Page 19 of Red Ruin

The windows are welded shut. Every floorboard and wall seam is engraved with magical arrays to block out scents. Dozens of doors and miles of distance stand between me and the nearest battlefield.

All worthless.

I can still taste blood.

The blood that I crave.

The blood that I’dneed—if I intended to survive.

On the edge of my final rampage, I try to focus on the report crumpled in my tremoring hands.

Years of built-up poison erode my ability to function. I can barely read, but a line of text cuts through the fog.

GUIDE LEVEL: S

I grab my throat as my fangs sharpen. Tracing the delicious S-curve of that letter, I lick my lips.

There’s a personnel transfer.

A new Guide on the way.

One last drink before I go?

“Major Azrid?” A familiar voice intrudes along with a tentative knock at my iron door.

“One moment.” I can’t remember the woman’s name—or much else—but I recall the throat that matches the voice.

It tastes like a lead pipe.

To stop myself from being tempted, I fumble for the mask in my drawer. It’s dwarven-made. Straps pull the leather tight below my eyes and seal down my throat.

I use my tongue to push aside the copper bit that overwhelms my senses with the tang of metal.

It helps curb my bloodlust during battle.

On second thought, I drag the bit back to my lips with another curl of my tongue.

The foul taste helps me remember that I’m?—

Who am I?

Ah.

Too late to care.

I open the bolts with a flick of shadow.

The simple gesture drives spikes through my head.

My vision blackens around the edges.

Pain. Pressure.

The rampage is coming.

The last, I pray.

My manners are conditioned. I manage to respond through the thickening darkness. “Come in.”

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