After a few short moments, the doctor said, “that’s enough. Stop.”
But, it hadn’t been enough. Iggy drank still, ignoring the demands to stop. He was close to becoming satisfied when the pressure of a beating stick whacked him right on the top of his head. He unlatched his jaw and scattered back to the furthest corner with his arms crossed over his chest. He swallowed whatever was left in his mouth and covered his lips with his palm.
Robert harnessed the man’s arm back into the restraint. Blood poured out of his arm still, so much so that his life was hanging in the balance. The doctor hovered over his subject. “Dammit,” he cursed. “He doesn’t have enough blood to make any sort of transformation!” He glared into the cell at Iggy. His balled fist jerked back and forth between him and the
