Read Online Scarlet Vamporium: Vamporium #2 by Poppet[vampire] - Free Book Online
Authors: Poppet[vampire]
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two in his other hand.
I need tae get out o' here. I'll never have two minutes alone with Ellindt in this crowd.
Taking them, I put them down on the ground, cracking hers open for her and passing it tae her, “You might need this efter that hot spud.”
“What about you? Aren't you having any?”
I shake my head, I'm too in lust tae have an appetite. All I need tae feed my soul is staring into my heart right this second and I just want tae take ye somewhere quiet, like the woods, laying down on the heather with ye tae stare up at the stars.
“Naw, I'm no hungry tae be honest,” I say instead, opening my own beer and watching Roddie sit on the log opposite ours, staring broodingly at Ellindt.
He is a man on a mission and I'm beginning tae wish he'd just butt out. Giving me a wretched smile, he says, “Have yer fed her black puddin' yet?”
“Pudding?” she says, pulling the spoon out between her luscious lips where she was absently sucking on it, watching us. “I love pudding.”
Roddie laffs, knowing the inside joke, “Oh yeah? Well then ye ha'e tae try black pudding.”
She looks innocently up at me, “Why's it called black? What's in it?”
Swallowing thickly, I hate that Roddie's makin' fun of her ignorance. “Blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
“And oats. Oats sanctifies everythin', even blood,” says Rod, with a smile darker than Satan's.
Ignoring him, she keeps her gaze locked with mine, her eyes wide, baring her soul tae me, and in a tiny whisper she says, “I like blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
Chapter 7
Ellindt:
The look on Doug's face is a mixture of horror and appalled curiosity.
Laughing, I squeeze his leg, “I'm kidding. Crikey, you should see your face.”
Glancing in Roddie's direction, my nerves ice over. He looks like a wrathful god sitting in the mist behind a shield of leaping flame, and there's movement beyond his left shoulder.
Solidifying behind him is a woman with hair so black she looks like she's coming to claim his soul. Reed thin, with skin paler than the fog, she puts her hand on his head, and I hold my breath expecting him to slump in sudden death, but instead he ducks his head when she ruffles his hair.
“Fiona, if ye dae that again I'm going tae break that hand,” he snarls, annoyance plain to see in the screwed up scowl across his forehead.
She giggles, taking the spot next to him on the felled log serving as seating, drawing bony knees up tight to her chest to stare at us in open fascination.
Doug clears his throat, gesturing to her, “Ellie, this is Fiona, Roddie's little sister. Fee, this is Ellindt.”
I look from the tall hulk to the tiny waif nestled against him. She's the size of an elf. He has the look of robust health and pique physical condition, and his sister looks like she survives on a cup of milk a week. She's anemic looking, her gaunt features stretching alabaster skin taut over high cheekbones and magnifying her dark eyes into big and terrified.
She nods at me, her raccooned eyes surveying me from under thick bangs. Her hair is completely straight, hanging like a straw curtain of dyed pitch to her elbows.
“Hallo,” she says.
“Hi,” I smile, glancing quickly in Doug's direction.
He's staring at me with a hard look, a faint frown wrinkling his brow.
These people amaze me. They call blood, pudding? They like it. They want to consume it. Maybe we're not so different after all. Maybe this is why I feel like I've come home.
But it now dawns on me after an hour of seeing local faces, that Doug looks half Scandinavian. His hair is dark blond underneath and tawny blond on top. It has a toasted barley tinge to it which is amber in sunlight. Yet his eyebrows are sandy and his stubble is so fair it's the shade of my own hair.
My eyelashes and eyebrows are naturally dark, but his aren't. And yet everyone I've seen here tonight has dark hair, even the blonds. Heather's hair was clearly dyed, as were a few other girls.
One
I need tae get out o' here. I'll never have two minutes alone with Ellindt in this crowd.
Taking them, I put them down on the ground, cracking hers open for her and passing it tae her, “You might need this efter that hot spud.”
“What about you? Aren't you having any?”
I shake my head, I'm too in lust tae have an appetite. All I need tae feed my soul is staring into my heart right this second and I just want tae take ye somewhere quiet, like the woods, laying down on the heather with ye tae stare up at the stars.
“Naw, I'm no hungry tae be honest,” I say instead, opening my own beer and watching Roddie sit on the log opposite ours, staring broodingly at Ellindt.
He is a man on a mission and I'm beginning tae wish he'd just butt out. Giving me a wretched smile, he says, “Have yer fed her black puddin' yet?”
“Pudding?” she says, pulling the spoon out between her luscious lips where she was absently sucking on it, watching us. “I love pudding.”
Roddie laffs, knowing the inside joke, “Oh yeah? Well then ye ha'e tae try black pudding.”
She looks innocently up at me, “Why's it called black? What's in it?”
Swallowing thickly, I hate that Roddie's makin' fun of her ignorance. “Blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
“And oats. Oats sanctifies everythin', even blood,” says Rod, with a smile darker than Satan's.
Ignoring him, she keeps her gaze locked with mine, her eyes wide, baring her soul tae me, and in a tiny whisper she says, “I like blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
Chapter 7
Ellindt:
The look on Doug's face is a mixture of horror and appalled curiosity.
Laughing, I squeeze his leg, “I'm kidding. Crikey, you should see your face.”
Glancing in Roddie's direction, my nerves ice over. He looks like a wrathful god sitting in the mist behind a shield of leaping flame, and there's movement beyond his left shoulder.
Solidifying behind him is a woman with hair so black she looks like she's coming to claim his soul. Reed thin, with skin paler than the fog, she puts her hand on his head, and I hold my breath expecting him to slump in sudden death, but instead he ducks his head when she ruffles his hair.
“Fiona, if ye dae that again I'm going tae break that hand,” he snarls, annoyance plain to see in the screwed up scowl across his forehead.
She giggles, taking the spot next to him on the felled log serving as seating, drawing bony knees up tight to her chest to stare at us in open fascination.
Doug clears his throat, gesturing to her, “Ellie, this is Fiona, Roddie's little sister. Fee, this is Ellindt.”
I look from the tall hulk to the tiny waif nestled against him. She's the size of an elf. He has the look of robust health and pique physical condition, and his sister looks like she survives on a cup of milk a week. She's anemic looking, her gaunt features stretching alabaster skin taut over high cheekbones and magnifying her dark eyes into big and terrified.
She nods at me, her raccooned eyes surveying me from under thick bangs. Her hair is completely straight, hanging like a straw curtain of dyed pitch to her elbows.
“Hallo,” she says.
“Hi,” I smile, glancing quickly in Doug's direction.
He's staring at me with a hard look, a faint frown wrinkling his brow.
These people amaze me. They call blood, pudding? They like it. They want to consume it. Maybe we're not so different after all. Maybe this is why I feel like I've come home.
But it now dawns on me after an hour of seeing local faces, that Doug looks half Scandinavian. His hair is dark blond underneath and tawny blond on top. It has a toasted barley tinge to it which is amber in sunlight. Yet his eyebrows are sandy and his stubble is so fair it's the shade of my own hair.
My eyelashes and eyebrows are naturally dark, but his aren't. And yet everyone I've seen here tonight has dark hair, even the blonds. Heather's hair was clearly dyed, as were a few other girls.
One
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