His presence was intoxicating. From the moment he entered our mysterious town, we were consumed. I was mesmerized, completely taken by him, but not like everyone else. They stared at him like a juicy piece of meat. The men looked at him like a meal; they sniffed the gorgeous scent of his blood like a druggie does to a fresh bag of pot. I could tell that if they ever managed to get the poor human boy alone, they would share him among their fellow young vampires and feast on him. They would bite into his warm flesh and feel his blood flow to the surface, through the wounds that they inflected on him. They would drink his blood, which smelled so very delicious. His blood was rich with life and love and coated with a thick layer of innocence. You could smell his joys and pleasures. Biting into him would give them a true high that would last days, if not a week or two. They would laugh in the horrible ecstasy of his screams until the loss of blood left him too weak to utter a sound. That would thrill them—a greater thrill than sex, and believe me, vampires love sex. His name was Justin Collin, and he too consumed me.