They turned into the alley where they'd left the drunken man to burn; an acrid, meaty smell threaded through the air. The student coughed, half-laughing to cover it up, then he must have seen the body. He gasped like he was choking, his hand to his mouth, his knees sagged. Lydia couldn't see his face, but she didn't want to. His fear was all-too familiar.
Hung grabbed the student's face with one hand, his fingers poised over the kid's eyes, and shoved him against the wall. Everything was quiet now. Lydia's heart pounded in her ears, low, pulsing static like rushing water.
"Your turn," said Hung. He let go. The student slid down the wall, his eyes bright with terror.
Alice smiled at him, sweet like a prom date, then there was something metal in her fingers, flashing under the streetlight, and the student's throat was red. She kissed his neck, lapping at the flowing blood like a cat.
Hung shook his head disapprovingly, and left her to it.
Lydia's legs went weak. Her head swirled, vomit rising at the back of her throat. But she couldn't stop watching. Alice was sucking at the wound, leech-like, and Lydia just watched.
That was all she'd done. They killed the drunken man, set him burning, and she just watched. They seduced the student, fed his fear, slit his throat. And she just watched.