Free Vampire Thirst by Ella J. Phoenix

breath. She ran a shaky hand through her hair. It was soaked in sweat. By Apa Dobrý, she hadn't had a nightmare like that in over two decades. She sat on the side of the bed and planted her feet on the cold wooden floor. The chill felt good. It felt real.
    A dim sunlight seeped through the blinds. It was probably late afternoon. She stood up and hit the lights. Yara moaned on her improvised bed that Mrs. Wilkinson had put at the other end of the bedroom.
    “Sorry,” Sam whispered, and switched the lights off again.
    Yara mumbled something in Portuguese and rolled over to face the other side. In less than a second she was snoring again.
    Sam tiptoed to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She drank some water straight from the tap, and after a few gulps, she straightened up and leaned on the basin. She felt like a car crash. She lifted her eyes and stared at her image in the mirror. She looked like a car crash too.
    She turned the tap back on, splashed water on her face and thanked the Soartas for the night Zoricah broke her out of that mental institution. To be fair, her years in there felt much like her freaky nightmares. All she could remember were disjointed images of people in white coats, the feel of the leather straps holding her down, the sound of the high-pitched beeping of the shock-therapy machine, the stench of burnt flesh.
    Sam brushed the tears off her cheeks and turned the tap off. Crap, she had to get a grip on herself. She would not be tormented by those memories again. She could not let her past dictate her future. Yes, she was scared shitless – and yes, she should probably call Zoricah for support – but if she did that, she would be letting her fears control her. And she'd had enough of that shit. Hikuro's fuming eyes came back to her mind. "Did I hurt you?" No. "Did I offend you?" Gods, no. But she had shoved him away, hadn't she? Why? Because she had freaked out. She had stopped what could've been the best night of her life because she was a chicken shit. That's why.
    Sam glared at her reflection in the mirror again. Dark shadows encircled her blue eyes. "Enough with the fucked-up-kid crap," she snarled at the woman staring back at her.
    She straightened herself up. Shoulders squared, chin up. It was time to take the reins and un-fuck what she'd done.
    After taking a long, warm shower, she tiptoed back into the bedroom, grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans, a brand new blue tank top, boots, Yara’s trench coat – because hers was full of holes and dirt patches – and left. Oh, crap, her purse. She turned back around and grabbed her purse by Yara’s bed. Her eyes landed on the blue patches on her friend’s wrists and neck. Oh, Gods. Sam’s heart sank. Sam knew Yara liked going to private sex clubs but only on really dark nights did she come back bearing evidence. Those marks meant her friend was on the verge of a breakdown. Sam exhaled and made a mental note to take Yara to dinner or go watch a movie with her, or something. It had been a long time since they had just relaxed and laughed together. She missed those days. Yes, the Hiad with this bloody mission. Tomorrow they’d have a break. Tomorrow though.
    After closing the door behind her, Sam went to the kitchen and said a few hellos to the crew while she fixed herself a quick bite.
    Now, where should she start? Late afternoon...Hikuro would still be asleep.
    Well, she knew Phillip liked BDSM stuff. There were a few hard-core places she knew of in London. She would hit those first and then, well, she’d find a way of making up for the debacle of the night before.

 
    Chapter 12
    A few hours later, Sam opened the mini-cab’s door and looked up. Yep, it was still raining. She paid the fare, covered her head with the trench coat and got out of the car. The pub across the street carried an old wooden sign displaying the name “Pig and Whistle.” There were a couple of drunkards near the entrance but nothing to worry about. She had lived