He writhed in agony as lava consumed him through his veins, the pain originating from the bite mark on his pale wrist. His gums ached and his throat burned as if scorched by the desert sand.
God, he was so thirsty. It was a thirst unlike any other he had ever experienced in his short conniving life, and it tore through his pain.
Suddenly overcome with the immediate urge to purge his stomach of its contents, Julian found himself leaning over the bed, knuckles white with the strength he was slowly regaining. Although the impulse was present the man only managed to heave dry air as if his insides had been as completely empty as the desert that raged on in his throat.
The pain of each bone snapping back into place was staggering, to say the least, as if there was molten lava in his veins instead of the blood that had once coursed through their confines.
