The night seemed too heavy to fit inside the mansion.
Damon lay on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if he could answer something. He didn't blink. He didn't need to. The problem wasn't tiredness.
It was his body.
Every muscle was restless, vibrating beneath his skin like wires stretched too tightly. His heart beat slowly, deliberately… and yet each beat seemed to echo in his throat.
Damn blood.
The word pierced his mind like an intrusive, insistent thought. It wasn't a vague desire. It wasn't curiosity. It was raw, brutal, animal need.
He swallowed hard.
His throat ached.
It wasn't ordinary thirst. It was as if something was drying out inside, cracking. A concentrated, specific pain that rose up his neck and lodged behind his tongue. He ran his hand across his throat, pressing as if he could physically contain it.
It was no use.
"I want to drink blood."
The thought came complete, without hesitation, without shame.
"I want to drink blood now."
