The remembered taste of blood lingered on his tongue. Even the bare stone of the shelf hadn’t been able to draw the unbearable heat from his flesh. It could’ve been worse, he thought, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could’ve screamed everyone awake with a night terror, or they could’ve heard his desperate fuck-moans while he ate his own heart, and instead he heard snores all around him. Too bad that didn’t make him feel any better. After the gore-stained murder images flashing and jerking around inside his head, he didn’t think anything could. He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, and rubbed at his shaky, aching hands and forearms. Almost, he expected to feel them slick to the elbows. He wanted to sit next to Vandis, alone, and lean on the rock solidity of his Master, whether Vandis knew he was doing it or not; but that wasn’t an option, not with all the Squires and Masters up here, pressing on his consciousness and into his space.
What do You think about Saga Of Menyoral: The Service?
