When I met Duncan Fraser, I knew I would do anything he asked, even if it was wrong…even if it was reprehensible.
His presence left me dazed and dim, like an opioid addict bobbing in and out of a fuzzy, murky consciousness. Even the sound of his voice dulled my will. At Duncan’s hand, I was a witless marionette hating yet craving the masterful pull of his strings.
Preceding a sickening swoon, I recall a pair of blue eyes, glacial and raw as he pulled his face away from my neck, pointy alabaster fangs dripping with blood.