He nodded and kept his gaze fixed on the television. Go away, he thought, as he feigned interest in the murder story.
A moment later the mugshot of the suspect dissolved on the screen and was replaced by a professional headshot of a woman with the blackest eyes the vampire had ever seen. They were so dark it was impossible to see where the pupils of her eyes stopped and the irises began. Set into the pale skin of her face, which was framed by shoulder-length black hair, they gave her an odd, exotic look.
“Whoa,” the man beside him said, sitting back on his stool and staring at the photo.
The vampire ignored him and continued to study the woman’s face. She was about thirty, he guessed, but something in her expression hinted at a wisdom belonging to someone far older than thirty.
The hairs on the back of his right hand stood, warning him that his personal space was about to be invaded once more by the stranger.
“That’s the expert they called in,” the man said, leaning so close this time that the vampire could smell the bracing spice of the man’s deodorant. “Claims she’s some kinda’ expert on vampires or somethin’.” He landed another jab into the vampire’s ribs and snorted his delight.