Fury Short Story Series:
COLD
Dorothy Darrow
Copyright 2012 by Dorothy Darrow
Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Written in the U.S.A.
Cold. Exactly how he liked it.
The metal sheets encased him. There was hardly enough room for air. He'd never been so comfortable.
Someone entered. It was that pretty little medical examiner. He would love to taste her, but not yet. He would wait until he couldn't stand it any longer. Until the craving took over. Ravenous. Then, when he drank her, he would absorb the full pleasure of the kill.
Only three people regularly came down there. Two humans and a vampire who worked with them. He chuckled to himself about the vampire. It had to have incredibly diluted blood if it couldn't sense what was living in the drawer with the broken latch. Probably a generation in the double digits. Unlike him: a second generation turned by blood directly from...her.
He loved to hear the accusations fly whenever one of the bodies turned up missing. They never thought to look in the bottom left drawer. If they would merely peek through the crack where the drawer refused to close all the way, letting the refrigerated air leak into the examining room, and letting all of their scents leak in to his nostrils, they would know everything. Instead, they had to wait until he decided to deposit his latest companion on the roof or in the ambulance bay or wherever struck his fancy.
The ME had heard his haunting laughter. She looked around nervously. He inhaled deeply, relishing the tense air.
Fear tastes almost as good as blood.
She was a skittish little thing to be working in the morgue. But she wouldn't have to worry much longer. The craving was quickly catching up to him. When he struck, though, he'd have to be careful. He couldn't risk losing his perfect little home for one little bitch's blood. He'd spent too long in the dark for someone so insignificant--no matter how tasty--to force him into the light. Secrecy was essential for when he found his maker. She couldn't know from which direction he was coming if his strike was to be successful.
It was bad luck that she was aware he still existed. He could feel her sensing him. Her black blood lived in his veins, reporting his presence to her. That blood was the very reason he hated her so, and he was going to make her suffer for putting it inside him and killing his mortality. Something like him should never be allowed to live forever.
He nuzzled his frigid friend. The ME heard the rustling and looked around again. The delicious angst seeped into his dead pores.
Soon, my love, it will be your turn.
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About the Author
Dorothy Darrow is a writer from the United States. She has degrees in many creative pursuits, including writing. She likes to write supernatural fiction, such as vampire novels. That is all she wants you to know. For now.
Connect With Dorothy Darrow Online:
Read more vampire fiction at Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/DorothyDarrow
Look for the second novel in the Vampire Queen, When the Moon Tires of the Night, a prequel to These Flowers Have a Taste for Blood that partly explains how the Queen's prophecy formed, out in late 2013.