Taras stared at the man’s flushed face and blotchy red nose. His eyes moved to the man’s throat, and he found himself wondering if he would taste the wine in the drunk’s blood. His belly rumbled, and a sharp pain stabbed through his gut. He could feel the fangs in his upper jaw start to extend, and the claws on his fingers itched, as though they, too, wanted to taste the man’s blood. Taras stared at the man’s neck. So hungry. So weak. The man was too drunk to feel the sting of his teeth, it would be so easy to-

No!

Taras squirmed away, finally freeing himself from the man’s wine-induced grip. “I will,” he said, as he gently pushed the drunk away. Then he turned and walked as fast as he could down the street. The man’s voice followed him, but Taras didn’t listen. He wanted to get as far away as he could lest he give in to his hunger.

He rounded a corner and stopped, trying to calm the angry buzzing in his head. Across the street, the sound of music poured out from another brothel, while men and ladies danced in the common room. A rumble in his belly rivaled the noise of the brothel, and another sharp pain flared through his abdomen, worse than the last. Taras sunk to the street in agony, leaning against the wall and clutching his midsection. He shook his head, trying to clear the vertigo, and was surprised by the wetness on his cheeks. It couldn’t be tears, he could no longer make them. Taras reached a trembling finger to his face, rubbing the wetness under his eyes, and then examined his hand.

It was red.

Blood. That’s what’s on my face. Blood was leaking from his eyes.

Another spasm of pain sent him the rest of the way to the ground, and he swallowed a scream. His hunger hollowed him out, scooping up his innards and throwing them aside for the rats. He realized then that, despite his best efforts, his hunger was going to win.