You’re a fucking idiot. Always have been. Graf whipped a towel off the edge of the claw-footed tub and wound it around his head, turban style, to try to hold his scalp in place, or keep his brain from falling out, or something. Then he knelt beside Jessa and examined the bloody patch at her temple. It wasn’t a serious head injury, or at least, it didn’t look like it. The vomiting and passing out weren’t great, but she had drunk a lot of moonshine and had a pretty big scare. He was no doctor, but he guessed she’d probably passed out from shock. He lifted his fingers to his lips, but didn’t taste her blood. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. She smelled so sweet, and her body was so warm. He’d probably sink his fangs right into her skull. And that would be very bad. While he had intended to eat Jessa, that had been before he’d called such massive attention to himself at the bar. Now that everyone in town knew that he was staying with her, it would be the dumbest idea in the history of dumb to kill her.
