane furrowed his brow. “Lifestyle?”
“Well, as you know, diet and exercise have a profound effect on a human’s body. For example, we have some feeders who purposefully do what they can to provide blood with a fattier quality to it, which I’m told can offer a richer taste.”
“Oh.” Shane processed that information as best as he could. “Um, well, I’m an athlete, so I’d like to make sure that what I’m putting in my body is as clean and nutritionally balanced as possible.”
“Of course! No problem.” There was a pause as Shirley typed away on her computer, then clicked her mouse rapid-fire. Shane drummed his fingers on the table, feeling antsy.
Maybe he should call this whole thing off and hang up.
What was he even doing?
He’d been getting by just fine on the prepackaged blood. Why the fuck did he need to complicate things by including another person in his feeding schedule? What the hell would he even say to—
“Alright!” Shirley chirped. “Looks like I’ve got a twenty-eight year-old male available tonight. Six foot, one hundred and ninety-six pounds. O-positive. Speaks Russian and English, but no French.”
Shane’s brow furrowed. Why did it matter what language he spoke? It’s not like they’d be having deep conversations while Shane’s fangs were in him.
Then again, it was probably important for the feeder to actually be able to communicate clearly to the creature that was stealing a half-liter of blood from him.
“Uh. Okay. Sounds good.”
“You want him? He’s a nice young man. Been donating with us for about two years!”
“Okay. Sure.”
“Great! I’ll get that all set up. Just go ahead and sign the paperwork I’ll be sending your way shortly and then I’ll be able to confirm the appointment, okay?”
“Got it. Will do.”
“Wonderful. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hollander?”
“No, Shirley. Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome. Have a lovely day!”
After Shane hung up, he sat there in the dark silence of his home for several minutes.
What the fuck did he just do?
He had a guy coming over tonight.
A man. His age. Tall and, from the sounds of it, fairly muscular. Was he handsome, too?
Did it fucking matter?
Shane’s phone made a little ping sound, causing him to jump. It was just an email from Shirley.
Feeling a little crazy, Shane read through the guidelines she’d sent him. They were pretty straightforward and also contained some interesting information about the feeding process that maybe even Rose wasn’t aware of. Like the fact that his venom would not only speed up the healing process for the puncture wounds, but also ensure that the feeder’s red blood cell count would replenish much faster than if they were donating via needle. Meaning that the feeder would be good as new in as little as a week, all thanks to the bizarre power of whatever weird substance came out of Shane’s fangs.
He read through everything twice, then scribbled an electronic signature, and sent it back to Shirley.
Half an hour later, he had the details for the appointment that evening, albeit still pending confirmation from the feeder.
Nine o’clock, right in the comfort of his own home.
The feeder’s name was Ilya Rozanov. That explained the Russian language fluency. Was he an immigrant? Was that a rude assumption to make? Should Shane try to figure out how to at least say hello and thank you in Russian just to make a good gesture?
Shane spent a good long while freaking out.
Then, after about an hour, he got another notification that the appointment had officially been confirmed by Mr. Rozanov. The email included a copy of the non-disclosure agreement he’d been asked to sign.
Which was great, actually, because Shane hadn’t even considered that.
Was Ilya a hockey fan? Did he give a fuck about the Metros? Would he know who Shane was? Would it freak him out to discover that the captain of one of the best teams in the league was a vampire?
Was it an existential curse of disproportionate unfairness that Shane had fucking died and then came back to life and still couldn’t seem to stop himself from overthinking the most trivial details of every single situation he ever put himself through?
Most likely.