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“Oy, idiota, I’m hungry,” Miguel’s Beast hisses in a voice both his own and anything but, rattling around in his chest and in his mind like a cat in a bird cage. The fledgling vampire was putting off feeding again and could feel the strain it was starting to put on his body even without the rude and constant reminders.
“Tú pequeño llorón. Pobrecito cobarde. Too chickenshit to drink a little blood. This is what you are now, chico, and the sooner you realize which of us really calls the shots around here, the better off we’re both gonna be.”