Kiss of the Black Angel

by Della Van Hise

CHAPTER FOUR

  I came to in my hotel room, my cheek resting on the cold white tile of the bathroom floor. The water in the shower was still running, steam so thick the wallpaper had peeled away at its seams and started to curl.

  My head ached horribly, and at first I recalled nothing of Miquel. Groaning as I struggled to consciousness, the only thing I remembered was Dimitri—the crazy kid from the dealer's room who'd gotten under my skin.

  Clearly, I'd been masturbating and struck my head on the sink when my climax dragged me to my knees with images of the vampyre boy sneaking through my sick mind.

  I did not recall turning off the shower nor crawling to bed, where I fell into a fitful sleep.

  Dreams of red fruit and painful kisses haunted my dreams.