Baiting the Trap Peter overslept and when he woke, a huge blood red moon was setting behind the distant blue hills of Dartmoor. He wrapped his hunky body in a hotel bathrobe and sat in the little bay window-seat that overlooked the town square. The drunks had all gone home now and the square was empty: just sea-gulls pecking at the plastic food containers and a discarded lager can, rattling across the stone slabs in the wind. He could hear Katya in the shower. She swept into the room; a towel wrapped round her, in a gust of warm, scented air, as the first rays of the morning sun came slanting through the diamond-paned, leaded window, filling their hotel room with light. She dropped the towel and stood, arms outstretched, bathing in its golden light. She leant back; basking in the first pale warmth of the winter sun. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips pouting and blissful. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,†said Peter.
“You wouldn’t believe how long I have waited to be able to do this.â€
“Don’t you miss anything?â€
“What? About being a vampire?â€
“Yes.â€
“I suppose I miss the camaraderie: I had some good friends. But I won’t miss the killing: it sickened me. I couldn’t help myself, well not until I found you.â€
“I broke the spell?â€
“No. I made a new one.â€