Damien sat on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and fixing his eyes on her face as she laid on his bed peacefully.
Her chest rose and fell in gentle rhythm, her lips parted slightly as she breathed. She looked fragile, too soft, too weak for a world that devour the innocence of most who dwelt in it. The sight of her like this made something twist sharply inside him. Her skin was so pale it nearly glowed against the dark bedding. When his eyes fell to the delicate part of her neck, he saw the faint, steady pulse of life beneath it and he swallowed hard. It called to him like a whisper through a storm temptingly.
As he look on, something began to happen to him. He was getting hungry.
It began faintly, then, slowly, it began to throb within his chest. This was a craving he had long feared was gone, one that came once in a century and consumed every fragment of restraint he owned.
