The Zen Lounge
The waiter lifted the linen, still shouting at him, and the entire restaurant gasped in horrified unison. Voryk’s head spun deliriously and he grinned like the devil. Wrapping his hands around the woman’s head, his fingertips dug into the flesh of her scalp.
“Teeth,” he ordered through clenched ones. “More teeth.”
When she didn’t hesitate to comply, Voryk’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. Pain and pleasure collided, melding into one, all-consuming sensation that ripped through his core and the darkness danced in glee.
“Signore!” the waiter bellowed, slamming his hand down onto the table.
Voryk yanked his hand off of the woman’s head, grabbed the fork from his plate and stabbed it through the back of the waiter’s hand. Even as he howled in pain, no blood came forth—he just began to dematerialize right on the spot. Chaos erupted. People screaming and running, even while more waitstaff and the maitre d’ ran toward Voryk’s table.
The act of violence, even against a hologram, shot Voryk right over the edge. Gripping his companion’s head again, he held her firmly in place as he erupted down her hot, clenching throat. Panting, heart still racing, Voryk looked up with very little interest when the maitre d’ pounded a fist down on the table.
“Holo,” he roughed out. “End scenario.”