Luka Forrester

“You were drunk,” Luka says, petting her breast with his thumb and leaning up to take another look at her throat. He had used one fang to graze her neck, then fixed his mouth over the bite to drink. With his primeval teeth anything more could have been very deadly indeed. His tongue, kisses and antiseptic spit have left it a bright smear on the whiteness of her neck, slowly clotting. “I didn’t surprise you too much, did I?”