His Grin Was Halfway A Smile
That first heat of blood. Not even the taste of it but the FEEL of it. Comforting, deeply warm, fire all its own. Primordial HUNGER seeping through the stone of stasis. Peeling it away slowly at first and then faster. Chunks tumbling down the river of red. Pale skin revealed little by little, smooth and pristine. Unmarred and unmarked, as though the fires themselves had burned them away during creation.
A form barely discerned beneath the tides of red, heat and blood caused the first movements since the day of imprisonment. Digits stretched, each one extended slowly. Muscles ached, felt wobbly and heavy. Everything was PAIN and TOO MUCH. Overwhelming sensation, a breath drawn in not of air but of BLOOD.
Choking. Gagging. A body lurching upward, just enough in a seated position to breathe in air. And then a B I T E at the surface of the flowing river that bled, maw open to slurp at it, to gulp it down. Famished, the senseless feral kind where no thought was present. And yet still, no matter how much was swallowed and gorged upon, there was no lifting of that ancient beat of
Weak. A struggle to rise from knees to feet. Falling once, twice. Swept down the river a short ways. Clawing for the bank for the purchase of anything, BITING even with fangs that flashed in the firelight. Those horns that swept backward above his head shining ruby-like, drenched and dripping with blood that dribbled and spattered across cheeks and throat. No clothes to speak of, pulled apart and scraped away across time and this sudden, unexpected freedom.
A forearm finally found solid purchase and PULLED. Dragged the rest of that slender, flawless body forward, upward over the stone. Cutting skin open, blood mixing with that of the stream unnoticed because there was only
Shaky legs, lungs still choking on blood. Breathless. A carnivore's senses could scent blood DIFFERENT from anywhere else, noted the dress there, all in black with nobody in it. Still, the shape of a person was there, enough to trigger a reaction of the most vicious sort.
A LUNGE, a POUNCE upon the dress, greedily biting tearing ripping ANNIHILATING until only flutters of cloth darkness remained.
A form barely discerned beneath the tides of red, heat and blood caused the first movements since the day of imprisonment. Digits stretched, each one extended slowly. Muscles ached, felt wobbly and heavy. Everything was PAIN and TOO MUCH. Overwhelming sensation, a breath drawn in not of air but of BLOOD.
Choking. Gagging. A body lurching upward, just enough in a seated position to breathe in air. And then a B I T E at the surface of the flowing river that bled, maw open to slurp at it, to gulp it down. Famished, the senseless feral kind where no thought was present. And yet still, no matter how much was swallowed and gorged upon, there was no lifting of that ancient beat of
K I L L
Weak. A struggle to rise from knees to feet. Falling once, twice. Swept down the river a short ways. Clawing for the bank for the purchase of anything, BITING even with fangs that flashed in the firelight. Those horns that swept backward above his head shining ruby-like, drenched and dripping with blood that dribbled and spattered across cheeks and throat. No clothes to speak of, pulled apart and scraped away across time and this sudden, unexpected freedom.
A forearm finally found solid purchase and PULLED. Dragged the rest of that slender, flawless body forward, upward over the stone. Cutting skin open, blood mixing with that of the stream unnoticed because there was only
K I L L
Shaky legs, lungs still choking on blood. Breathless. A carnivore's senses could scent blood DIFFERENT from anywhere else, noted the dress there, all in black with nobody in it. Still, the shape of a person was there, enough to trigger a reaction of the most vicious sort.
A LUNGE, a POUNCE upon the dress, greedily biting tearing ripping ANNIHILATING until only flutters of cloth darkness remained.
Halfway A Threat
D A R W I N
