Gino stared at his hands.
The blood was still wet.
Dark. Sticky. Soaking into the creases of his palms, staining the skin beneath his fingernails.
No.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps. His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat.
What have I done?
The hunger was silent now.
Sated.
Satisfied.
It curled deep in his gut like a beast licking its lips after a feast.
Gino’s entire body shook.
He didn’t remember.
Didn’t want to remember.
But the scent of blood was everywhere.
On his hands.
On his lips.
Dripping from his teeth.
No, no, NO.
His golden eyes flickered red as he stumbled back, his foot slipping on something—something warm, something soft.
A body.
A human body.
Crimson soaked into the dirt beneath it, the scent thick, fresh.
Gino’s chest tightened.
His v
