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“Don’t kill me Louis,” I whispered urgently in his ear. The fact that he could, instantly, in that movement, made my head swim. I took a long draw of his blood to keep my strength up. Fourth of July sparklers, bombs raining down on some village in Europe, the yellow light of burning buildings.
“Baby, I could never. Never,” he said. I loved when he called me that. I slowed down my efforts to better enjoy the moment and let my heartbeat catch up with the blood loss. Baby. He always said it in a tone that came from deep in his chest. He returned to my wrist to kiss away the blood dripping down my wrist and sip slowly from the puncture marks.