Morton glanced around the small reservation town of Cameron, Arizona. This was the place where Graham had decided to stop to feed. It was quiet and very dark. The population wasn’t too large either.
Graham got out of the car, so Morton followed suit.
He fidgeted nervously and reached for Graham’s hand. “What’s the plan?”
“There’s an old one nearby. Dying soon. Can you sense him?”
Morton stood perfectly still and reached out with his senses. An old man, not far from where they were, in a small house, almost a shack.
“You’re right, he doesn’t have long. Maybe a few days.” He bit his lip. He really hated this, but he was hungry.
“We can’t change what we are now, love,” Graham said, softly. “Let’s go.”
They walked toward the small house where the old Native American man lived. The short
