Take a step back in time and read this moment from Michael Hawkins’ past…
Was he bloodless? Yes, he mused that he had to be, sitting there hunkered down behind the barrel of ice, soft snowflakes beginning to coat his eyelashes. There couldn’t possibly be any blood left within him. Afterall, why would he crave it so?
“She sucked it out of me like a damn leech,” he muttered to himself. Clearly she had left him dry. Now he was wandering around a city of wintry alleys that felt like beaches, searching…thirsting…hunting…
And the more Michael thought about it, the more miserable he became. Visibly scowling, he hated himself. He hated what he had become, hated the strangers that stared at him, hated the sand-like snow under his feet, hated her. Only one thing could make the empty pain deep in his belly subside. He didn’t want to desire it, didn’t want the cravings, but the diabolical bitch had made him this way. Now he was a new kind of monster, one that he had never known existed, and he wished he’d never met her.
It was too late. He knew what he needed so desperately. She had told him he would develop a hunger for life, but he never knew, never thought she meant this…
Author Shanna Robillard 