It's 2 AM when you hear someone coming in through your window.

"I'm so hungry," Sam grunts as she limps into your living room, hands curling around your wrist and pulling you towards her—not harsh, but firm; insistent. A little needy, in all honesty.

"Please—" She murmurs, and in the dark you can see how black her pupils are, hungry with need. Needy with hunger? She noses down your neck, breathing in the scent of you, fingers quivering.

"Please." her voice is hoarse, guttural.