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“You mean you have a pink razor too? And a fluffy blanket for snuggies?”
“What the fuck is snuggies?”
“You don’t snuggie?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you protest too much…” I say in a sing-song voice that makes him glare. I laugh at his fierce scowl. He doesn’t scare me. He sets my fanny aflame. The angrier, moodier, broodier he gets, the more the vajayjay is down for a good time with him.
I grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, frowning when I notice how warm the glass is.
“What’s wrong?” Night asks, sounding bored.
“The wine’s warm. The fridge must be broken.”
“It’s red. It’s meant to be warm. Or at least room temperature. Tastes better drank like blood though.”
“Ha-ha. Why’s it in the fridge then?”
“What makes you think I’m joking? You do realise where you are, right?”
“I can’t see you poisoning your victims and then drinking their toxic blood. One, you don’t seem that stupid, and two, you’re still alive.”
“Maybe I drink their blood first and poison them after,” he teases. His tone is mocking but the smirk on his face softens the jibe.
“No kink shaming here, dude, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
I open the bottle and pour two generous glasses, before holding one out to Night. He stares at it likeI’mtrying to poisonhim. Sighing and shaking my head, I pull my hand back and raise his glass to my lips.
“Paranoid, much?” I tease before flicking my attention back to the glass in my hand.
It smells…awful. I scrunch my nose up. I’ve never been a wine drinker, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.
“What’s wrong?” Night asks again, sounding exasperated.
“It smells weird. Maybe it’s corked?”
“Stop—” but he’s too late, I’ve raised the glass to my lips and taken a large gulp. It’s bitter, with a tinge of sweetness as it goes down. It’s almost…cloying. Choking.
I cough.
But it doesn’t help.
My throat feels dry. Scratchy. Like it’s closing up, actually.
Nightshade stares at me with wide-eyed horror.
What’s his problem? I’m the one who’s choking here.
That’s my last conscious thought before my knees buckle and my world turns black. A-fucking-gain.
THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS IS THAT SHE WILL DIE
‘STRAITJACKET’ – BOHNES
NIGHTSHADE
Normally, watching someone take their final breath makes my dick hard. But not tonight. Not her.
