Originally published in Bloodlust by Black Ink Fiction

The bite was painless. Nick didn’t even realize he had been bitten until the infection set in: sweating, dizziness, nausea.

Then, blackness.

He awoke to find himself hovering over his own lifeless body. His partner, Willoughby, ducked through the mosquito net lining Nick’s tent. He removed his hat.

“Rest in peace, old friend.”

Nick’s senses tingled. He smelled blood. That’s when he realized: he was starving.

He landed on Willoughby, pierced his friend’s jugular with his needle-thin proboscis, and drank.

Willoughby slapped at his neck. Blood splattered. Nick’s world went dark.

Willoughby wiped his hand on his shirt.

“Damn mosquitoes!”

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