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least that was the case if the vampire had been telling the truth. He was certain, though, that she hadn’t been lying about that. He was dead. Undead. Whatever. What was the worst that could happen to him if he fell? He couldn’t die again. Could he?
    No. Probably not.
    But the impact when he hit the ground might shatter every bone in his body or reduce his flesh to pulp. It was what would happen to any normal human body dropping from a height this great. However, the vampire’s bite had changed his physiology in some fundamental ways. He suspected the fall would hurt him tremendously, but that he would then heal, become as good as new in a short amount of time. It was a truth he felt in his bones, an essential part of his new reality.
    Still…it would fucking hurt.
    The best course of action could be just to hang out—he couldn’t suppress a laugh at that thought—until the she-bitch decided she’d punished him enough. The bitch about that was she might decide to really teach him a lesson and leave him here for a seriously long time. He began to feel sick again as he thought about how a creature like his captor might perceive the concept of “a seriously long time.”
    Hell, he could be up here for years .
    He thought about that for a while.
    Man. Holy shit. That would really fucking suck. The horror of the situation would begin to abate after a while, after, say, the first six months. Boredom would set in at some point. And then what? He felt an intense queasiness that again ramped up the pain resonating in his skull. This passed quickly, but the sensations were intense enough to tell him he’d overlooked something critical. Another cramp made him wince and cry out. A fresh horror dawned inside him as he realized he was going to have a much larger concern than mere boredom if he was kept hanging here for any significant period of time. His teeth chattered and his whole body began to quiver. The sensation of cold permeating his body was intensifying, becoming all-encompassing, making him feel like some kind of mythological beast. The Ice Man . And, like the cramping ache in his belly, it was only going to get worse the longer he went without…feeding.
    Damn that bitch .
    He wanted it. Needed it more than ever. The compulsion to drink blood filled his brain like a fever, just as it had in those first frenzied moments of his undeath. The gnawing, churning ache of the need was already nearly intense enough to drive him mad should he be unable to slake the thirst.
    He wanted to scream.
    He opened his mouth to do just that.
    But before he could give voice to the howling need consuming him, a weak sound from somewhere to his left stilled his rage, if only for a moment. His willed his body to stop shaking and turned his head toward the source of the sound. The sound came again as he got his first glimpse of his nearest comrade in torment. An emaciated middle-aged woman was chained and bolted to the stone wall less than six feet away from him. Well, he assumed she was middle-aged, but her actual chronological age was difficult to gauge, so advanced was her state of physical deterioration. She was little more than paper-thin gray skin and bones. David knew at once she’d been hanging there a long time. The muscles in her legs and arms had atrophied. Her breasts were saggy little nubs. Never in his life had he set eyes on a less physically attractive female. He was nevertheless enthralled by the sight of her. Droplets of drool welled at the corners of his mouth as his gaze locked on the weak throb of her pulse visible at the side of her neck, the place where her jugular vein lurked beneath that fragile gray skin. He pictured himself tearing the vein open and drinking deeply from it. His penis stiffened at the thought. He could even feel a bit of warmth pushing against the awful cold gripping him.
    Her eyes fluttered open as she began to perceive his scrutiny. Her head lolled toward him and her mouth dropped open to emit a