Logan drank delicately, like he'd sipped at the wine at dinner: long, careful pulls. His cold tongue lapped at the spot, neatly gathering every drop. I lay slack in his arms, vastly uninterested. But still, my heart was racing. My mind couldn't understand why.
Finally, he pulled away, my blood shining around his toothpaste-ad smile. Behind him, out of sight, Jenny began to groan weakly. I heard the unmistakable slap of flesh against flesh. Blood and s*x, feeding and titillation. The real party.
“How rude of me," Logan breathed, his cold breath smelling of salt and metal. My blood. “I haven't offered you anything to drink."
And still holding me, he took something out of his pocket. I saw the shine of a pocketknife snapping open. If I could have felt anything other than distant, numbed d
