Blood, Sex, and Cocktails

The next night was exactly the kind I hate – too many people wanting too many drinks when I have too little of so many ingredients. The waitresses were giving me a hard time again, so that just added to it. Overall, I was just stressed, and I stayed after my shift to talk to Eric about it. After the place had cleared out, he was standing at the back of the room, looking at me as if he just knew what was coming, and I fought myself to not actually stomp over to him.
“I was told last night that restocking would be taken care of by your day staff, Eric. So can you tell me just why about half my stock was still drained at the beginning of the night?”
“You made it through the night fine,” he said simply, belted down, and I was stunned for a second.
“A decent bartender always will. That's not the damn point.”
“You will have a stocked bar tomorrow.” He growled slightly, “Are we done here?”
“As long as you're growling and doing that barely-restrained, belted-down shit, no, we sure the hell aren't. When I'm told a job will be done, I expect it will be done, and when it comes to my domain – my bar, where I do what I do – it is every little bit my concern when things aren't done right, because it is my ass that gets criticized and antagonized. So what the fuck right do you have to be -” my breath caught and I choked on my unspoken next words.
“To be growling and belted-down?” His voice on that question was more growl and less belted. “Pretty sure you're beginning to understand now, my Destiny,” his name for me was in more a growl than any other words, “that my tone is born not out of irritation or anger, but out of the fact that here you stand before me, blood pumping and boiling in rage, when I am just hungry enough to take note of every drop. Which is not a way that I particularly like you to see me. So, are we done here so you can leave and I can eat?”
But the air of his hunger was stronger than his will to have me leave, or my will to leave. It didn't take much to convince him to feed from me – and this time, at least, I got to be aware for the experience. It did feel nice...in its weird way. And he controlled himself as he could – it probably didn't help his efforts to have me urging him on in the grip of my own reflection of his bloodlust. And obviously it didn't stop with bloodletting, though I still wasn't sure how I felt about being involved with Eric in that way, or any of the things that had been said the night before. But, in any case, I was a big girl, and I could certainly do what I wanted with who I wanted. And there wasn't really much use denying I wanted to have sex with Eric and allow him a little snack if the urge arose. It was more, though. In every aspect, that showed. He treated me as he had – caring for me, defending me against other employees or customers, without being too invasive, comforting me. That all extended into this personal life we formed, though. I started staying at the bar a couple nights, saying I was too tired or too buzzed to drive home. We'd share a bed and both fall into our day-sleeps – mine much shorter than his, obviously. Some nights there was sex or feeding, some nights not - we talked, and shockingly enough, we smiled and laughed. I couldn't even begin to track the progression of it - we just...became what we became. This went on for maybe a month and a half, maybe a little longer, before this uneasiness I had felt inside of me became...un-ignorable.