Where Wild Things Roam
“This isn’t a joke. He’s a vampire.”
Stunned, I draw a stuttering breath, my hands sinking to my sides. Behind me, I hear the faint grating of metal sliding against metal. Realizing the vampire has risen to his feet, I turn slowly, terrified.
Though he’s nowhere near as tall or as bulky as any of the weres, the vampire still stands taller than me. His blue eyes, open wide in surprise, rake me from head to toe continuously for several long seconds while my breath catches and I stare back. He’s not as pallid and emaciated as most vampires I’ve encountered, though there’s still no blush of life to him. Even undead, he retains a great deal of the good looks he had in life—longish, dark brown hai
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