He Who Hesitates, is Lost

He pressed closer; hard lean muscle pinned her effortlessly, one hand holding her two, grasped firmly together at the wrist—tender flesh pressed roughly against the brickwork.

Her death flashed before his eyes. Fangs sliding effortlessly through soft golden skin. Hot blood pouring across his tongue. Her heart pounding frantically—each desperate beat pumping more of her life down his throat until there was nothing left.

Confusion furrowed his brow; with an angry growl he slackened his hold on her wrists, his body easing back the barest fraction—just enough.

He sailed through the air, landing hard with a loud grunt. He rolled quickly, kipping effortlessly to his feet as she approached. Glaring back over his shoulder, he took off, black leather flapping dramatically in his wake as he tried not to think—tried not to wonder exactly what had happened and why he wasn’t bathing now in the rich, intoxicating blood of his third slayer.