“Drink it already,” Steven told me, in between ravenous chomps.
“It’s blood,” I needlessly reminded him.
“Got it,” he replied, “which you, as a vampire, drink.”
I looked from it to him. “What’s it…what’s it taste like?”
He nodded and grinned, took another bite and then replied, “Because, as a werewolf, I have firsthand experience in blood drinking?”
“To an extent, yes.”
He set his fork down and put his hand over my own. “I eat meat because it’s my kind’s way. It is what sustains us. Blood is just nature’s gravy.”
I smiled at the imagery. “A nice way of putting it, thank you, but this is only gravy, dude, no meat.” I pointed at the frosty glass as my smile quivered and then promptly vanished. “Thick, red gravy, perhaps human.” That I neglected, quite on purpose, to ask Igor about. On
