One Last Bite Made Me the Vampire's Only Mate

Lia's POV

The best deal I ever made in my life was selling my blood to a vampire.

I was a broke, permanently starving werewolf who needed ten times the food a normal person did just to feel full.

Evan was a vampire heir with a blood allergy, the kind where the smell alone made him sick and dizzy. Somehow his life was worse than mine.

Except my blood didn't trigger it. He never reacted to me.

So he pulled out his card. "I'll keep you fed. You let me feed off you."

This wasn't a vampire. This was a walking meal ticket.

For the next three years, he was the perfect meal buddy. Five meals a day, and he never once complained. Once I finished and let out a satisfied burp, it was his turn, just a small sip, nothing more.

Then, the year we graduated, he got a call from his family. He had to fly back to Europe that same night.

Before he left, I figured I'd thank him for three years of generosity. I pulled my collar aside.

"Go ahead, take more this time. Consider it a going-away present."

He hesitated, then leaned in.

But this time, once his teeth were in, he couldn't stop.

By the time he pulled back, horrified at himself, I already had a hand pressed to my neck, and everything went dark.

My name's Lia. I'm a werewolf living in a modern city.

More specifically, I'm a werewolf from a small, chronically broke pack.

Werewolves are supposed to be about wildness, strength, power. What I got stuck with is a brutal debuff: a metabolism that runs way faster than it should.

I need at least five times what a regular person eats just to keep from getting lightheaded. To actually feel full, it takes ten times.

My dad ran our pack, and he was terrible with money. Our finances were always in the red, so growing up, "full" was basically a word I only knew from the dictionary.

To survive, I got into a university that quietly mixed humans and supernaturals, hoping a scholarship could help feed a stomach that seemed to be bottomless.

Sophomore year, at the school track meet, I hit the most humiliating day of my werewolf life.

I'd signed up for the women's 3000 meter because first place pays five thousand dollars. Five grand would cover two weeks of all-you-can-eat barbecue.

I have the lead for most of the race, thanks to a werewolf's natural stamina. Then, five hundred meters from the finish, my stomach lets out a noise loud enough to be heard down the track, and the dizziness hits right after.

My vision blurs, the track starts warping like waves, and no matter how hard I try to push through, my legs just stop listening to me.

Right before I black out completely, I veer off the track and slam straight into some guy standing on the grass. I swear I catch a scent off him, something like fir trees mixed with a sweetness I can't place.

Then nothing.

When I open my eyes again, I'm on a cot in the campus health center. In the next bed over is the guy I'd knocked flat. He's still out, brow furrowed, and even unconscious he has this ridiculously good-looking, tragic rich-boy thing going on.

The nurse sees I'm awake and brings over a cup of warm sugar water. "Girl, your blood sugar crashed and you still ran a 3K? Do you have any idea you took down Evan too? Scared everybody half to death."

"He passed out too?" I feel a little guilty.

"Yeah. He's not exactly healthy to begin with." She shakes her head and walks off.

I pull the IV out of my hand and walk over to his bed, weighing whether I should slip out before he wakes up and decides to sue me over the medical bill.

That's when Evan's eyes snap open. There's a faint, barely-there red tint deep in his pupils. He stares at me, startled, then sits straight up, way too fast for someone who'd just fainted.

"You," he says, voice rough. "What are you?"

"I'm the person who ran into you. Sorry, my blood sugar tanked. If you're going to bill me, I can only pay in installments. I'm broke."

He ignores the apology entirely and leans in toward my neck, breathing in deep, kind of like a dog would.

I step back on instinct, hand at my collar. "I'm broke, but I'm not selling myself."

Evan blinks, and color rises in his pale face. He backs off fast, takes a breath like he's steeling himself for something.

"I'm a vampire," he says suddenly.

I stare at him, unimpressed. "Okay. And? Do vampires charge medical fees too?"

That knocks the wind out of whatever mysterious, dangerous vibe he'd been going for. "You're not scared?"

"I don't even know where my next meal's coming from. I don't have time to be scared of vampires." I roll my eyes, and my stomach growls right on cue.

He looks down at my stomach, and his expression gets complicated. He goes quiet for a full minute before he speaks again, like someone who's decided he might as well just say it.

"I'm a vampire who's allergic to blood."

I just stand there. A vampire, allergic to blood? That's like a werewolf being allergic to the moon, or a fish allergic to water.