Nightlord: Sunset Read Online Free PDF Page A

of textbooks and fired up the computer.  I read and researched to take my mind off the hollow ache in my middle.
    When the pizza arrived, I swear I could smell it before the delivery guy even knocked.  I paid him off, slammed the door, and started to wolf down a slice of sausage-bacon-hamburger-pepperoni with extra cheese.
    Suddenly, I felt ill—very ill.  I barely made it to the bathroom in time, wondering if this was the start of the second phase of my earlier agonies.  I threw up violently into the toilet.
    As I regarded the floating chunks of masticated meat, cheese, and dough, I realized I felt fine again.  And still hungry.  I started looking forward to the prospect of being hungry and tossing up anything I ate.
    I mentioned I get grouchy when I’m hungry.  Well, I got grouchy.
    I rose.  I brushed my teeth.  I stared.
    There was something wrong with this smile.  What is it? I asked myself.
    I calmly finished brushing my teeth, rinsed, and headed out into the night.
     
    I broke her front door coming in.  A foot planted right next to the lock plate broke the jamb and sent the door slamming back against the wall.  I stomped into her house and shouted for her.
    Sasha came down the hall, wearing jeans and a tight blouse.  She was smiling.
    “I’m so pleased you’ve come back.”
    I pointed a finger at her like it might be loaded and said, seething with rage and terror, “You have a lot of explaining.  What the hell is happening?!”
    “Come in.  Don’t mind the door.  I tried to explain earlier, but you—”
    “Don’t shove this off on me!” I shouted, feeling less than reasonable.  “Just tell me what’s going on!”
    She nodded, looking patient.
    “All right.  Come in and sit down.  You’ve been hungry ever since sunset, and you can’t eat; I have something you can keep down.  Follow me.” Fury and hunger warred for a bit.  I don’t like being a grouch; I followed, trying to keep from shouting.
    She pulled a bottle out of the oven and handed it to me; it felt quite warm.
    “This will keep you, for a while.  I’ll talk, you drink.”
    I unscrewed the cap and sniffed; whatever is was, it smelled good.   My stomach reinforced that opinion in no uncertain terms.  I tried a small sip to test it.  It tasted… well… okay.  It left a slightly bitter, metallic flavor in my mouth.  Coppery.  But it stayed down.
    It left my head reeling.  It was like being drunk without being impaired.  It was liquid elation and bottled contentment.  I wondered if it was drugged.  I felt… stronger.  I felt powerful.  If I flexed my arms, I felt I should ripple with muscle like a bad cartoon.  I was powerful… I was invincible.  I was perfect.
    The feeling diminished my earlier fears, but supplied new ones.  The net effect was I was less scared and more worried, if that makes any sense.
    “What has happened,” she said, sitting on the other side of the counter from me, just audible over the ringing in my ears, “is that you have acquired a peculiar disease.  You know the difference between a parasite and a symbiote?”
    “Yes,” I replied, still trying to get a grip on the overwhelming feeling of power.  Confidence.  But it was easy to think; my thoughts were clear and lightning-fast—or seemed to be.
    “Tell me.”
    “A parasite is an organism that survives by feeding on another creature.  A symbiote does the same thing, but it gives something back—it’s more of an ally than a burden.  A tapeworm is a parasite.  A seeing-eye dog is a type of symbiote, if we can stretch the technical definition.”
    She nodded.  “Good examples; I see why you teach.  Well, the disease you have acquired—from me, yes—is a symbiotic organism.  It requires a considerable amount of feeding, but also provides some interesting side effects.”
    “Like?” I prompted.
    “Your musculature is developing new fibers to replace the old ones—denser, more compact, and stronger.  Your bones