2. The Killer

CHAPTER TWO

THE KILLER

D anny O’Hare leaves the pub in a hurry, the collar of his coat pulled up over his head in a vain attempt to protect his mop of ginger curls from the downpour. Danny loves to fuss over his hair. He thinks it’s his best feature.

I disagree. His best feature is the sweet nectar that flows in his veins.

I crouch down low behind the bins, trying to ignore the smells of stale beer and rotting fish and chips that assault my olfactory sense. My thighs burn from crouching, but I know I need to time this perfectly. I need to take him by surprise and get him quickly away from the street. I don’t want him discovered until later, when I’m far away from this spot.

As I predicted, Danny turns down the alley towards me on his way to his favourite spot for a smoke. I’d had to hurry out of the pub to get to my hiding spot ahead of him.

As Danny stomps past the bins, singing a reel under his breath, I reach out and grab his ankle. My fingers close around his damp sock. His body jerks and he goes down, crying out as his knees crack against the cobbles and dank water soaks through his jeans.

I step out from my hiding place and kick him in the ribs. “Roll over,” I command him, placing the weight of centuries behind every word.

He groans as he rolls onto his back, his eyes widening.

“ You, ” he hisses. “Why?—”

His words cut off as I lean over him, my hand circling his throat. It takes nothing for me to squeeze so tight that his air cuts off. “You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you, Danny? You should have learned by now not to mess with women.”

His throat pulses beneath my fingers, the blood rushing through his veins. This close, the salty scent fills my nostrils. I lean in closer and take a deep sniff, savouring the palate.

Then I bite down, and feast.