a -

. While I try to inhale as much air as possible, a muscular arm wraps itself around m

What am I doing here? How did I end up here? Who's standing next to me

s. My fingers reach for my neck. No cut there, no pain. I struggle to move, but the man's grip holds me

ranules beneath my nails. I raise my hand and it's filled with dirt, black,

ker than inside my hellish vision. However, my eyes become accustomed to the dark quickly, or I am e

asp with a hand when I see the one from my dream, the one w

ll my attention goes back to the man. I can plainly see his long, black lashes, as well as how they parted pre

the need for answers. Slowly, I try to crawl from under the man's arm, but i

es mine before I grasp the handle. How quick is this guy? He takes both of my wrists

keeps mumbling

. A dry coating covers the skin of my cleavage. But the worst part of all is the sudden realizatio

reated, and I'm free again, gasping. His stunnin

rol of the situation. "Ok. Tell me. Who ar

retching his lips earns him some sympathy. After I nod, he cont

ng for him to laugh and say

s can explain everything. "You're a madman! Strigois are just a fairytale made up to s

his heart, his skin icy-cold beneath his shirt, just like the

s are a made-up concept. And how corny would it be f

hand, which I immediately pull back. "And we are strigois, the original version, not the fiction.

you drunk my blood? Wha

you, though I may have licked some of your blood considering it was already there for the tak

me to believe I've b

much of your life in the dark, your nig

one of you, did you? The stillne

ever." He steps forward, his face almost next to mine. "That's what I did to you. That's why I'm sorry." He grimaces and points

my back slams into the wall. In a feat of insanity, I

" he whispe

again. I yell and punch myself until I hear it, a faint but nevertheless much

is time, his touch doesn't make me shudder. "There's n