Phoenix Maplewood i was the one who stood in rain

Eerie droplets of delight tingled the surface of his tongue as blood began to spill from her neck into his slavering jaws, cocoa fur stained with the rusty tang of crimson - the first mark, but most definitely not the last, as his fangs dragged across her skin. The more he tasted, the more the demon craved. 

A cracked, broken scream fled the parting of the youthful girl's lips; it was useless. He had scouted ahead of time to ensure that no living bodies were in the immediate vicinity of the pair - perhaps help would arrive at a later point of his deadly game, but for now, they were utterly, paralysingly, alone. Keen was at the devil's mercy.

She began to backtrack, to throw herself in any direction away from the Svartell and his mouth, where shadows seemed to seethe in a bucket of animous hunger; her attempts would meet no success, as her movements (as compelling to track as they were) were almost disappointingly predictable. His lean figure slid in place like a blackened ghost, whipping around so that he blocked her next attempted escape, pushing with a brutish force to knock her down, should her brain not click in an outbreak of ideas.

Pin her to the earth, the beast whispered in his silvery ear, cut off her air.