The light from the neon sign glittered in Grace’s tear, a single crystal drop sliding down her rosy cheek.
“You have to go?” she asked. “There hasn’t been an incident in a week. Not since I scraped my knuckles on the cheese grater.”
They took tea at a small table in a little nook away from the windows. Tendrils of steam curled above their cups, mixing with the buttery fragrance of a slice of warm cherry pie just out of the oven. It was yet an hour before dawn, and the moon was drifting down to its diurnal comfort.
Corbin should do the same.
He picked up Grace’s porcelain hand and trapped it gently in his, as if it were a bird that would fly away. Her pulse beat under his fingertips like the chime of an ice cream truck.
“When I come here, I never know if my mouth is watering because of the pie, or because of you. It’s confusing.”
“Can’t I help?”
He stroked her wrist. He could feel the silky red fluid flowing under her skin, warm and thick and sweet.
His breath came faster. “No. It’s just the way of my kind. I must move on, before things get...messy.”
The throb in her throat caught his eye, a wellspring of nectar. He closed his eyes and sniffed, intoxicated by her scent. He leaned closer... and closer. His mouth opened…