Don’t make him mad. One more bite and I’m a goner
I sag in his arms, feeling the blood pour from my throat, down into the collar of my shirt.
It cools so quickly, growing thick and sticky almost as soon as it escapes my veins.
A flash of blue and red bounces off the buildings, reflecting brighter in the windows.
The man holding me drops me.
I hit the pavement hard. So hard that my head whacks the cobblestone.
All I can do is lie there, my body shaking with cold and pain.
Someone is shouting.
Then my head is being lifted and forceful compression is held against my neck.
“Hold on,” someone says. “Hold on, help is coming.”
Wasn’t I just saying the very same thing to someone else?
“Hold on,” he says again. “You’re going to make it.”
But if he says anything else, I don’t catch it be
