Sunday
Talen eased his teeth from her, his tongue stroking over the wounds to heal them. He had drunk no more than he normally did, she thought, though it had been enough to give her the light-headed feeling of having had slightly too much wine. If he intended to make a habit of sating his appetite with her, he was waiting until she had used the vitamins for a few days to compensate for his drain on her. And that made sense.
You are reasoning out the circumstances in which a vampire feeds from you, she told herself, testing to see her own reaction to the bald truth of the situation. She didn’t care. There was almost a reckless absence of self-regard to the lack of caring, an absolute surrender to the opinion of Havermouth in that she held no value in herself other than her usefulness to
