Free Crave by Karen E. Taylor

“Well, there are all kinds of problems in retention, apparently, given vampiric existence and individual experience.”
    I wandered aimlessly around the room, clutching the towel in my hands. “So?” From my tone of voice I knew he could tell that I had no idea what he was talking about.
    â€œWell, think about it for a minute. Older vampires have more powers than the younger ones, you know. But the security system has to be beefed up, to a level that can hold the ones who transform.” He shook his head. “Although from what I can tell, the older ones generally don’t need to be incarcerated. I gather that Max was an exception to that rule. You would have been too, I suppose, but you haven’t yet realized your powers.”
    I gave a small forced laugh. “And I don’t intend to do so, anytime soon.”
    Mitch shrugged.
    â€œAnd,” I continued, wanting to avoid that topic also, “I do not see how any kind of room could hold a creature who can transform himself into a mist.” I walked into the bathroom and hung the towel back up.
    â€œAirtight,” he said simply.
    I stood in the doorway and stared at him for a time in shock. “Airtight? Then how do you breathe?”
    Mitch gave me a broad grin. “That’s the beauty of it, Deirdre, we don’t need to breathe.”
    â€œBut,” I protested, “I breathe, you breathe. I don’t understand.”
    â€œVictor was kind enough to explain it to me, although he was rather horrified that I didn’t know to begin with. We actually only breathe for two reasons. One of them is force of habit, the other is so that we can speak. But our bodies don’t need the oxygen to survive, all we really need is blood.”
    Somehow, being sealed inside a room with no air struck me as more hideous than the starvation that would accompany it, and the very thoughts of it made me shudder. “You know, Mitch,” I said, changing the subject yet again, feeling the walls of this room close in around me. “You should probably call Chris now. I told him you wouldn’t be too long and he’ll be expecting you.”
    He went for the phone and began to dial.
    â€œAnd by the way, my love,” Mitch stopped when I spoke and looked over at me, “he wants to meet you for lunch. You’d better either tell him straight out why you can’t or have a good excuse ready.”
    â€œDamn,” he said quietly and hung up the receiver. “What the hell can I say?”
    â€œYou could tell him the truth, I suppose.”
    He snorted. “Yeah, I can hear it now. ‘I’d love to meet you for lunch, son, but unfortunately I can’t go out in the sun anymore, because your stepmother has turned me into an evil creature of the night.’ That’d go over real well.”
    His words struck me hard. “Jesus, Mitch,” I walked to the door and put my hand on the knob, “that was a low blow.”
    Our eyes locked across the room. “Deirdre, I didn’t mean it like that . . .”
    â€œI know you didn’t. Why don’t you stay here and talk to Chris in privacy?” I struggled to give him a smile. “You could even try out your new coffin or get someone to teach you how to transform into a mist. I need to get out of here for a while, need to be alone in an open space. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
    I was sure he could hear the urgency in my voice, the desperation I felt locked away in this windowless tomb. He smiled reassuringly and nodded to me. “Walk softly this night,” he said, his tone husky and sincere.
    The traditional greeting of the Cadre from his mouth unnerved me and I fled down the corridor, rode up in the elevator, and burst through the back entrance into the comfort of the night.

Chapter 8
    A fter walking several blocks, my claustrophobia faded somewhat and I felt sufficiently recovered to hail a taxi. Even at that,