He paced the deck of Sea Panther, his ninety-foot, black-hulled sloop, allowing self-loathing to course through his veins along with the woman’s blood.
“Cursed fool.” He smacked a palm against the cabin top. Coming on deck hadn’t eased his torment. Not even the briny tang of the sea breeze soothed him.
Dawn neared. He retreated below to the sanctuary of his cabin. Only on this sunrise a lass remained sprawled across the bed. His stomach clenched when he slid his gaze over the naked woman lying so still on the bunk. He curled his hands into fists, disgusted by his gluttony. Having gone too long without feeding, he’d taken too much blood. Her ashen skin, a stark contrast against the deep green velvet coverlet, provided a painful reminder of the monster he’d become.
Bloody hell. Why hadn’t Colin removed the wench?
Though his hunger was fully sated, the faint pulse at the woman’s neck beckoned Robert forward. He gritted his teeth against a wave of bloodlust. A compulsion to finish, drink the last drops of her essence, drove his fist into the wood above her head. “Satan, take me.”
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