He’s chosen clothes for her based on his memories. They’re an exact fit, yet she looks smaller, thinner somehow. Odd. As she strips on the back seat, her prison clothes discarded with an impatience that overrides modesty – if that was ever a consideration – he catches glimpses of skin, and, at a red-light, her breasts. His gaze meets hers in the rear-view mirror but he doesn’t drop his eyes.
She’s his Slayer.
Her body is his to examine, his to assess.
She’s strong, still strong.
But he has to be sure... so he pulls over and lets the vampire take her.
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