Bill visited every grocery store, gas station, and mini-mart in York in the hopes of finding just one bottle of True Blood. He hadn't eaten since he'd arrived in Pennsylvania and he was finding himself considerably parched, as it were. He wasn't at a point of frenzy. Oh, no. He wasn't even close. But he could feel the hunger inside of him, clawing at the pit of his stomach, wanting to escape in the form of an uncontrollable beast. But he didn't let that side of him breach his exterior. Instead, he let his own hunger eat himself from the inside out. And the only signs of his nutritional desire were the more pallid (than usual) color of his skin, the dark sunken rims of his eyes, and the dry (nearly cracked) flesh of his lips.
What was wrong with this town that it did not cater to the night dwellers?
A shiver crept up his spine as he walked along the street. He was trying to enjoy the night, despite the wandering focus of his mind. He was thinking about feeding which got him to thinking about Sookie (whose blood tasted like sweet, liquid gold -- blood that burned a fire of sunlight in his soul) and thinking about Sookie made him think about sex which just made him think about how hungry he was.
He just couldn't win.
His fangs popped out unexpectedly in response to his own lustful thoughts. He blinked, shook his head, and forced himself to retract the sharpened teeth. The last thing he needed was for someone to think he was going to attack them.
Oh, how he wished Sookie were there with him.
Bill closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember what she smelled like. He could remember the taste of the sun on her skin and the flowers in the spring. She was --
He paused. There was another sort of scent in the air. He furrowed his brows and looked over at the man at the mustang. Ah, yes. The distinct odor of Were.