The Harlot perched atop the pickup. Her skin impish and her mouth razors. Her talons clawed into the roof, daring to rip through if provoked. Pivoting atop, the tuck rocked back and forth as she let forth a cry.
I screamed at Nat to run, but he just stood and stared at her; the Harlot's wiley gaze griping him. She came forth, bloodshot eyes first, glaring in the night. She spoke latin to us. Grasping nothingness in the air, she coaxed Nat to step forward. Creening her neck and licking her lips, the Harlot sang to him in dead lullabies.
"Mors Vinet. Vocat illa." She whispered to him, slowly engulfing him in her wings. I had no choice but to run, to leave him there in the mud and trees. Leave her to feast on him.
As soon as I reached the truck, I heard her wisp around to stop me. Before I could open the door she had me slammed against the metal, my teeth bleeding.
"Stultus puer." She purred into my ear.
Opening my neck, she reached her arm inside and grasped my heart.
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