"Easy there, sweetheart," he said, grabbing my elbow to steady me. "No need for any trouble."
Heart hammering, I tried to yank away, horrified to find his grip was vise-like. "What do you want?"
He glanced up and down the dark, empty street, then pulled his scarf down to reveal an evil smile under the glare of the streetlight. The world moved in slow motion as he raised my bandaged hand, pressed his nose to my palm, and inhaled deeply.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said, baring inhuman teeth at me. "There's only one thing men like me ever want."
I fought. Oh I really did. I stamped on his feet and kicked at his knees, I tried to poke him in the eyes with my free hand. I tried to knee him in the balls. And the whole time, he laughed at me, holding me easily with one hand, and swinging away from every feeble attack I made. It was like some grotesque dance, and I was hopelessly, horribly aware that he was in control. He was too strong for me to escape, too agile for me to strike. And nobody was coming to help me.
Finally, he grew bored of my struggle, and grabbed my other wrist. I screamed as he pulled me in hard against him, but he muffled it with a quick, hard kiss. Then he bit my lip, much, much harder, and I tasted salty blood in my mouth.
"This way, I think," he said, twirling me off the main street and down a dark side street.
Sheer terror moved me to beg. "Please...Please don't..."
"Don't?" He grinned at me, exposing those fangs again. "You don't even know what I want."
Oh God, but my imagination was filling in the blanks rapidly. Gruesome, bloody images crashed around my head, and my entire body screamed in blind denial. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. I wasn't going to die here on some dark, grotty street corner, minutes from home, minutes from safety. This man, this monster, could not do that to me. He couldn't. He couldn't.
And the pain was exquisite.