It hit like a freight train. No, was too much while being the same time being not enough. It hit like a need. He had heard that if you where hungry then you drink as a mortal. It was your body confusing stimuli for the nearest related urge. That’s what this felt like, only more urgent. A hunger. A thirst. That was the closest his mind could come. Yet he knew it was more than that.

He knew it for the entirety of the conversation he had with George. He knew it while they described their stint in the army. How he’d felt abandoned after he got out. All while he described how alcoholism had destroyed his marriage and led to his current state of homelessness. Not that JC truly cared. All the time he was listening, all he could think about was the taste or thier blood. About when the vodka would finally drive him into unconsciousness. He couldn’t appreciate the irony as he sank his fangs into George’s sleeping body. To do so would be like not gasping for air from a deep dive. Not digging into a feast after starving. Not cannibalizing your friend on a frozen mountain top when food had run out.

The human part of JC forced him up for breath. Hoping against hope that he hadn’t killed the soldier. They were still breathing, and he gave a sigh of relief out of habit. That had been too close as he licked the wound closed.

He laid George down, hoping they would wake in the morning. Looking around the makeshift camp he found some sweaters and put them on them before shuffling off. He’d check on them tomorrow evening. To make sure they recovered. Him and the sweet nectar flowing in his viens.