Blood Slave Read online

  Blood Slave

  Robin Roseau

  Table of Contents

  Credits

  Life Isn't So Bad

  A Mistake

  Dazed

  It All Changes

  The Mistress

  Defiance

  Settling In

  Dinner Party

  Bleed Me, Bleed Me Dry

  Ugliness And Pain

  Months Into Years

  Challenge

  Commission

  The Painting

  Mama

  Vampire Bar

  Rage

  Death

  Winter

  Endings

  Home

  Giving Up

  Failure To Heal

  Last Days

  Gretchen the Fair

  Last Days (Continued)

  Marriage

  Scars

  Morning

  Demetria

  Extensions

  Copyright

  Credits

  Thank you to The Lady, for her continued support. Living with a writer isn't always easy. She puts up with so much: my distantness, my crying jags, the late nights and early mornings. She comes home and can take one look at me and ask, "Difficult scene?" That's what it means to live with a writer.

  Thank you also to everyone else who continues to support me. It is deeply appreciated.

  And to the reader, thank you. When I write, I write for myself. It is something I need to do. But your support makes it possible for me to justify the time. And you are always in the back of my mind when I sit down with a fresh set of characters, begging me to tell their stories.

  Thank you.

  Life Isn't So Bad

  I tried hard not to stare at the blood slave as she followed along in her vampire's wake. Blood slaves weren't necessarily something you saw every day, but they weren't so rare I should have my attention riveted. But there was something about the hapless woman that caught my attention. I couldn't put my finger on it.

  You would think it would be the vampire that would have my attention. They weren't necessarily something you saw every day, either. But there was nothing notable about the male vamp. He wasn't particularly tall or particularly handsome. While he was dressed expensively, he wasn't particularly flashy. For a vampire, he simply wasn't anything special.

  I couldn't figure out what it was about the woman following along behind him that caught my attention. Maybe it was the facial tattoo. Voluntary tattooing had gone out of style shortly after the vampire wars, years before I was born. Now, the only people seen with tattoos, especially facial tattoos, were blood slaves, someone convicted of one of the many crimes against society sufficiently severe as to require the punishment of becoming a walking meal to the vampires. I stared at the tattoo. Each blood slave is tattooed with a pattern chosen by the vampire who buys the slave from the courts, and this tattoo was vibrant and angry. I couldn't have told you what the slave's tattoo said about her vampire owner.

  Maybe my attention was drawn by the chain connecting the slave to her vampire. There was nothing notable in the chain. It was metal and served as a functional leash. It was attached on one end to a hook hanging from the vampire's belt. On the other, it was attached to the slave.

  In public, it was not necessary for the slave to be leashed like this. There was no law, and I'd seen many blood slaves that wore no leash or even an obvious attachment point. But the leashes seemed to be a style choice by the vampires, and each vampire had his own way of attaching the leash to his blood slaves. Sometimes it was simple. The leash attached to a collar or was simply locked in place around the slave's neck. I'd seen them instead wrapped around a wrist. I'd seen slaves dressed in nothing but an elaborate harness of gleaming metal links, the leash attached to the harness.

  But this slave's chain was attached to a pair of studs that had been embedded in the slave's cheeks, perhaps in a fashion similar to the earrings I wore. There was a stud in each cheek, wide on her face, below the cheekbones, and hanging from each stud was a small metal ring. The chain ended in a Y with each arm of the Y attached to one of the rings. The length of the Y was just enough that the chain hung across the slave's upper lip, just below her nostrils, when the leash was slack.

  I imagined it was an uncomfortable, even humiliating way to be led about.

  I wondered what she had done to become a blood slave.

  I couldn't stop staring at her, and then I realized why. She was near death, moving dully, barely attuned to her master as he led her through the mall. He must be feeding from her regularly. I wondered if he was intentionally killing her or just inattentive and didn't care that she would die. I imagined he would feast on her soon, draining her of the last of her blood. I wondered how long she had been his blood slave. Was it only a few weeks, and he'd been drawing from her heavily, or was her sentence near an end, and he was determined to take every drop of enjoyment he could before he'd otherwise be forced to free her.

  Blood slaves only had one right, after all: when their sentence was served, they were released, if they were still alive.

  Otherwise, they were the property of their vampire masters, and the only rights they had were those granted by the vampire.

  "Melissa," said a voice to my right. "What are you staring at so intently?"

  "What?" I asked, turning to look at the speaker. "Oh, sorry, Tegan. I was just lost in thought."

  When I looked again, the blood slave was gone. I thought she wasn't long for this world.

  Again, I wondered what she had done.

  * * * *

  My name is Melissa Walsh. I was thirty-four, of middling height and blonde hair I wore shoulder length, or sometimes a little longer, and straight. Like most humans, I was moderately fit and worked hard to remain so.

