It’s not possible.
I stand up from my desk. “See you next week, Yukiko.” She bows in that hasty, flippant teenager way that reads more “Fuck you” than “Thank you, honorable and wise doctor who provides blood for me that is not from a dog.”
Just as she walks out the door, an alarm sounds, and I realize it’s my mobile. “Shit…” I’m already running late. I wonder if he’s actually expecting dinner from me? I am not cooking.
Recently, a first-gen vampire named Junichi has been skulking around my office and insisting that we have dinner together. I met him by chance at Haruka and Nino’s estate when I did a house visit to check on Nino’s progress and drop off some books that his mate asked for. Even then, Junichi was eying me and blatantly flirting. It totally caught me off guard.
I don’t know what the hell he’s playing at or what he wants—calling me “beautiful.” That’s a stretch. Only my mum has ever said that about me, and I’m pretty certain that she was losing her grip on reality at the time.
Typically I get “weird” or “cute.” Sometimes, if I’m lucky, the backhanded double-word score: “weirdly cute.” One of my classmates in the medical program at Oxford said I was hot. That was nice. My friend Cyrus called me handsome once when he was rat-arsed. He denied it the next day and told me I look like something from that silly American Broadway show Cats—that I didn’t even need makeup and I could walk right onto the stage. Tosser.
A quick fuck at my place and then I’ll send the first-gen on his way. Truthfully, this happens to me often. Vampires get curious about me, and I have no idea why. It’s only ever been low-levelers, though. Never a ranked one like this. Not that I’ve come across many, until recently. Until Japan.
These high-bred vamps make my insides feel twisty and bizarre, as if my stomach is tying itself into knots. Especially this one I’m meeting tonight. He’s fit, though—leggy with jet-black eyes and dark curly hair. His skin is lovely and brown and reminds me of peanut butter. He speaks Japanese fluently, but he must be part something else?
Cyrus is brown, too, but with red undertones (Junichi’s undertones are more golden). Cy’s family is originally from Delhi in India. He says pricks who don’t like people with brown skin are just jealous deep down. He and I disagree about a lot of things, but on that point, we are perfectly aligned.
The routine goes like this: the lower vamps come around to sniff and poke at me. If I’m up for it, we have sex. Sometimes they bite me. Then they move on like I was a shiny red apple rotten on the inside, telling me I taste awful. I told myself I wouldn’t do this anymore after moving to Japan—that I wouldn’t let them bat me around like a ball of wool. But I always know what I’m getting myself into. And I do enjoy it sometimes.
After packing up my desk, pushing the chair in and grabbing my rucksack, I check my watch. 6:05 p.m. Maybe I’ll pick something up from the grocer, then stop by the corner shop for lube and condoms as well. Vampires are fussy about condoms, but that’s where I draw a hard line. Your body might regenerate, but mine doesn’t.
Two
Jae
It’s 6:50 p.m. by the time I’m showered and hastily pulling ready-made meals from a grocery bag. I run my hand through my damp hair, the waves there slick and heavy. My hair looks better wet, I think. Calmer. If I don’t keep it trimmed low, I look like a bloody lion.
Or a character from Cats, apparently.
My mobile buzzes against the counter. Walking over to it, I see Cy on the screen. Speak of the devil. I honestly cannot deal with him right now, so I let it ring through to voicemail.
I’m nervous. That feeling like heartburn is settled in the center of my chest and my hands are shaky. I know Junichi won’t hurt me. Ranked vampires don’t actually do that. People who think so are either ignorant or watch too many films.
The truth is, Yukiko is right. Ranked vamps are otherworldly. They’re much more emotionally sophisticated, cultured and genetically evolved than humans. And their eyes are always bright and focused. But at the same time blank. Curious? When Nino and Haruka are sitting across from me, their eyes are like an owl’s and they keep their heads perfectly still, barely even blinking. It’s both eerie and mesmerizing.
Junichi has black eyes—like pools of inky liquid. He’s unreadable until he smiles with his full lips, and then his irises are playful and expressive. All three of them make my stomach feel weird. Sora, too. She’s my nurse assistant at the hospital—first-gen, like Junichi, which means she’s one generation removed from purebred status but still part of the elite group.
The majority of my intimate experiences have been with lower-level vamps—vampires very far removed from their purebred lineage. So much so that they read more human than vampire. In England, they just gravitated toward me, I guess, like hipsters to a basement record shop or a pretentiously eclectic café. One of them was a proper hipster. Blonde dreadlocks, ripped jeans and earplugs. She was decent at kissing, but my flat always smelled like weed after she left. The second time we slept together she bit me, said I tasted like turpentine and left. Never saw her again… which is fine, really.
