Just One Bite

- London, 1665

Count Nicholas Klaus stood on the cracked and tattered shingles, staring down into the ashen chimney. It had been a grueling flight from the North, and the Count was starving—literally starving. His hands quivered and his stomach cramped. For an ordinary man, a year-long fast would prove fatal, but Nicholas was no ordinary man. In fact, he was no man at all… not anymore.

Klaus took in a deep breath, relishing the chill of the air as it filled his lungs. In their depravity, his monstrous senses were amplified. He could smell the precious iron pulsing in the bedrooms below. He could taste the carbon dioxide from their breath.

It was time to feed.

In the blink of an eye, Nicholas transfigured into a dozen screeching bats. He flew in a compact swarm, disappearing into the old chimney and reforming at the foot of the hearth. Once whole, Nicholas looked down at the cookies on the platter—or biscuits as the British called them. He was in London, after all.

Nicholas picked one up and took a bite, savoring the buttery sweetness. The biscuits offered no sustenance—no caloric energy as they did for humans—but his taste buds were still intact, and Nicholas had a bit of a sweet tooth.

Snatching a second cookie, Nicholas glanced at the mantle above the fireplace. A single stocking hung there, empty and limp.

Nicholas frowned. Last year, there were two stockings. How unfortunate. Fewer children meant less blood.

Nicholas studied the stocking. A name was embroidered in neat, intricate cursive.

Katerina.

A beautiful name for a meal.

Nicholas removed a knapsack from his pocket. It was no bigger than a potato sack, but it contained near infinite storage thanks to the help of a French sorceress.

Nicholas reached into the void and removed a knitted doll with long dark hair and button eyes. A small pink bow was tied to the doll’s hair.

He silently slid it into the stocking, leaving the torso and arm exposed as if the doll were waving hello. Satisfied with the display, Nicholas began creeping toward the bedroom.

The child was bundled in a thick quilt, the minimum in the midst of a London winter. She was curled up on her side, facing the doorway. Unsurprisingly, she was taller than Nicholas remembered, but she wasn’t any larger. If anything, she had lost weight.

Nicholas frowned. Smaller children meant less blood.

He moved to the edge of the bed where her hand hung off the mattress. Nicholas always preferred to drink from the fingers or the toes, where he could avoid the major vessels. Large, oxygenated arteries tasted too bitter—more alkaline, as he understood it. Not to mention the pressure was choking at times. The jugular vein was the preferred vessel of his kind, but Nicholas never cared for it. Veins tasted… how to describe it… stale? Moldy? The lactic acid and other waste products gave it a pungent, earthy quality. But in the fingers, where the tissue was dominated by tiny capillaries, the blood profile was perfectly balanced.

Gently, Nicholas took the girl's hand and brought it to his lips.

“Take mine instead,” a voice whispered behind him.

Nicholas froze. Then, slowly, he lowered the girl’s hand back onto the mattress, turning with a swoop of his coat.

His gaze settled on the woman in the doorway. She was pale, with disheveled curls that shrouded her shoulders. Her eyes, dark and sunken, carried the same hollowness he often saw in the mirror—a soul weathered by grief. She was clad in a simple, threadbare nightgown, but she stood straight, her resolve unwavering.

“Your blood?” Nicholas asked, his voice soft yet laced with incredulity. “The child will barely feel it in the morning. A woman of your age… you’ll feel… well, drained, to say the least.”

“That’s fine,” the woman said, her voice steady, “but if I give you my blood, do I earn a gift as well?”

Nicholas narrows his eyes. “What kind of gift?”

The woman stepped closer, head held high. “I want to be like you... I want to be a vampire.”

Nicholas’s expression darkened, and he turned away, scoffing. “I won’t do it.”

“Please,” the mother begged. “I need this. It’s all I ask of you. Just one bite.”

Nicholas clenched his jaw, his words sharp. “Do you know what you’re asking? To become a monster. To live as a parasite. To preserve your own life by stealing it from others. You think immortality is some grand gift, but it’s not. It’s misery—an eternity of loneliness, watching everyone you love wither and die…”

“You don’t seem like a parasite to me,” she countered, her voice breaking. “A parasite doesn’t make little girls smile on Christmas morning.”

Nicholas faltered. He glanced at the corner of the room, spotting his present from the previous year: a wooden rocking horse with two depressions in the saddle, so that the sisters could ride it together.

Eventually, Nicholas shrugged. “I give gifts so they invite me in. Without permission, I cannot enter a home.”

The mother shook her head. “I read the letter she sent you. Katerina asked for a doll of Penelope. She never mentioned the bow.” The mother held up the present. She must have snatched it from the stocking shortly after he placed it there.

“Admit it…” the woman insists, “you care about them. You’re no monster.”

The truth was, Nicholas did care. He had given that bow to Katerina’s sister two years ago. It only seemed appropriate that her doll would have one as well.

“I’m dying,” the woman breathed, “and when I’m gone, my daughter will have no one. I’d suffer an eternity of loneliness—anything—to protect her from that agony. Make me like you. Let me give her a childhood. Let me see her grow old. Then, when she’s gone, I’ll come to you. Whatever misery you’ve arranged for yourself, I’ll share it—maybe even ease it if I can. I’m not promising to be your wife, but I can be your friend, perhaps. Someone who understands. Please! Don’t make my daughter bury me. If you can be a good man, even as a vampire, then perhaps I can be a good mother. I’ll find a way.”

Nicholas studied her for a long moment, his crimson eyes softening. “You would trade your humanity for her happiness?

The woman held out her wrist. “I would trade everything for her,” she said firmly.

“I believe you,” Nicholas whispered, then he bit down.