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Summary
“It’s just about practice,” David says slowly. “And I can give you that.”
“What do you mean?” Michael asks. He’s turned back to face David. A promising sign.
“I mean, you can practice. On me.” He bares his teeth, bites at the empty air, and turns it into a winning smile. Angles his face to the side and jerks a thumb at his own neck. “Maybe it’ll help, to get a feel for it first. Might make the real thing easier.”
“Yeah, right,” Michael says unsteadily. “It’s your blood that got me into this mess in the first place.”
His eyes are locked on David’s neck, though. David can see his throat working as he swallows hard. There’re the logical objections, and then there’s what even the mention of blood can conjure up for them. Logic doesn’t really stand a chance.
“So what’s the harm in a little more?” David says casually.