The doorbell rings and I jump, startled. I take a deep breath—where the hell are my glasses? I find them on the counter near my phone and slide them on, then move toward the front door. Grabbing the handle, I pause and roll my shoulders. Why am I doing this? Knowing he can’t possibly want anything tangible or real with me…
If I’m honest, maybe it’s just nice to be with someone, sometimes? I do well on my own, and I know how to take care of myself. I have for a very long time now. Admitting that I get lonely at times sounds pathetic, right? Nobody wants to acknowledge that, but there it is.
I unlock and pull the door. It’s sunset. The weather is still warm although it’s late September. Junichi is standing there, all legs and backed by an orange-purple skyline. He grins, charming as ever. He’s holding… a bouquet of flowers. Bird-of-paradise?
“Hello, Doctor Jae.”
“God.”
“No. Junichi, remember?”
“Flowers?”
“As a thank you for having dinner with me.” He blinks his onyx eyes. “I noticed the painting on the wall in your office. I thought you might like them?”
My eyes scan his body, and he’s wearing a clean white summery shirt, but it’s fashionable with short sleeves and no collar. His trousers are dark and tapered at his ankles—perfectly tailored to his long legs. Bright yellow trainers. His facial hair is neatly trimmed and short, and he’s wearing an expensive-looking watch. Made of wood? Christ. Everything about him is luxurious but effortless. I don’t understand why he’s standing on my doorstep.
“Doctor Jae?”
I stand up straighter. Was my mouth hanging open? Stepping to the side, I hold the door. “You have consent to enter.”
Junichi crosses through the doorframe. Or rather, he swaggers, holding the elegant bouquet at his side. “So formal,” he remarks, taking in my flat. He’s speaking English suddenly. “‘Come in’ is equally sufficient.”
I hesitate, but then answer in English as well. I’m proud of my Japanese and I studied hard. First languages are always more comfortable though, aren’t they? Plus, this is my house. “Right. Well… it’s not like I do this every day.” Not with high-levelers, anyway. I haven’t let any vampires paw at me in the three and a half months I’ve been here. Cyrus would be proud.
Only ranked vampires—purebreds, first-, second- and third-gens—need permission to enter a private residence. It’s ironic though, because most ranked vampires would not be bothered with entering a human’s home.
After closing the door, I move past him and toward the kitchen. He smells nice, like there’s a haze of something very good hovering around his body. Not cologne. Something lighter, cleaner and elemental from the earth. Cypress and spearmint. A hint of lavender?
“Beer? Wine?” I ask, pulling the door to the fridge open.
“Are you nervous? You seem tense.”
“No,” I lie, raking my hand through my hair. It’s nearly dry. “Which do you prefer?”
He moves closer to stand in the kitchen, then leans against the counter with his hip, flowers still at his side. “What are you having?” he asks.
“Beer. Probably.”
“Beer it is.”
I grab two bottles from the fridge with one hand. When I lift my arm to hand him one, he raises the bouquet and smirks, like he wants us to trade. There’s an awkward pause of silence before I groan and take it from him with my free hand. He takes the beer, grinning.
“Thanks,” I say, placing the flowers on the counter. I walk over to the round table off to the side. My kitchen space is small, but cozy enough for me and one other person. As a whole, my flat is very plain: beige walls, basic necessities and functional furniture. A tea kettle on the hob, a kitchen table, a gray sofa in the sitting area and a tall maple bookshelf pressed against the wall stuffed with all of my medical journals and research books. I don’t even have a television and I don’t care about decorating.
At the kitchen table, I pull a chair out for myself. “I picked up some food from the shop… in case you actually wanted to eat.”
Junichi walks forward to meet me. “My understanding is that we’re having dinner. It’s what I asked for last week when I returned your book.”
I blow out a breath. “Right.” Sitting, I tell myself not to be irritated that he’s playing some kind of uppity vampire game with me—asking for dinner and bringing me expensive flowers. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I don’t need all this if he’s just going to shag me and leave.
He sits across from me as I pop the plastic tops off our dinners. The food still feels fairly warm. I love supermarkets in Japan. They’re neat and clean, chock full of ready-made, delicious foods like breaded pork over rice, all manner of crispy croquettes, giant makizushi rolls and even okonomiyaki—not to mention a wide array of bentos with veg and grilled fish. It’s like they have some wonderful grandma in the back room, cooking up delicacies all day every day.
That sounds terrible, actually. Elderly-slave labor. I sincerely hope that’s not the case.
“You said your schedule is very busy at the hospital?” Junichi’s voice is cool and low in the silence, and his black eyes are focused on me.
I avoid his gaze by shuffling things around on the table. “Yes. Things were slow the first month, but it’s getting quite hectic.”
