He watched her run away, flash of red, skin burned twice. Angel’s fingerprints scalded onto her wrist, always a reminder that the vampire got there first, came last, lingered. Lindsey watched the door, waiting for her to return, hoping she’d crawl, knew she’d parade.
When she finally came in, knowing the invitation still stood, making no attempt to smooth her hair or dress, the only thing he really noticed was the lack of panty lines. Rage crept through his body in ways Lindsey hadn’t felt since leaving Oklahoma and half a family behind.
"Take a shower," he ordered before she could say a word, twist the knife, make it his fault.
"I’m not dirty," she argued, the smile never leaving, white teeth shining behind bloodied lips.
"You’re always dirty."