I snarled, my fangs elongating at the thought. That would never happen. Finn was mine. Mine to protect, mine to cherish. I would never let anyone use him as cattle.
A couple of drops were all it took to get absolutely hooked on him.
His blood was my personal heroin.
I heard the faint tip-tapping of footsteps in the distance and shook my head. I didn’t need to find the perfect meal, didn’t need to find someone who tasted as good as Finn—which wasn’t going to happen anyway—I just needed someone to feed from. I’d just take the next one and get it over with.
So I closed my eyes, tuning into the person approaching.
It was a guy, the footsteps quick but not hurried, the way he carried himself different from most women, especially during the night in this part of town. He was a heavy dude, the steps echoing loudly off the street. A moment later, his cologne hit.Cheap, musky-sweet perfume that made me want to gag mixed with the sweat of at least a couple of days.
Scrunching up my nose, I contemplated my options. Feeding from him seemed less and less appealing, but my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It could be Finn texting me.
And if I got the feeding over with, I could check my phone. Maybe I could even get another date out of it.
Okay, let’s do it.
I crouched down and jumped from the fire escape I’d been using as a vantage point for the past hour or so and landed silently in the back alley.
This spot was perfect. A dingy pizza place had its dumpsters right at the beginning of the alley, so all I had to do was wait for the guy and drag him a couple of feet. No matter how tall and muscular he might be, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
The footsteps came closer and closer, his speed increasing as the first drops of rain hit the hood of my jacket.
The rain had started.
Just at the right moment.
My muscles tensed, my senses zeroing in on my target.
Three.
Two.
One.
The guy came into view.
I was right. He was heavyset, maybe in his mid-forties, with a bald spot on top of his head that was glistening with sweat.
He swore as a drop of rain hit his forehead, but the noise turned into a surprised grunt as I stepped out behind him, wrapped one arm around his neck, slapped a hand over his mouth, and pulled him into the alley.
He struggled in my arms, and his panic released another dose of sweat, increasing the stench that made my stomach roll.
I should’ve waited for the next guy, I thought as I dragged the kicking guy behind the dumpster.
Panic turned to anger and back, his efforts to get away increasing. He was trying to talk, but the only sounds coming out of his mouth were muffledmmphs. He kicked me in the shins, trying his best to hurt me, but he just didn’t have the strength.
I didn’t pin him against the wall, didn’t want to give him the opportunity to get a glimpse of me—not that he’d remember what had happened—I simply used the hand of the arm I had around his neck to drag down his jacket.
His pulse was fluttering nervously, the vein in his neck pumping blood through his system at high speed.
My fangs elongated; the scent of blood now overpowered his stench.
He’d do. He was alive, the blood fresh, calling for me.
I bit into his neck, his blood flooding my mouth, the metallic taste making my eyes roll back as I greedily sucked down a couple of mouthfuls of the warm, thick liquid.
