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Hungry. The human scent of Sam still lingered in my nostrils. Oh, God, I was so hungry. I wanted to live the word, wanted to glut myself on blood, any blood. And as that thought took hold, so did the hunger, a blinding, burning-red wall that loomed before me, cutting me off from the rest of the world. There was, at that moment, no one who loved me and no one whom I loved. Nothing existed but a raging hunger, gnawing my stomach, and the hot wild visions of teeth tearing flesh. I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing the crowd of evening pedestrians to swear and part around me. My eyes were closed, fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug deeply into the flesh of my palm. I centered on the pain, smelled the rich warm scent of blood dripping onto the concrete under my feet. Concrete, I thought scornfully, what business did I have here, in this city, surrounded by concrete and glass and steel? A hunter was what I was: predator and creature of the night. I craved clear night skies and wide forests to run, with wild, swift and velvet-skinned prey to pursue through the evening shadows. Deep shudders shook my body and I seemed to close in around myself, sinking to the sidewalk, flames of pain shooting through me. The calls for help that rose in my throat became guttural growls on the way and I felt the startled shock of the pedestrians surrounding me, scented their fear and their flesh, heard the tearing of cloth as it ripped away from my limbs. A small human voice cried out in the back of my skull. "No!" |