Something that ratchetted the vampire’s response.
Sensory and anticipation-
“Don’t-” Richard tried.
“Filthy habit” –Mercy bent, her hand reaching–
“smoking cigars.”
Surprise replaced her frown.
Surprise. Horror. Belated recognition.
She fainted.
The severed finger still clutched in her hand.
Frances Tate is a self-published vampire writer, and a self-published and
published writer of drabbles. She lives in the north west of England where
she is working on a series of vampire books that explore the pseudo-science
of vampires. When she’s not writing either novels or one-hundred-word
stories, she experiments with flash and short stories. She has one (long
suffering) partner, two fish and a transient population of wild birds and
hedgehogs to feed. She enjoys curry, cinema, reading, gardening, exploring
historical sites and travelling.
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