“You don’t really, really like them.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“You can’t like them,” said Xochitl turning around. “You can’t like, love, admire, or care about anyone. You don’t have it in you. You’re heart doesn’t beat. You’re a damned, dead thing. The only thing you feel is that certain attraction that a predator has for its prey. You play with your food like a cat plays with a mouse, like a shark plays with a seal, tossing it in the air, and having fun with it, and then tearing it apart. You vampires beguile your victims with grotesque little pantomimes as lovers or even friends. You become fascinated with them, but only until you suck the last of their lives away.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know too much about it,” hissed Xochitl.
“You see what you want to see!” shouted Novelyne, her face masked in anger, but staying in its human form. “You don’t know what I feel. I’m still me. I’m me! You don’t know what I feel. … The predator’s fascination with its prey… At least that’s a feeling! At least I feel something! You don’t feel anything at all!”
She turned on her heel and started down the stairs.
“The sun hasn’t gone down yet.”
“It’s dark enough for me!”
The slamming door announced that Novelyne was no longer in the office.