Haarlem, Netherlands, Teyler Museum, April 2011.
He sat at the cafe table, the daylight inching away from the table, slipping out the door. It had places to go. So did he. A flutter of anticipation and fear in his gut, he longed for the bite. The brief snap of pain as teeth broke skin, the pull of his blood. A lick of the tongue on blood tinted lips, a smile, a flush in the cheeks, both mortal and immortal.
“You’ve been working too long again.” A flash of sharp teeth.
“I know. I know. Deadlines. How can you tell?”
“You taste like espresso.”
