George swallowed hard, his mind racing to find a plausible explanation. The woman's piercing gaze seemed to see right through him, making him feel exposed and vulnerable.
"I'm... George," he finally said, deciding that a partial truth was better than an outright lie. "And you're right, I'm not exactly a typical vampire. But then again, neither are you."
The woman's eyebrow arched slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing her face. "George," she repeated, as if tasting the name. "Well, George, you can call me Amara. And you're right, I'm not typical. But at least I know what I am."
She turned back to the stove, stirring the contents of the pot. The rich, metallic scent of blood filled the air, making George's fangs itch beneath his gums.
