Dominic savoured the first puncture of the skin, he drew the first mouthful of blood and swallowed. He felt the warmth slide down, he felt the energy within him surge. This wasn’t like the bagged and chilled blood stolen from blood banks and scam blood drives or worse the animal blood that the Low Risers were willing to imbibe. ‘The Place’ may be a venue to meet Risers but it was not a quality dining venue.
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Derek took a sip of his Guinness and looked over at one of the Omar Khayyam quotes on the pub wall. As an English teacher he felt guilty that he couldn’t remember the translator’s name.
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“That was close,” Dominic laughed as he watched his brother searching the lane below.
It was just after 10 o’clock when the doorbell rang, it rang hard and long, long enough to put Cathy in a bad mood by the time she got the downstairs to the front door.
“I’m coming, give me a chance to get down the bloody stairs.”
The ringing stopped.
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The car eased to a halt at the centre of the bridge.
“Davie, what’s that eejit doing?”
“Which camera Mitch?”
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