Blood Type
““Are you cold?” “I’m always cold.” The words came out sounding gruff, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to talk to John, but I had no other choice. I’d put off this conversation far too long.
John unzipped his coat and shrugged out of it, and then he draped it around my shoulders. It smelled strongly of human scents—soap and aftershave—and I closed my eyes, reveling in residual warmth and happier times.
“It’s because you’re dying,” he said, matter-of-fact.
A tear escaped and fell on... the brown leather of John’s coat sleeve, leaving a splotch of wetness in its wake. I stared at it as I asked, “Then why are you so warm, huh? Aren’t vampires supposed to be all cold as death?”
John chuckled under his breath and shook his head. If he caught the scorn in my voice, he ignored it. “I suppose the ones who don’t feed often are a little on the chilly side.”
I shuddered at the word “feed”MoreLess
John unzipped his coat and shrugged out of it, and then he draped it around my shoulders. It smelled strongly of human scents—soap and aftershave—and I closed my eyes, reveling in residual warmth and happier times.
“It’s because you’re dying,” he said, matter-of-fact.
A tear escaped and fell on... the brown leather of John’s coat sleeve, leaving a splotch of wetness in its wake. I stared at it as I asked, “Then why are you so warm, huh? Aren’t vampires supposed to be all cold as death?”
John chuckled under his breath and shook his head. If he caught the scorn in my voice, he ignored it. “I suppose the ones who don’t feed often are a little on the chilly side.”
I shuddered at the word “feed”MoreLess
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