When she finally focused on me and our desolate surroundings, her blue eyes widened and fear swept her features. Even so, her face held the beauty of perfection: pale and delicate, looking silver in the moonlight, just like I knew it would.
“I am offering you a better fate than the one you chose for yourself.”
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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