Cursed by Rebecca Trynes Page B

an eternity. When next he became aware, the fire had died down to coals once more and the human male was nowhere to be seen. Closing his eyes, too tired to cry though he wanted to weep, he slowly became aware of a strange sound, a kind of rumbling murmur that came and went with puzzling regularity. Lifting his lids slowly, he tried to find the source of the sound and eventually managed to determine that it came from over by the far wall.
    Minutes passed, and then he heard a rustle of cloth, the creak of timber, and a kind of snorting bark, followed by a brief cough as the human rearranged himself in his bed. Greyvian’s eyes widened as his foggy brain realised this was the perfect opportunity.
    Whether he was strengthened by desperation or the hand of some benevolent god, he was able to move at last. He knew not how long it took and cared little, but slowly and inevitable as the passing of time, he made his way across the dusty floor to the side of the man’s simple bed. Panting like a dog and similarly begging for scraps, he tried to push himself to his knees but could not muster the strength.
    Tears of desperation leaked out of his eyes. He was distantly aware that he was mewling like a newborn kitten looking for a tit, but he continued to struggle, to will his useless limbs to move. It was useless. He had not the muscle capacity to lift his chest from the rough floor—not with pectorals nor biceps.
    Weeping openly, devoid of all hope, he rested the side of his face on the cold ground and wished fervently that Katarina had never raised his hopes to begin with. It was a cruel, cruel fate to be handed a possible solution and then to fail so miserably to see it through when it was a mere few inches away.
    After a while, the weeping tapered off and he simply stared blankly at the thick layer of dirt beneath the human’s bed, too tired even to drop off into unconsciousness.
    And then it happened.
    The man rolled over on the mattress and his arm slipped down towards the ground, his wrist falling right before Greyvian’s eyes. He did not need a written invitation. Fangs extending painfully, he gathered one good burst of energy and lunged.
    Warm, soft flesh gave easily to the sharp points of his fangs. Greyvian was not aware whether the man jerked with the pain, but the human did not move and that was all that concerned him as the first sweet burst of blood hit his tongue. Hot, metallically sweet, it slid down his throat, trailing fire as it went. He braced himself as the flow made it to his stomach, but there was no clenching refusal of the liquid, only a warm easing as years of starvation was finally appeased.
    Mouthful after mouthful disappeared down his throat. The utter sense of peace he felt in those few minutes would stay with him for centuries. It was the first time he could remember that he felt not the gut-wrenching pain of starvation, the ever-present ache of a body that lacked sustenance. As the blood worked its way quickly from his stomach to his organs and on to his limbs, it created a chain reaction of healing and strengthening that had him sitting up without even being aware of the fact that he was moving.
    When the flow finally slackened and would not continue, no matter how hard he sucked, he dropped the arm he had been holding in a death grip and realised with a distant surprise that the human was on the floor beside him, face twisted with the fear of death, sightless eyes imploring him to stop.
     
    Sweaty and panting, lost in the memory, Greyvian came to an abrupt halt as he spied a dark figure not ten metres in front of him that exactly fit with his dietary requirements. Fangs already extended, he figured if he couldn’t outrun his memories, he might as well try to drown them out by succumbing to his thirst. But, as he fell on the man and sank his fangs into the soft flesh, the feeding only served to bring the more troubling of his memories from the depths of his mind.
     
    After his first taste of