Free Fat Vampire Value Meal (Books 1-4 in the series) by Johnny B. Truant

Reginald got close enough to see the veins and arteries under his tan skin, throbbing and pulsing. Reginald’s tongue licked his fangs, which didn’t feel at all odd in his mouth. His breath became shallow, excited. He opened his mouth. Then he grabbed the kid with one hand on a shoulder and the other on the side of his head. Quickly, he leaned forward as if he were about to eat a watermelon.  
    The kid snapped away just as Reginald was about to pierce his skin, snatching the enticing neck away. He turned and stared hard into Reginald’s eyes. Reginald was too shocked (and feeling the vampire equivalent of blue balls) to think of glamouring him. He just stood with his hands still in watermelon-holding position, his mouth open and his fangs out.  
    “What the fuck, homes?” said the kid. Then something changed in his face and he stared more closely at Reginald, who didn’t know what to do and had frozen in place like a waxwork. His eyes were darting from side to side, waiting for someone to rescue him.
    The kid said, “Are you a fucking vampire ?”
    Reginald nodded, slowly.  
    “I know you weren’t about to drink my blood, motherfucker,” he said, his face becoming angry.  
    Reginald decided to go for broke. He peeled his lips back and hissed. “I could break your neck before you knew what hit you. Make it easy on yourself and come back over here, and I’ll let you live.”  
    The kid shook his head. “I don’t think so. The only thing you could break the neck of would be a bucket of fried chicken. Aren’t you pretty fat for a vampire?”
    “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” said Reginald. “I own the night!”  
    “Dude, you don’t own shit. You should own a treadmill.” Then he laughed.  
    Reginald couldn’t believe this. Even as a vampire, he was being mocked. He decided that if he concentrated all of his speed into one small motion, he could impress and scare the kid, to show him who was boss.
    He pistoned his hand toward the kid’s arm. The kid stepped back and slapped it away.  
    “Motherfucker! Get your hands off me! Fat faggot motherfucker trying to suck my blood. Knew I shouldn’t have come out here tonight. Nothing but fat faggot vampires in the parks these days.”
    Reginald reached again, desperately hungry. He didn’t have the energy or the time to try and find someone else, and he couldn’t make it through another night. “Get over here,” he said.  
    “Fuck off!”  
    “Come on. I’ll be quick.”  
    “Motherfucker, you will keep your hands the fuck off me!”
    Reginald reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Tell you what. I’ll pay you. I’ve got fifty bucks in here. Like, two minutes tops.”  
    “The fuck is wrong with you, you fat fucking faggot?” said the kid, knocking Reginald’s wallet out of his hand. “What kind of a vampire are you, paying people to let you bite them?”
    “A hundred, then,” said Reginald, stooping to pick up his wallet. “I only have the fifty, though, so you’ll need to come with me to an ATM.”  
    Then everything went black as the kid hit him, hard, across the chin.  

    He had a dream that he starved to death. He desiccated like a raisin and Maurice found him curled up in his house and said, “I knew I made a mistake.” Then things in the dream changed and he was in hell, a vampire hell, with vampires everywhere, their legs and arms and hair on fire, forever in pain and forever burning but unable to die…
    … and then his eyes opened and there was nothing but pain across his face as a beam of sunlight lanced him like a sword. He rolled away and it stopped, but a second later there was another pain in his hand, then on his face again. It was disorienting.  
    He fought the pain and got to his hands and knees and looked around. He was maybe ten feet off the path, more or less hidden from early-morning walkers by three trash cans marked for the disposal of aluminum, glass, and refuse. The sun was