Chapter 13

Thursday, 6:17 a.m.

The bedsprings squeaked and groaned as Charles shifted his weight, setting off a cacophony of gaseous outlays. He couldn't sleep. An active brain didn't help matters. Next to him, The Wife lay on her stomach pretending to be asleep. He lay as still as he could, and listened. She was awake, breathing through her pillow in order not to smell him. He smiled to himself. Damn her efforts.

He'd best rise up and get out of here before she started her insistent demands for sex. She'd been like that since their wedding day ten years before. He no longer touched her. How dare she think he desired a thirty-one-year-old bag o' bones like her? After all, with each new batch of blood, he grew younger.