Her fingers curled like a dead spider, steel talons piercing deep into her own palms; no blood came, she’d emptied. She snarled the desperate savagery of primal instinct, her intent to kill. But it was her eyes that hurt me most, dead they were to love, to life, to me. If she could’ve taken me, ravaged in grotesque, disgusting ways, she would’ve, but she couldn’t. Even then, as I looked upon her desperate and alone, I knew I still loved her. After all that had happened, I couldn’t change that. It didn’t stop me chomping down on her heart until it popped, though. Well, what else could I do, I was hungry and one vampire per town was too many.
Richard M. Ankers
Author of The Eternals