Transylvania Towers II
I said some lines without stumbling over my L’s, spinning my best British patois—more Jarvis Cocker than Christopher Lee—something about virgin flesh to fill my thirst and on like that for a few minutes. They ate it all up. My eyes snapped shut and I bit down hard into Christa’s neck, chomping the flesh until blood welled up and spurted from the wound. One screamed—it was Quincy. Christa, in my arms, giggled lusciously.
I spit up the blood on the carpet and ghosted back to the Count’s room. Dizzy, I fell onto the carpet and dry heaved until the metallic taste was overwhelmed by the sourness of acid. I couldn’t—I didn’t—what if Leah saw?
And yet all I wanted to do was devour those red lips.
When Christa knocked to say my seduction scenes with the Lucys was next, my eyes bore such a fury that she flinched as though slapped.
“We can continue on without you,” she said softly. “Van Helsing has–”
“That would be best,” I seethed.
We parted.
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