Night Haven - By Fiona Jayde Page 0,3

it in his mind, full and delicious, tasting both fresh and dark, strawberries dipped in the darkest chocolate.

Maybe he’d draw her just like that, parting her lips for a fat succulent strawberry. His body jerked with nearly painful need, and even that was satisfying. It kept hunger at bay for now, because he couldn’t stomach thinking of feeding after tasting her mouth. He kept tracing the pencil over it even as footsteps creaked behind him.

“I like it.” Walt leaned in to study the paper, his gnarled fingers splayed over the desk. Luke wondered how he stood it, growing old and frail while Luke stayed the same through the years, bitter and young and cold.

“Different than your usual. Softer.” Walt’s voice sounded different than usual as well. Heavier, as grief settled inside.

“What are you doing up?”

The old man gave him a small smile. “Long night.”

His wife had refused the chemo treatments. She’d slipped away last month, in peace and silence, and even as Luke grieved, watching his friend cope with the loss, he envied them. He couldn’t call himself alive because he’d died already. And he couldn’t find the strength to burn with morning’s light, not with his best and only friend alone and quickly aging. Maybe he’d find the strength after Walt passed.

“You want something to drink?” Luke had stayed up with him before, talking, looking through pictures, packing up her clothes. Wondering what it was like to have someone become part of his life, her wants and needs wrapped up with his.

“Your stock is dry.” There was wry amusement there, as if Walt was remembering how twenty years ago Luke was the first to open a bottle. And twenty years ago, drunk and invincible, he’d let a female vampire make him her willing toy.

His fingers tightening on the pencil, Luke pushed away the memory of sex and blood and death. He thought he’d loved her, had been enthralled by her sheer greed for him. Was shattered when that greed had worn off.

“I say you double the price.” As if reading his mind, Walt tried to change the subject. “Not quite your style, but could be great as a collector’s piece.”

The drawing didn’t match the heavy black and whites mounted on his walls, his art the only thing Luke kept from being human. “It’s not for sale.” As if by its own will, his hand once more traced that lush mouth.

Walt chuckled. “I didn’t think so.” He straightened up with creaking pops of stiffening joints. “You did really well this month.” He held out an envelope, politely averting his eyes when Luke peered inside. Just as he had that first time when Luke had finished college and tried to take the world by storm with art. The bills inside had been considerably less. And he’d had no idea what the world had to offer.

With a quick flick of his fingers, Luke took out a few bills, shoved the rest back to hand to Walter. “For rent.”

The old man shook his head. “You know it’s too much.”

“Property values are up.” And there were hospital bills and cemetery plots to pay for.

“You do this every month.”

“Better than drugs.”

Walt closed his mouth at that, although the argument had been the same for nearly eighteen years. Ever since Luke had been able to afford to pay for the small attic above the old Victorian where Walt and Alice had spent their lives. Ever since Walt started to sell Luke’s art.

“You’re right.” A small pause. “Thank you.”

As if the money could repay the basic kindness they had shown him when Luke was devastated and alone, hiding from daylight, bleeding, hungry. It had been Walt who had suggested that Luke sell his art. It had been Alice who had brought him packs of blood from Cottage Hospital—though only God knew how she’d swiped them.

Long after Walter made his way downstairs, Luke kept tracing the face in front of him, sharpening her features, brightening her eyes. He drew her hair loose and shiny, her tapered ears delicate and long. A bloodwolf, for God’s sake.

He wondered what she’d taste like with pleasure overtaking her, her blood flowing with it. Arousal mixed with disgust as he slammed down on the rollaway wedged in the corner and got out another pack of cigs to take him through day.

It wasn’t a fluke. Dina couldn’t shift and it had been hours since she’d run away with a vampire’s taste still on her lips, his scent surrounding her. She’d spent the rest of