This close to a master bloodfencer, the crude piece of metal in my earlobe burned like hell. I itched to take it out, but it was all that guaranteed my sanity.
Sweat slicked the grip of my hydropistol as I watched Lord Dreadsower, the bloodsucking, self-proclaimed deity of this town, swoop into the alleyway to meet my partner.
My throat is so dry. My tongue so swollen. All I can think of is the great thirst within me. The need to find the one thing which will satisfy my soul—or, what was once my soul before it was stolen from me.
Blood. I need blood. And I need it now.
Only someone with a death wish would risk trespassing on werewolf territory during the full moon, but Tari was good as dead anyway.
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