"Being well-versed in matters of the court is one thing," Corliss said, "but there will eventually come a time when your life depends on your physical prowess and combat training."
Even though they were said decades ago, in the dream, your sire's words ring as clearly as they had the first day you'd heard them. Say what you will about Eden Corliss—and there are a great many things to say, both good and bad—but she hadn't kicked you out of the nest without preparing you for an undead life among the deadliest, most manipulative creatures in existence. No, it was more than that. She hadn't simply prepared you to survive their constant tests and political attacks, she made you one of them.
Did she see you going soft as you languished alongside the Ivory Tower elites? Is that why she sent you out to fight against Robert Ward and his band of Anarchs after years spent in the safety of her care and your extravagant haven? You twist uncomfortably in your luxurious bed as you remember the early days when you were required to procure your own meals: stalk mortals, drown out their fear and screams as blood surged through your body in a heady euphoria of revitalization. You've grown complacent. Docile. The predator had been stripped from you, but now you're awake again.
And you're hungry.
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