But all of Darla’s repressed instincts had risen to the surface, and she was in a full feeding frenzy. She dragged me up the length of the bed, pulling me against her and drinking down my blood as fast as she could—as if she could sense that her “treat” was about to be snatched away from her.
“Sophie!” I rasped around the head wedged against my throat.
“Darla, that’s enough!” Sophie insisted, but I noticed through fluttering eyelids that she didn’t actually move to help me. I threw my hand up, swatting off the little vampire’s unnecessary glasses.
“Darla,” I wheezed, but Darla was busy gulping down my blood. I could feel the life ebbing from my body, cold spreading through my chest and taking my breath away. My fingers felt numb and useless, and my lips tingled. She was going to drain me completely. I was going to die in this grubby motel room on this disgusting bed because Sophie didn’t want to rumple her suit long enough to save me.
Summoning all of my upper-body strength—which I admit wasn’t a lot even when I wasn’t fighting off a vampire attack—I yanked my left arm up and managed to jam my thumb into her eye. It was more of a glancing blow, but it was enough to make Darla disengage from my neck. I swung my arm up a second time and swatted her eyelid again.
“Ow!” she cried, now loosening her hold on me and letting me slide down the bed.
Even vampires are less predatory after being slapped in the eye.
An expression of pure horror slid over Darla’s face. At vampire speed, she scrambled back across the bedspread, wiping the blood from her mouth with the backs of her hands while gibbering and whimpering.
I tried to sit up, but the moment I lifted my head, the room tilted at an alarming angle. My snobbery over body contact with the bedspread had evaporated. Everything was swirly, and not in the fun, “recreational pharmaceuticals” fashion. It was all I could do not to vomit all over everything.
“Well, I see we’ve gotten past some of our sensory issues,” Sophie drawled. “Well done, Darla. Now we just have to work on your control . . . and stain removal.”
Yes, hilarious, because my blood was spattered all over Darla’s adorable pink cardigan. But at least I’d learned something about Sophie. Sophie was a bitch.
Normally, I would be able to come up with more descriptive insults, but I was pretty sure I’d just lost forty percent of my total blood volume. Most of my brain function was devoted to keeping the rest of my blood pumping through my organs.
Right now, the best I could produce was “Everything hurts. I hate everybody.”
“Are you all right, Andrea?” Sophie asked, while checking the polish on her nails.
Despite the fact that I was dizzy and nauseated and I was pretty sure that if I stood up I would collapse like a balsa wood weight bench, I nodded. (The nodding hurt.) I didn’t want to scare Darla, who was already cowering against the headboard with her arms thrown over her face, muttering “I’m sorry” over and over.
“I’m just a little light-headed,” I said, sliding toward the foot of the bed while still on my back. “Can I have a glass of water?”
“Yes.” Sophie managed to sound solicitous and annoyed at the same time. She walked toward the bathroom and picked up a drinking glass that wasn’t wrapped in protective plastic and had lip prints on the rim.
“Never mind,” I told her. “Never mind. I’m OK.”
Shivering, I scooted down the bed until I felt my feet hit the floor. I pushed up from the mattress with my eyes closed so I couldn’t see the room spinning. It took a few tries, but I managed to unfold myself into a standing position. “See?” I said.
“Yes, you stood up, good for you,” Sophie said, handing me my purse.
I sank back down on the bed but raised my arm long enough to flash her a thumbs-up. Sophie hauled me up from the mattress by the elbows. “I’ll drive you home. Darla, you will stay here. Do not leave this room for any reason. If you do, there will be consequences from which you will not recover.”
Oh, sure, pinning me down and snacking on me wasn’t a punishable offense, but leave a gross motel room and Sophie would go all Fugitive on her. I tried not to let that hurt my feelings.
Darla nodded, still looking ashamed of herself. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Andrea.”
I waved my hand dismissively, as if the effort to move my arm wasn’t Herculean. “Don’t worry, Darla. I’ll be fine. Don’t let this scare you off live feeding, OK? Once you adjust to it, it won’t be as dramatic.”
This was a difficult speech to deliver while Sophie was basically controlling me by my elbow like a puppet.