Bloodborn Read Online Free PDF

over her. She had distracted herself with her thoughts for a few moments, but now the craving had returned, stronger than ever. The room was perfumed with the scent of the young knight’s blood. It throbbed with it. Red visions of carnage shot through Ulrika’s mind as she inhaled it. She saw herself in mid-leap, she saw Quentin’s stool smashing to kindling, the youth slamming to the floor, her claws tearing his doublet, her fangs sinking into his neck.
    With a hiss of effort she forced herself to remain in her chair, closing her eyes and clamping her hands around the armrests until they creaked. Frozen there, as flexed as a drawn bow, she let her mind play out the rest of the scene – the guzzling, the rending, the gorging, the bloated stomach, the pounding head, the nausea, the puking, the shivering in the puddle of red vomit and undigested meat – the shame.
    The shame. That was the most painful part – worse than all the physical agony. How could she, the daughter of a boyar, with all the strength of a Kislev winter bred into her bones, with the iron will of a warrior of the marches – how could a woman with such a heritage have let herself become a mindless beast, a thing that rolled in its own sick, a monster with no control over its hungers and urges? It was beneath her. It was beneath her dignity and her heritage.
    Had not her father and all his march warden forbearers stood for ten generations at the very edge of the Chaos Wastes, that desert of madness and mutation, and remained untouched by it? Had they not kept their sanity and humanity when all else around them had surrendered to the siren call of carnage and corruption? Could she allow herself to dishonour their memory? Could she allow herself to give in to savagery and slaughter when they had not?
    Ulrika knew then that she would be able to last the rest of the hour, or two hours if that was what the countess wished. She had found the key that would give her the will to maintain control, a key more powerful even than Gabriella’s threat of death if she failed. All she had to do was call up the image of herself naked and quaking on all fours, heaving out her guts, and her veins filled with cold Kislev ice. She would never let that happen again.
    When the last grains of sand trickled through the neck of the glass, Ulrika stood and turned to Quentin, perfectly composed.
    ‘It is time,’ she said.
    ‘Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.’ The knight stood and undid the points of his collar, then bared his oft-scarred neck and tipped his head as she crossed to him. He showed no fear now, only arousal – his breathing quick and sweat on his lip. It was clear he had done this many times before, and relished it. He stretched out his arms to her, hands trembling. ‘Please, mistress.’
    She stepped into his embrace and pulled him close, lowering her head to his neck to inhale him. Now it was her turn to tremble. The blood was so close, and she was so hungry. She would wait no more. With a snort she shot out her fangs. Quentin flinched, frightened again. She snarled and clamped her hands tight around his arms. He shoved away from her, panic giving him strength, and stumbled back.
    ‘Please, mistress!’
    She leapt on him with a growl and slammed him down onto the bed. He thrashed under her.
    ‘Please, mistress, don’t kill me!’
    Ulrika twisted his head aside and opened her mouth, then froze as thought finally caught up with instinct. She cursed. After just promising herself that she would not give in to the beast, she had nearly done it again at the smallest of provocations. A single frightened flinch had roused the animal within her, and drove her to an inch of tearing Quentin’s throat out.
    She sighed and relaxed her grip on him. ‘I am sorry, Quentin. Here, I will do it properly. Only, lie still. It is difficult to resist playing cat if you act like a mouse.’
    The young knight nodded. ‘Yes, mistress.’ And he lay still, arms at his sides, as