This is a reworking of a chapter of my novel “Fangs” which comes just after half way through. By this point Angela, our “heroine”, has been living with Count Vlad de Lupina, a reclusive vampire, for just over a year.
. In this version of this chapter, I’m removing any continuity issues from earlier in the novel. Think of this as an exercise in how appalling I can make a character without making them completely irredeemable. A version of this was first posted on my deviantart page, but this is a “clean”, more tame, version: any naughty words or adult content has been toned down. Enjoy!)
Angela dropped the last of the silverware into the drawer and stomped back towards the kitchen, picking at the plaster on her finger. Having to cover every little nick, even the tiniest scratch, irritated her; she might as well cover herself in cotton wool whenever she moved. Not that she was overly clumsy, it was just that, well, the castle was so full of sharp things. It was already dark outside, the late September nights drawing longer, giving her more precious moments with Vlad. But where was he? Most nights he appeared soon after sunset, sometimes even before, lingering in the shadows as the last rays of cold autumn sun leaked slowly out of the sky. She sighed and kicked the corner of the cabinet, staring gloomily at the floor as she paced into the kitchen. As she came through the doorway, a sudden chill thrilled through her spine forcing her to look up sharply.
“Oh there you are,” she said brightly. “I was wondering what’d happened to you. Having a lie-in, huh?” She frowned. “Are you all right?”
Vlad said nothing, but stood stiffly by the sink, facing away from her, his arms forming an upturned V, fingers coiled around the edge of the work surface. When at last he turned to face her, Angela took a step back. His hair hung loose and lank over haggard features, his skin had none of its usual lustre but looked grey and dull. He had forgotten his shirt, a crumpled jacket slung over his slim naked torso. His belt hung unbuckled over scuffed, ripped trousers which only half exposed the long, talon-like toenails of his muddied bare feet. At first Angela thought he was ill, but there was something in the cold glint of his eyes, the hungry parting of his lips, the slithering of his tongue over those long sharp white teeth that told her otherwise.
“Run,” he breathed, barely more than a whisper. “Run. Get out of here. Get out of her before I rip your throat out.”
I want a man to throw me against a wall like that and be….indecent lol There are just no passionate men out there any more. I enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed reading the Diary of Todd. Interesting, fascinating and passionate. It just keeps the reader reading on and on. 
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