When the Shadows Bite

The feeling is **visceral**, but this goes deeper than that. It’s more than animalistic.

The hunt.

The capture.

The kill, when her slender neck snaps in his hands, and the skin breaks allowing the spray of warm blood, salty and pure, to hit his tongue.

Ecstasy!

The red gush slows opposite his disappointment, but he sucks on, pulling at the wound harder until he feels the body collapse with his efforts. When nothing more comes he tosses away the desiccated corpse like refuse.

He feels satiated, but only a little and there is time enough to hunt again before morning.