“You don’t believe me,” Seraphina said, voice dropping, a velvet blade. A journalist for The City Pulse, she’d clawed her way through gritty crime beats and dull city council meetings, only for her editor to dump this fluff piece on her lap: “Interview with a Self-Proclaimed Vampire.” She snorted, rubbing her temples—either her publisher was scraping the barrel, or this was payback for last week’s snarky email. Porn “Cum, skeptic,” she ordered, and Lena did—shuddering, squirting, soaking the air as her body shook, rage drowned in ecstasy. “No offense, but vampires? She writhed, floating, fishnets brushing her skin as Seraphina knelt, licking her own claws, then dragging them over Lena’s tits—scraping, pinching nipples, leaving marks. “I’m Seraphina. Seraphina’s crimson eyes narrowed, catching every jab, and a spark flared behind them.
