He’d tried to resist it, even if it meant his death, but he wouldn’t make it much longer. In Jerusalem, the Bachiyr who killed him had stabbed him in the gut with his claws, leaving Taras to die in a pool of his own blood and innards as both leaked out onto the cobbled street. At the time it had been the worst pain he’d ever experienced. This was worse. This pain came from inside, and it ran dizzying circles through his mind as well as his body, lighting little fires everywhere it touched. If dying felt like this, he didn’t think he could do it. He wasn’t strong enough.

There is always a choice.

Lying in the dirty street, Taras made his.

He would have to feed, after all.

The next night found him standing in darkness, hiding behind the corner while waiting for his victim. The light of the city’s lamps did not penetrate the shadows of his hiding place, which suited him fine. He’d long ago grown accustomed to biding his time in dark places while he waited for his victims to reach just the right spot. Long before he’d become one of the Bachiyr, his years as an assassin in the Roman Legion honed his patience to a fine point. He stood watching the drunkard who would be his next meal, his muscles coiled like a tightly woven rope, waiting for the right moment to spring into action.

His target stumbled near the alley, a cracked mug of mead or wine in his hand, and sang a bawdy tavern song as he leaned against the building. The smell of sweat and alcohol drifted toward Taras. Almost time. A few more steps and Taras would have his meal. The emptiness in his belly screamed at him to attack, but the time was not right. The man needed to be directly in front of the alley so Taras could take him without being seen. This particular street had too many taverns and far too many brothels to ever be truly empty.

A woman in a garish dress caught up to the man and, laughing, placed a bright red flower in his hair. He turned and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close for a drunken kiss. The two laughed together, and then they turned away from the alley and walked across the street, entering a brothel that sported half a dozen brightly dressed women just outside the door and double that number in men looking for entertainment.