30. Livin' La Vida Loca.

I woke up in a sterile hospital room, the scent of disinfectant filling my nostrils. As I opened my eyes, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered, casting an eerie glow on the white walls. From my bed in Fuengirola, I glanced out the window, glimpsing the bustling city below. The sound of distant sirens pierced the air, a reminder of the chaos outside. I was in medbay. All well and healthy. Rage all in its well. 

Slowly, my memories came flooding back, and I realized Damon must have somehow severed my spinal cord. The realization sent a chill down my spine, making me shiver involuntarily. I had been in a deep slumber for eight long weeks, and when I finally awoke, the men who had been watching over me were nowhere to be seen.

After getting cleaned up and nourishing myself with a simple meal, I left from here. I took a moment to breathe in the fresh, crisp air as I stepped out onto the streets of Fuengirola. It was a bustling city, filled with the sounds of chatter and the occasional car horn. I stayed for a couple of days, allowing myself time to recover, before embarking on a journey to France.

Arriving at my vineyard in France, the air was heavy with the earthy scent of grapevines. The sun beat down on me, warming my skin as I walked through the rows of meticulously planted vines. The vibrant green leaves rustled softly in the gentle breeze, creating a soothing melody. The sight of the sprawling vineyard filled me with a sense of pride and excitement, yet I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for neglecting this place, just like my other acquisitions.

It was amidst the beauty of the vineyard that Adam's call interrupted my thoughts. His voice, filled with warmth and concern, resonated through the phone. The sound of his voice made me smile, despite the disappointment in his tone for not finding me in Fuengirola. We exchanged pleasantries, and I couldn't help but tease him about my current whereabouts.

As Adam explained the events of the past eight weeks, I listened intently. The sound of his words hung in the air, and the weight of his silence was palpable. He had been in a relentless pursuit of Wulfe, but the leads had run out. Now, he was in Chicago, focused on organizing his business affairs.

I offered Adam the option of sending his employees to check on the security of the vineyard, but he declined, insisting on coming himself. His voice took on a different tone, filled with desire and anticipation. It sent a jolt of excitement through me, causing a surge of wetness between my thighs. I couldn't help but respond in kind, my voice husky with anticipation.

As Adam hung up, leaving me alone in the vineyard, I took a moment to appreciate the beauty that surrounded me. The sight of the vines stretching out as far as the eye could see, the promise of fruitful harvests, filled me with a sense of hope and possibility. There was work to be done, workers to be found, but the potential to create my wine was exhilarating.

In my mind's eye, I envisioned the process of winemaking. The sound of grapes being crushed, the scent of fermenting fruit, the feel of the cool liquid on my tongue. It was a dream waiting to be realized, a venture that held endless possibilities. And amidst it all, I couldn't help but imagine the pleasure that awaited me with Adam's arrival.

The next morning, I stepped into the kitchen and prepared my breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, enticing my senses. I always enjoyed sipping my coffee outside, where a charming table awaited me. The cool breeze gently caressed my skin, carrying with it the delightful fragrance of nature. Contentment washed over me as I savored the moment. It was a life worth cherishing, a rare stroke of luck.

As I opened the door to the outside, an odd sight caught my eye. There, on the ground, sat a mysterious package—a box. Setting my coffee mug down on a nearby table, I lifted the box onto my lap. Surprisingly, it wasn't heavy, weighing only about 3-4 kg. Carrying it to the table, curiosity consumed me as I slowly removed the lid. It took a moment for my mind to comprehend what lay before me. It was a creature, resembling a bat with its dark, leathery skin. It possessed arms, legs, and a wrinkled head, but no wings. Standing no taller than a foot, it moved, capturing my attention.

Inside the box, I noticed crinkled newspapers from Sweden, revealing a scandal involving the country's prime minister. Among them, a card caught my eye.

Its message sent shivers down my spine: "Next time, I won't let your husband live. Enjoy your life together. May it last as long as it lasts. This happens to those who chase and threaten me. Remember this, my unicorn. Wulfe."

I read the message three times, trying to comprehend its meaning.

"Damon?" I whispered, and the creature within the box raised its head, locking eyes with me. It resembled a tick, and a wave of confusion washed over me.

"What am I supposed to do with you? How did this even happen?" I pondered aloud, while the creature made subtle movements.

I couldn't resist its helplessness, so I gently cradled it in my arms. Its cool touch sought warmth, and it crawled against my skin. Holding it closer, I felt a tiny prick on my neck. It desired blood.

It didn't take long for the tick to descend, its engorged belly now resembling a small red ball, and it appeared to be at rest. My husband had transformed into a blood-sucking tick. At least this creature wouldn't lead me to the shed or fill me up with jelly. I immediately contacted Adam, sharing the entire ordeal with him. Adam assured me he would consult Dresden.

We agreed I would provide blood and warmth to my husband-turned-tick. I carefully wrapped my slumbering spouse in a soft towel, placing him inside a pillowcase, resembling a kangaroo's pouch. Stepping outside for a cup of coffee, I continued my indoor tasks.

The tick fed every two hours, growing more lively as evening approached. With newfound determination, it would crawl onto my neck after being removed from the bag. It would then sink its minuscule teeth into my veins, refusing any other offering of an arm or wrist.

Once it had finished feeding, it wouldn't immediately lose consciousness. Instead, it would tug at my hair, creating a massive tangle until my hair became one giant ball of knots. It would then nestle and sleep within this tangled mess.

