"Are you trying to kill me?" I said during our third venipuncture.
"Out of the question, my king," It was always a bad sign when someone took my lousy jokes seriously.
I eyed his handwork, half admiring it, half appalled. It wasn't about identifying the vein in my arm — with his vampire filter it was nothing — but his ominous laboratory had kits with all of the needed supplies. He was also using suspicious-looking double bag syringe sets that I didn't even know existed, this was the sixth bag he was filling. The other four were already stored in a portable refrigerator that he had pushed next to us. He placed them upright, using a blood bag holder.
Joshua gave me the creeps.
"This can't be your first time," I probed.
He smiled, "There comes a certain time for purebloods when firsts are no longer an option, my king,"
Very disturbing.
"We're immortals," It wasn't a question at this point.
