Strong
|
A long smooth back, a curve of finely toned butt,
a naked vampire sprawled across a cold tomb like a carving of an angel in
mourning anguish. Snookered from too much cheap scotch, he’s barely conscious,
blissfully numb. She places the spare clothes on his chair ready and dumps the ones he’s ruined in a black sack. The demon’s viscera have burned through the denim, and it stings in contact with her hand. Dawn tries not to look at him. If she sees the agony on his face, she’ll crumple too and today she needs to be the strong one. |
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