“Right. And you get a fantastic high from it,” I said, unimpressed with his evaluation of our blood to trip on, whatever.
Needless to say, I edged away from him slightly. Noticing my movement, his lips bent up at the corners. He lifted the glass of blood and took another sip, making a lip-smacking sound again as though the glass held the best port or cognac he'd ever tasted.
“So, let me get this straight,” I said. “People who are poets, artists, and such, give their blood so that vampires can know all about them, or their lives?”
“Yes,” Skrlock said.
“Right. Plus to feed a vampire.”
“Mmm,” he said low. “I would never call it feed, or food. For future reference, please do call it sustenance.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said, hoping he hadn't taken offense. I should have known better, havi
