Chapter 134. Taste of His Veins

The old clock in the corner of my bedroom chimed twelve times in slow, hollow tones, each resonant note stretching into an agonizing echo. Midnight had arrived—though not by much—yet the hours since those monstrous events had slipped past me like a nightmare I could never wake from. Sleep eluded me utterly. My eyes felt stinging and raw but unbowed by exhaustion; my mind was too taut with dread and unresolved questions to drift into the dark refuge of slumber.

I wouldn’t allow myself to sleep. Whatever entity had attacked tonight, tearing through my world and leaving corpses in its wake, was no ordinary beast. Daniel, my companion, carried secrets about its origin—how that once‐benign werewolf had been warped into a remorseless predator. In all my years on this earth, I had never witnessed such savagery. Every fiber of my being quivered with horror at the memory: the tearing claws, the lupine howl of triumph, the shower of bl