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"Keep running."
It had been brief, but that taste of life had been enough to sustain Korse for a little longer. That breath of freedom that had come from the red-hot spirit of these so-called Killjoys was like an explosion of raw power screaming through his veins.
He couldn't erase his smirk as he stalked back to the car, one of his minions dragging the girl. Something about these boys was more powerful than many of the others he had drained. One taste of their energy had him buzzing for days.
But inevitably, the crash was that much worse, and he had to leave the lab, had to chase them down again, had to have another taste. Some nights he dreamed of wrapping his hands around the leader – Poison's – face and draining him dry. He felt his veins boiling at the very idea of such a red-hot juice screaming through him. It might even be enough to make him feel alive.
But always, beyond that high, was the fear of what he would become if he gave in to that side of himself. And what would he do if he did drain the boy dry and could never taste him again?
Korse shuddered; despite the fire humming through him, that thought chilled his blood.
No, he couldn't take it all, but for now he had taken enough. And with their brat held captive, he had a plan that might satisfy his hunger forever. As sweet as the chase was, he couldn't resist the idea of their captive rage.
They would come for the brat, and then he could taste them again.