Damien's entire body was wracked with pain. The ashwood drink he'd been forced to swallow earlier was tearing him apart from the inside, making his insides feel like they were on fire.
Every breath was a struggle as his throat alternated between being unbearably dry and agonizingly itchy. Hunger gnawed at him, primal and overwhelming, driving him nearly to madness.
He needed blood—his body screamed for it—just a few drops to quench his thirst and stave off the unbearable weakness creeping over him.
Suddenly, the grating sound of metal on metal echoed through the dungeon, and Damien's head snapped up. The iron gate creaked open, revealing the silhouettes of three figures.
As they stepped into the dim light, Damien's eyes widened in disbelief. There, standing unharmed and very much alive, was Magnus.
