Alleyway Stories

I snarl, lift my head and sniff, blood dripping from my fangs to spatter on the cheek of my meal. Thick crimson oozes from the twin puncture wounds on his neck and he groans. “Shut up.” He groans again. “I said,” I grip his hair and bang his head on the office desk with each syllable. “Shut. Up.” He gets the message. My nose twitches. Something in the air. Something new. Different. Exciting. Fresh meat, not like the pathe...