20
DAWN
I’m wet and shivering when they carry me to the bedroom and lay me down, but my mouth is hot and tastes of iron — burning, burning, burning. It’s not the same as the sizzling sensation when that asshole bit me, not the same as that horrible creature’s claws slicing through my flesh. The blood on my lips feels right in a way no food ever has. It lingers in my mouth, a warmth more akin to a good brandy. But better than any drink. Better than any pill.
Better than anything.
Yet, I can’t seem to determine whether I feel better. Nausea tugs at me, my guts resisting the blood, fighting against the toxins that are now flowing through my veins. I fear I might vomit. As part of me rejoices, the other weeps; it’s as if two halves of my body are at war with each other, literally fighting
