The heat haze around Carrick's body had faded once the sunlight had been removed from the room, but the cracks in his skin and the charring that had begun were still agonising. He took hold of the bedpost, trying to calm himself. Had he ever felt agony worse than this? Yes. He must have done. He breathed slowly. The pain would pass. It always did. He was a Spartan, he reminded himself, a krypteia. He could endure this.
Finally, he lifted his head to face Russell, his fangs still prominent. "I need blood," he said, trying to stop his voice from becoming either a gasp or a plea.