When I said manhandled, I wasn't exaggerating. I stood there for a minute with my power spilling, cool and seeking, like a wind, except that this wind didn't move your hair, it only crept along your skin. This isn't about romance, it's about food, I said. The alley was an alley, which meant it was narrow, cramped, not as clean as you'd like, not as well lit as you'd prefer, and made my claustrophobia complain.
That was fine, as long as she stayed the hell away from my office. The only other vamp I'd ever known that was that good had never been human. At home you moved to the rhythm of the song, not just where I moved you. I felt it growing until I thought I would burst apart in bloody fragments.
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