In a bedroom upstairs, John sat in a chair by a westward-facing window reading a book. Others in the house could quench their thirst, at least, with water, but a vampire had no recourse besides opening a throat, and that he considered a last resort. While a corpse could be blamed on the evil entity in the house, and someone hysterical might believe it, he doubted a priest would fall for such a theory. He read to pass the time and distract himself from cravings that were as frustrating as an itch just beneath the skin. Everywhere he looked downstairs, it seemed, there was a neck with a pulsing vein.
He glanced at the door when Mr. Cullen walked past, then went back to reading.
Across the hall, the door slammed. John frowned. He had seen no one enter that room. Holding his place between the pages with his index finger, he got up and went to the doorway. "Was that you, just now?"