Blood Line

Street lamps glistened off the wet brick road, in the early morning hours of London. She left the pub and stopped briefly under the lamp to adjust her stockings.
A shadow streaked across the rain soaked brick.
“The kind of thing you’re not sure you really saw.”
She anxiously walked on looking back to see if there was anyone, or anything there.
She ran into him dropping her bag.
He was “tall dark, handsome.” They bent down to pick up her bag, her eye’s met his, yellow blood strained she was looking into a “lost dark soul.” She couldn’t take her eyes off his. She was helpless thoughtless, and weak.
She heard him without him speaking, she felt him without touch, and she knew what he was there for. Her body wilted, she tilted her head. He softly brushed her hair aside.She closed her eyes; he wrapped her in his cloak and leaned inward. With pain and pleasure a small line of blood trickled down her throat.
He dropped her to the wet brick road “empty, drained of life” and vanished into the night.

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