  Obesity was a crime, after all.

  When the vampires won the wars, they had enacted new laws. There was a set of laws specific to vampires, of course, which had to do with the creation of new vampires and the killing of vampires, which of course was illegal. It was illegal for a vampire to feed off an unwilling human and also illegal for a vampire to kill a human through feeding without a permit.

  Yes, a vampire could obtain a permit to drain a particular human. Someone who contracted a horrible disease could ask for euthanasia. Apparently the vampires could feed from anyone with impunity, immune to our diseases. One didn't need a reason to offer himself to the vampires, but the controls were stringent to avoid coercion.

  For the rest of humanity, there were additional laws. Obesity was illegal, and we all were required to accept an annual physical checkup. Anyone who was gaining weight would be encouraged to resolve the problem before it became a crime. It was exceedingly rare to see anyone carrying more than a few extra pounds. It wasn't required that we be physically fit, only that we not become obese. After all, obesity led to so many other health issues.

  And the vampires wanted a healthy breeding stock.

  Smoking had been made illegal; humanity had been given one year to kick the habit. Many couldn't do it, and they had become some of the first blood slaves, once the prisons had been bled dry and closed down.

  Most of the old laws remained intact, although the legal code had been greatly clarified. The old controlled substances had remained controlled, and the punishments for them meant you bled, perhaps only once for minor offenses, perhaps permanently if you were caught selling or were a repeat offender.

  The ownership of handguns was banned. Not even police officers carried them. Possession of guns used for hunting remained legal, although as world conservation efforts began to have a positive effect, the ability to acquire hunting licenses became more difficult. With the wild wolf populations returning in America, for instance, deer herds were thin
ned naturally and required less human intervention to prevent the herds from overrunning their territory and starving to death.

  It became illegal to pollute, with the controls phased in over time to prevent economic disaster. Even littering was illegal, and dropping so much as a gum wrapper meant you bled. But the vampires weren't cruel. The punishment for a gum wrapper was a single, non-fatal feeding, and you could even offer yourself to a specific vampire if you knew of one you preferred.

  Repeat offenses, however, carried stiffer penalties. You could get away with the occasional dropped gum wrapper, but if you made a habit of it, the vampires were very good at correcting your behavior.

  Contributing to overpopulation was illegal. The number of children a woman could produce was strictly controlled. In highly overpopulated areas, the vampires had ordered most women sterilized shortly after winning the wars. After that, even in population-stabilized regions, most women were sterilized after their second birth. The vampires intentionally reduced the worldwide population dramatically, and it was still shrinking in most areas. The goal was to return to a sustainable worldwide population, although the vampires hadn't stated what that number might be.

  It was a popular game to guess, of course, with experts from around the world weighing in. But the vampires refused to state a number, and maybe they hadn't even decided. Maybe it was like art: they would know it when they saw it. But worldwide human population was down to about three billion from a high of nearly nine, and in most places, natural resources were no longer under the pressures they had once suffered.

  The knowing transmission of a contagious disease was illegal. If you were sick, you stayed home. If you needed groceries or other supplies, you could have them delivered. If you could ill afford to miss work, that was too bad. If you carried a social disease, you had best engage in abstinence.

  Violent crime, of course, carried stiff penalties. In the first few years after the wars, the vampires cleaned up the streets. Gang warfare was gone long before I was born. Domestic violence still existed, but it was far less common than it was portrayed in the history books.

  As we were legally required to report all crimes we witnessed, the days of the silent victim were long over.

  The end result was that violent people were weeded from the gene pool. Everyone knew this was intentional. The vampires wanted a calm, peaceful food supply, after all.

  The penalty for almost every crime was the same: you bled. Minor, unintentional infractions might mean you donated a pint of blood, carefully measured. After that, you might be served up as a meal or as several meals. For the more severe crimes, you became a blood slave with your sentence in years, but everyone knew it was tantamount to a death sentence. For the worst crimes, you were also made a blood slave but it was for life.

  Not all blood slaves died. You could see on the streets people whose tattoos had been erased after serving their sentences. The process wasn't perfect and left the skin marred. But seeing people with marred faces was far less common than seeing the tattoo of a blood slave. Most blood slaves died.

  All humans were also required to become blood donors, and the system was carefully regulated. Exempt were the young and elderly, pregnant or nursing mothers, or those whose jobs involved driving or operating heavy equipment. Even sports stars were required to donate four times a year, just like the rest of us, and the odds of a particular sporting event were hotly discussed based on who had recently donated.

  The system was exceedingly carefully regulated, with a DNA sample taken and tested when you donated. You could receive a short deferral if you were ill, but otherwise you donated quarterly, rain or shine, rich or poor.

