The vampire often glanced at him, helpless. The Detective would shrug; ‘that’s her right there’ said his gesture. ‘Take her or leave her.’
The vampire always took her.
They were exact opposites; they shared nothing, but Vicki. And Vicki was enough.
For Vicki Mike sat, for hours, on the floor next to his laying form as his spine realigned after snapping. He did nothing to alleviate his pain, nor offered blood.
The vampire didn’t resent him. The Detective still bore the scars in his neck with no little amount of disgust.
But he sat and waited. For hours. For Vicki.cortado aquí.
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