He ran, pell-mell through the alleys of New Orleans, the cold autumn rain pelting his flesh wickedly as his thoughts blurred into a single cry of despair. His chest felt heavy, despite the lack of a heartbeat, his lungs aching as he fought to breathe. The very air seemed putrid, as if all the decay of the world had arisen before him. The dark of the night held no comfort for him, nor did the sound of his cries soothe his forlorn state, as he sprinted faster than the human eye could gauge.
He had lost control. After nearly two full years of sustaining himself on mediocre sustenance, he had snapped. His resolve had been waning since the moment he'd first chosen abstinence, but somehow he had thought he could manage. . . Somehow he'd thought he'd be stronger than the blood lust. . . But he had failed. And instead of feeding on a lowlife criminal or the scum of the earth, he had hurt a child. An in