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particularly good idea.
    As I stood there, luxuriating under the warmth of the hot water, it occurred to me that I was pretty hungry. Wonderful. I would have to go out hunting, and I couldn’t take her with me. Should I drain her to the last drop?
    It seemed somehow quite rude to take her life after inviting her into my home. The idea made me uncomfortable. I was no serial killer, luring young women to their deaths, after all. I simply fed on humans because I needed to eat, no more, no less. If I were ever to take her life it would be from sheer self preservation. I would not kill her because it struck my fancy to do so.
    What had she done to make her parents think she was such an unredeemable arsehole? Why had they kicked her out of house and home? Was it because she really was an animal masquerading as an attractive young woman?
    Would it be a good idea to kill her? If she went missing, would her parents care? Struck, I walked around this thought for a moment or so. My obedient memory from twelve years ago brought up the unremarkable features of Mrs. Hunter. She had had a twinkle in her hazel eyes, such kindness. The love she held for her daughter shone bright and true in her heart and eyes.
    I shut off the water and got out of the shower, humming, and dried myself off with one of my favorite towels. I ran a brush through my thick hair.
    What would Mrs. Hunter be thinking now? Would she be regretting her actions, questioning where Bronwyn was, wondering how to find her, how to bring her home again? Or would she be thinking that it was about time her rebellious daughter found out that living at home wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her? There were, after all, a lot of questionable humans out there that took great delight in tormenting young people.
    Bronwyn, quite frankly, intrigued me, I mused as I pulled on my long, black, baggy shorts and long sleeved white shirt. She had been a pretty young girl and had grown up into an equally lovely young lady. Her long, blonde hair and stunning emerald green eyes combined with her lithe, muscular body made her quite an appealing package, a promise of spectacular beauty to come. Yet she was such a rebel—she had habits that were quite unseemly for a child of her tender years.
    She had seemed an obedient child when we had first met, so what had happened to her?
    All right. My simple curiosity would decide her fate over the course of the evening.
    I pushed my long, damp, hair out of my face and back over my shoulders. I grabbed my discarded shorts and dug in the pockets for my keys. I threw my dirty laundry in the hamper I had in the bathroom.
    My first order of business was to find my guest, if she was still here.
    I walked up the hallway and climbed the rickety wooden stairs to the door that led to the kitchen. With a steady hand—my headache had already disappeared—I put the key in the lock and opened it with a firm snick.
    My stomach growled mightily. Needless to say I was bloody well starving.
    “Quiet!” I slapped it to get it to stop yelling at me.
    I looked around the kitchen, half hoping a victim was there for me to snack on. It was empty—a slightly water-stained glass sat on the damp sink from where Bronwyn had obviously helped herself to something to drink. The doors to all the cupboards lay shut, my bare fridge hummed away quite happily in electric contentment.
    I first tried the master bedroom. It was jarringly different to its normal sterile state, with crumpled sheets and her discarded clothing.
    I checked the master bathroom. The shower was wet. At least she had some concept of hygiene. Not like a typical human slut, so that part of her mother’s assessment was wrong.
    I checked the dummy wardrobe I kept upstairs and noticed one of my white shirts and another pair of green cargo shorts was missing.
    That made sense. Her luggage was still in my car. She needed something clean to wear. Where was she?

    Sighing, I ran a hand through my now dry hair and