at the top of the ramp, to see if the sound flushed his quarry.
Nothing.
A belly full of beer and you're a hero, he thought, just sober enough to realize he could be walking into trouble and just drunk enough to not really care.
Halfway down into the pit, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness, he saw it again. Man-shaped, moving too quickly to be a wino, it disappeared behind one of the dozers.
As silently as he was able, DeVerne quickened his pace. He'd catch the son-of-a-bitch in the act. He made a small detour and pulled a three foot length of pipe from a pile of scrap. No sense taking chances, even a cornered rat would fight. The scrape of metal against metal rang out unnaturally loud, echoing off the sides of the pit. His presence announced, he charged around the dozer, bellowing a challenge, weapon raised.
Someone was lying on the ground. DeVerne could see the shoes sticking out of the pool of shadow. In that pool of shadow-or creating it, DeVerne couldn't be sure- crouched another figure.
DeVerne yelled again. The figure straightened and turned, darkness swirling about it.
He didn't realize the figure had moved until the pipe was wrenched from his hand. He barely had time to raise his other hand in a futile attempt to save his life.
There's no such thing! he wailed silently as he died.
Wednesday morning, the tabloid headline, four inches high, read: "VAMPIRE STALKS CITY."
Chapter Two
He lifted her arm and ran his tongue down the soft flesh on the inside of her wrist. She moaned, head back, breath coming in labored gasps.
Almost.
He watched her closely and when she began to go into the final climb, when her body began to arch under his, he took the small pulsing vein at the base of her thumb between the sharp points of his teeth and bit down. The slight pain was for her just one more sensation added to a system already overloaded and while she rode the waves of her orgasm, he drank.
They finished at much the same time.
He reached up and gently pushed a strand of damp mahogany hair off her face. "Thank you," he said softly.
"No, thank you, " she murmured, capturing his hand and placing a kiss on the palm.
They lay quietly for a time; she drifting in and out of sleep, he tracing light patterns on the soft curves of her breasts, his fingertip following the blue lines of veins beneath the white skin. Now that he'd fed, they no longer drove him to distraction. When he was sure that the coagulant in his saliva had taken effect, and the tiny wound on her wrist would bleed no more, he untangled his legs from hers and padded to the bathroom to clean up.
She roused while he was dressing.
"Henry?"
"I'm still here, Caroline."
"Now. But you're leaving."
"I have work to do." He pulled a sweater over his head and emerged, blinking in the sudden light from the bedside lamp. Long years of practice kept him from recoiling, but he turned his back to give his sensitive eyes a chance to recover.
"Why can't you work in the daytime, like a normal person," Caroline protested, pulling the comforter up from the foot of the bed and snuggling down under it. "Then you'd have your nights free for me."
He smiled and replied truthfully, "I can't think in the daytime." '
"Writers," she sighed.
"Writers," he agreed, bending over and kissing her on the nose. "We're a breed apart."
"Will you call me?"
"As soon as I have the time."
"Men!"
He reached over and snapped off the lamp. "That, too." Deftly avoiding her groping hands, he kissed her good-bye and padded silently out of the bedroom and through the dark apartment. Behind him, he heard her breathing change and knew she slept. Usually, she fell asleep