In the evening, I showered, washing and brushing my hair. The tick expressed its discontent, emitting faint snorting growls. As I donned my nightgown and settled into bed with the tick beside me in its bag, it emerged with determination.

Despite having just been fed, it climbed back onto my neck and resumed its hair-manipulating activities, crafting a cozy nest. Satisfied with its creation, it reinserted its teeth into my veins, feasting until it drifted off to sleep, inadvertently lulling me to sleep as well.

I awoke in the morning to find the tick still nestled around my neck, its texture warm against my skin. I felt quite velvety. Well, at least this one's velvet is concentrated. Velveting me and drinking my blood kept it focused.

The tick now bit with a slightly stronger force, having grown a bit in size, perhaps around 35 cm. It was evident that its growth was fueled by the blood it consumed. I would need to continue feeding it until it grew large enough to sustain itself from blood bags. I contacted Adam once more, and he confirmed my suspicions.

Dresden's estimate lingered in the air, promising a wait of 2-4 weeks, while the looming end filled me with an undeniable sense of stress. I chose not to divulge to Adam that Dresden remained oblivious to the fact that I had a substantial amount of my own blood stored away. Adam, burdened by work and entangled in security matters at the White House, insisted he wouldn't be able to make it for at least two weeks. Meanwhile, Samuel's call revealed his fascination with Damon, but unfortunately, he was urgently needed elsewhere due to a raging epidemic. And so, it was just me and the tick, locked in this peculiar companionship. 

Over the course of a few days, the tick's insatiable appetite drove him to consume nourishment every two hours. With each passing day, he grew in length and weight by about 5 cm, his strength flourishing. However, my poor hair suffered the consequences. The tick emitted an array of sounds, ranging from hisses and clicks to menacing growls, making his displeasure evident. Yet, as I held complete control over his fate, I continued to proceed according to my own desires. 

For instance, I indulged in an evening shower, allowing the water to cascade over my body, cleansing away the day's worries. I carefully lathered my hair, ensuring its cleanliness. The following morning, I meticulously brushed and braided my hair, securing it out of harm's way throughout the day. This routine infuriated the tick, provoking it to viciously attempt to rip my hair apart. Nevertheless, I persisted in my efforts to keep it at bay. 

Conversations with Damon became a constant occurrence, encompassing a wide range of topics. I even took the opportunity to impart a valuable lesson, cautioning him against recklessly pursuing a wulfe. With those words, the tick grew anxious, its movements becoming unsteady, its fangs touching against my skin velvet-like. I mean, it velveted me on that very spot.

As I eventually woke up, sprawled on the floor, I reminded the tick of the consequences if it were to stun me while I stood. Could it truly guarantee that it wouldn't collapse beneath my weight?

Within a week, the tick had grown to a towering height of 80-90 cm, its presence looming over me. It voraciously consumed a significant amount of food, causing it to weigh heavily. I had no doubt that within a week or so, it would reach its full strength. Its once velvety touch had transformed, now tightly embracing me as it slept, its teeth gently grazing my neck. Under the cover of darkness, it would quench its thirst by drinking from me. 

One morning, as I slowly emerged from slumber, I felt a ticklish sensation on the inside of my thigh. Unaware of my surroundings, I shifted my leg slightly, rousing myself from a dream. It was then that I realized the tick had ventured inside my nightgown. Shock and realization flooded over me as I felt its slender, elongated dick penetrate the depths of my pussy. Its initial thinness allowed Damon to effortlessly push it deeper, where it began to expand and take root within me. It became a substantial, anchored presence, connecting us intimately. 

The tick drew sustenance from me, its dick probing and drawing blood as if it were an immense internal umbilical cord. It held me tightly, occasionally punctuating our connection by sinking its teeth into my neck, indulging in a drink.

With a lift of its head, it whispered, "Baby, baby, you're delicious now."

In response, I echoed, "Oh yes, now you speak, urging me to nourish you from both ends." Laughter reverberated against my neck. 

Its once brown skin had lightened considerably, and he had hairs now. The transformation had been swift, leaving me no time to fully observe its current appearance.

Few days had gone by. I was now feeding him from both ends, and that had really sped things up. It was morning again when I stood up and got the nightgown off our bodies. Damon weighed about 50 kilos, I think, so I was carrying quite a load. I knew I wouldn't be able to move for much longer, so I made a plan. The couch would be the best place. I stocked up on several cans of orange juice, 5-liter jugs, at least 5 to keep me hydrated, myself some blood bags I had collected over the years, which had demons and angels, incubi all mixed up.

Damon looked at the bags and said, " That's what we need to talk about, baby. Where did you get all this stuff?"

I said, "Do you want something, I can share? You know that I have blood farms. There I get my bloods. I have very many blood farms, all over the world."

In response, I got his teeth in my neck. I could feel now him in my mind too. The phone was another one I had reserved, and I had already told Adam and Samuel how we were already big boys.

I went to lie down on the sofa and reserved myself some straws to drink, juice, and, now and then, blood. Damon slept quite a bit, too, but I assumed that was because Mr. was forcing himself to grow as fast as possible. Two weeks were up. Damon was full size and full weight, but the umbilical cord hadn't come off yet.

I was exhausted. I wanted a shower. I was hungry, and I had probably lost quite a bit of weight myself by now, but I knew I would get it back.

Damon would occasionally velvet me up with some kind of substance. Every night had become more or less velvety. Eventually, I woke up from the couch. Damon had gotten off of me. A wallet and a phone were on the coffee table, and a note saying, " Thanks, baby, for everything. See you again sometime. Restless winds and all that."

I muttered to myself, " Yeah, right".