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the wall across from his bed where a small portrait of his wife hung. He had commissioned an artist to paint it well after Wilma died, using Sterling’s adult face and Raymond’s description of his late wife as a guide. The result wasn’t an exact image, but reasonably close. When he first saw the completed artwork, he was disappointed the artist couldn’t quite capture Wilma’s true beauty on the canvas. Now, after all these years, the image on the wall was what Wilma looked like to him. He smiled at the portrait and murmured, “Good morning, Wilma.”
    With dread, Raymond removed himself from his bed and donned his robe to cover his nude body. Like all the occupants of the house, Raymond’s bedroom had a small refrigerator. He kept his morning breakfast of two syringes of blood chilled. Other than a couple of syringed meals, the fridge was empty.
    He placed his breakfast in a warm water bath. He loved the little device. Its main purpose was to warm cold baby bottles, but the device warmed up blood in syringes very quickly — and to the right temperature.
    He stretched to wake up and heard the timer on the warmer beep. He reached for his breakfast, and while still lying down in his king–sized bed, he slowly injected the contents of the first syringe into his arm. The warm sensation tingled as the blood traveled up his forearm. His eyes closed and he concentrated on the feeling of fresh blood once again running through his veins. His mouth slightly opened and his fangs extended. His heart raced and his body surged with energy.
    Raymond had fed himself this way for decades – ever since bagged blood became easy to transport and use in hospitals. The feeding was quick but felt nothing like the real thing. For Raymond, feeding off a fresh vein and feeling the flesh against his fangs was a foregone delight. He didn’t wish to be near a human woman, and definitely didn’t want to feed off a male of the species. The only human woman he wanted to feed from was dead. And even when he had had his wife at his side, he was too young to partake since his fangs hadn’t come in yet.
    He took the second of the two syringes and slowly injected it into the same arm where the first crimson delight had traveled. His heart rate sped up and his body renewed itself. Cells were regenerated. The few gray hairs he had turned back to their dark brunette color, the slight wrinkles around his eyes ironed themselves out, and his skin glowed with the healthiness of youth. Each drop was a taste from the fountain of youth. Raymond aged back from his mid thirties to his early twenties — nowhere near the 199 years he had actually lived.
    Raymond concentrated on the feeling of the blood. His body became replete and he felt alive and new. Now, blood lust set in. Sometimes he hated being a vampire.
    His body responded, yearning for a woman’s touch. Wilma died ages ago in childbirth and there was no other woman he craved. His length hardened and demanded attention. He wanted to ignore his arousal, but the blood lust insisted he satisfy his manly urges. Thirst overcame him as well and he felt his fangs extend. Now two of his body parts wanted a woman, and he was alone – all alone.
    More blood sat in the fridge, but he dare not indulge himself. More blood in his body would keep him sexed up all day. It would just add more fuel to the fire once the lust came to him. Christ. He didn’t need that. He licked his lips; his tongue brushing against his fangs. He had never partaken of Wilma’s blood during their brief year together since it was before he had transitioned into an adult vampire. He craved her touch, and now her blood. God. Drinking her blood and making love to her at the same time was a joy stolen from him long ago.
    The Vampire Council, with all of their antiquated laws, managed to do one thing right. Forbidding love between humans and vampires resonated soundly within him. The folly of it all. Humans were weak and frail. Of course,