“Are you going to kill me?”
He rubbed my hair lovingly before pulling his hand away from the back of my head. I hadn’t even seen him touch me, but there it was. My blood. My blood and his hand. And he looked delighted by the crimson liquid as he slowly brought his fingers to his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine as he sucked at them hungrily. I was fascinated despite the pain and fear as I watched, wondering suddenly if hallucinations could be so devastatingly real. He suckled and I watched. Fascinated. Was that really my blood?
My blood, his hand, his mouth, his eyes widening . . . he stopped. Something was wrong. He growled before suddenly spitting my blood loudly into the dirt at my feet. And then he snarled.
“Fuck! You bitch!”
Black spots wavered dangerously in front of my eyes. This was it. I was dying.
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