He couldn’t quite get his expression but it was evident that he wasn’t frightened nor surprised by the attack. With the adrenaline pumping, he couldn’t wait to play noughts and crosses on the beast’s skin, but he was a vampire of foreplay. He wanted to see what else he could bring before lashing out. He twirled to face Tom. His expression unreadable.
“It’s a shame this is going to be the first and last time we meet, Tom.” His diction was stripped of mockery, and was instead loaded with bestial umbrage, he pulled out a Bowie-class knife and played with the tip. In a burst of said adrenalin, the Old One threw it at Tom, aiming for his thigh, not sure if the knife came in contact and ran to the back door exit.
Shame. I liked that knife.
One vampire down was fine — he’d killed more than that at once before. Thing was, he’d gone a week without sleepin’ good and proper, which’d gone and left him taitered and woozy, and he were still recoverin’. So when Hal made his grand exit, Tom saw the knife whistlin’ through the air and managed to budge up, but it hit the side of his knee, right near the crease.
— He wouldn’t manage to trace Hal like this. Could walk proper, but even kneelin’, he knew already he couldn’t run.
No amount of pain could equal to the hollowness that set in — and the wolf that slid into that space.