The metallic zing of blood was heavy in the air like a sickly perfume intoxicating Fergus. He pushed himself off the wolf's lifeless body with a satisfied snarl hissing deep within his chest.
"The fear in him was well-spiced. It just makes feeding juicier. I never knew werewolves could be this tasty." He smacked his lips and stepped out of the shadows.
There, he stretched lazily watching with fascination as the battle outside reached a crescendo of screams and clashing steel.
Perfecto.
As he watched the killings, and the struggle of vampires and werewolves, he wondered who to feed on. He couldn't pick from the street and attack them because he could be seen and that would blow his cover.
Hence, he would make that corner where he killed that pathetic wolf his feeding ground for this moment of feasting.
Easier prey awaited. He needed to pick off the stragglers, the ones separated from the pack, the ones ripe for the taking.
