He was an old, skilled vampire. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. "What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. Rhea spun round and sank her teeth into Lucy’s arm.
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