Pen Pricks MicroFiction

Miscommunication

“Where were you?”

“Waiting for you, as planned.”

She growled and circled him. “I was there, you weren’t.”

“The draw of virgin blood overwhelmed me.”

“Virgins? At the biker bar?” She licked his blood-drenched face.

“No. The church lot on Biker Street.”

She snarled, but the taste of fresh untainted blood dulled her anger. “Forgiven.”