Damon's POV
"I don't know. Please, please let go." He was still coughing.
"Alright."
I released his neck and grabbed his shoulder instead. Then I took a thick silver spike and drove it deep into his wound.
"Ahh—!" His scream echoed through the dungeon.
Blood sprayed from his artery. The metallic stench of iron filled the air.
It should have been enough. Should have calmed me.
It wasn't.
The fury was still there, still clawing to tear its way out of my veins.
I shoved the spike deeper, twisting, grinding it into raw flesh. Bone scraped against metal. Blood poured over my fingers—warm, thick. Not enough. Never enough.
The scent of his fear, his pain, his dying—it filled my lungs. But the rage was still there. Still hungry.
I pulled the spike out. Drove it in again.
"I asked—who?!
