POV: Alaric
They hesitated for half a second. Then, like puppets on frayed strings, they turned on each other. The first blow landed with a sickening crack that sent satisfaction running through me. Fists flew. Blood sprayed. I watched with a blank expression as they tore into one another like rabid animals in a death match they hadn't chosen. They weren't fighting to survive. They were fighting to die. What an irony! And I wanted to watch every agonizing second of it.
I wasn't even halfway through the entertainment when I heard her voice. "Alaric…" She called me, a bit firmer above the trembling of her voice.
My head snapped toward her, and everything–the rage, the heat, the violent thrumming in my veins–came to a screeching halt. My fingers, still sticky with blood, twitched at my sides.