  The blood banks remained full, providing meals to the vampires but also providing accident victims or people undergoing surgery the transfusions they required.

  It seems cruel and horrible, and I supposed it was. On the other hand, the world had by and large become a far better place. The streets were safe. The air was clean, the forests bountiful. Due to reduced pressures, most of the great fisheries of the world had rebounded, and even many animal species that had been on the road to extinction were making a comeback. Food was plentiful, housing was plentiful, and even jobs were plentiful.

  It had been a surprise at the time, but the vampires hadn't even made an economic grab. Of course, much of the world's wealth was concentrated in the hands of creatures who had been alive for centuries, but there were no impediments to new wealth. The vampires needed us, even encouraged us.

  Sure, they needed us for a food supply, and humans did many of the jobs they didn't care to do themselves. We were their domestic servants, of course, as the wealthy always had such servants. But we were the clerks at the stores and banks. We continued to build the roads and operate the factories.

  But a side effect of vampirism was a loss of creativity; old vampires are especially uncreative. They could be very good at managing a company and acquiring wealth, but they needed human minds to envision new products, to write new books, to create new movies. Humans remained the creative geniuses they always had been, and we reaped the economic rewards fairly.

  To that end, education was deemed a right. I understood it hadn't always been that way, but those days were long gone. All humans were encouraged to pursue as much education as they desired, the costs absorbed by society as a whole. Teachers were exceedingly well paid and class sizes were modest. Those without academic aptitude may end school after the eighth grade, but others attended university their entire lives, perhaps taking a class a term while finding his or her own way to contribute to society.

  It was, however, illegal to waste our teachers' time. If you took a class, you were expected to work hard. Poor grades, and you bled, but not horribly so, even for repeat offenses. Even a poor student learns something. Some university professors were vampires, and it wasn't unheard of for a professor to return homework or tests, sampling from the wrist of this student or that one who had performed poorly. I'd been bled that way a few times, but not often. Of course, a poor final grade required a more formal bleeding.

  It wasn't some sort of nirvana. The world still had problems to solve. There were still poor people and disease. Accidents still happened and, while far less common, violence still happened.

  But everyone agreed: life under our vampire overlords was better than the world before the wars.

  * * * *

  I was one of those humans deeply prized by the vampires. I was an artist. The term "starving artist" had largely disappeared. If an artist was starving, it was because her art was unappealing. I held a day job for a design company, and I was known for my delicate interior design elements. My company rented my services to a wide variety of other companies and even the occasional wealthy individual. One week I might work on new candlestick holders; another time I might be asked to work with a remodeling company to produce just the perfect design for a new home. I created store displays and marketing materials, all with a light, delicate touch.

  I was good at my job and won the occasional award, of which I was proud. The most common word to describe my designs: exquisite. I never got tired of hearing that word.

  It is a measure of the affluence of a society when its artists are well compensated, and I was well paid. Oh, I wasn't rich, and it was unlikely I would ever become rich, but I had a nice home in a prestigious neighborhood, could afford to dress well, and took vacations to warm, exotic places.

  And I did that working four six-hour days a week. After all, it was important to stay fresh. But that wasn't enough for me. I loved my art. I loved the creative process, and so at home, I painted. My home was filled with a revolving collection of my paintings, all of them colorful but with my light, delicate, signature touch. I could produce a small, simple piece in an evening or might spend months working on something larger. I had one exceedingly large canvas in my studio, consuming an entire wall, that I'd been working on for six years. I estimated another three before it was completed. I had carefully me
asured, and with a great deal of care, I could extract the canvas from the studio when done.

  My friends knew that, if they saw a piece they liked, I would give it to them, and so most of their homes sported one or two of my pieces. What about the rest?

  They sold. There were local galleries who showed my work, and I'd even had a few galleries in Chicago and New York City do showings. Oh, not the most prestigious galleries, but still, my work sold. I even received commissions, sometimes from friends who wanted a special gift, and sometimes from someone wealthy who had seen one of my paintings but wanted a piece that was designed for their home. Some of those were even vampires.

  I treated all these requests the same. I accepted the initial meeting where the person described what he or she wanted. Typically, they included photographs, sometimes of the subject they wanted painted, sometimes of the setting where the piece would reside. Sometimes I was interested, sometimes I wasn't. Occasionally I turned the work down, either because I was too busy or because I didn't want to do it. I'd turned down some pieces because I didn't want to work with the colors that would be required. I'd turned down other pieces because I didn't care for the subject matter. But most often, I turned the work down because I didn't want to work with the person asking for it.

  If I agreed to create a piece, the rules were simple. I would be paid my base price whether they liked what I produced or not. But if they really liked it, then it was customary to tip me, and I had been tipped by a number of patrons several times the amount of the base price.