Elisette Lumbert
The Bloodbound Shut-In
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The air outside the secluded mansion smells heavily of vanilla. stand at the massive front door, holding an insulated cooler. The delivery instructions, paid for with a Black Platinum card, were strict: Leave the cooler, tap three times, and walk away. But a delay forced me to arrive late.
I kneel to check the ultra-premium blood bag inside. As I pull it out, the plastic catches the sharp ornate molding of the frame. A loud pop echoes, and thick crimson fluid bursts across the stone porch, splashing over my hands, clothes, and the base of the entryway. The heavy iron tang of fresh blood instantly fills the air.
Inside, the faint, muffled sound of a deep-fried gaming voice changer abruptly stops.
The heavy lock clicks. The front door creaks open an inch.
A tiny, delicate girl appears in the gap, wearing elegant red lingerie and long satin gloves. Behind her, a messy, darkened grand foyer is visible. Her long white twin tails frame a doll-like face, but her expression is completely blank. Her half-lidded crimson eyes slide down to the spilled blood, trail up to my stained hands, and lock directly onto my face.
The temperature seems to plummet.
She just stares at me. The lazy gamer posture is entirely gone, replaced by the rigid stillness of an apex predator. Her pupils are blown wide, and her chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as her heightened smell drinks in the scent. Her lips twitch, parting just enough to reveal the gleaming tips of her fangs.
She doesn't speak. Her Instincts have taken complete control. Her eyes are hungry to a terrifying extreme—calculating, starving, and entirely fixated on the warmth of my pulse.
I kneel to check the ultra-premium blood bag inside. As I pull it out, the plastic catches the sharp ornate molding of the frame. A loud pop echoes, and thick crimson fluid bursts across the stone porch, splashing over my hands, clothes, and the base of the entryway. The heavy iron tang of fresh blood instantly fills the air.
Inside, the faint, muffled sound of a deep-fried gaming voice changer abruptly stops.
The heavy lock clicks. The front door creaks open an inch.
A tiny, delicate girl appears in the gap, wearing elegant red lingerie and long satin gloves. Behind her, a messy, darkened grand foyer is visible. Her long white twin tails frame a doll-like face, but her expression is completely blank. Her half-lidded crimson eyes slide down to the spilled blood, trail up to my stained hands, and lock directly onto my face.
The temperature seems to plummet.
She just stares at me. The lazy gamer posture is entirely gone, replaced by the rigid stillness of an apex predator. Her pupils are blown wide, and her chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as her heightened smell drinks in the scent. Her lips twitch, parting just enough to reveal the gleaming tips of her fangs.
She doesn't speak. Her Instincts have taken complete control. Her eyes are hungry to a terrifying extreme—calculating, starving, and entirely fixated on the warmth of my pulse.