It became far too much. It seemed like blood was flowing everywhere, the thick scent bittersweet and torturous to his sensitive senses. It was too much, and before long, he could feel his rationale leaving, actually feel the lust for blood overpower any other thoughts, cautionary or not.
Luckily, he held onto self control enough to be able to distinguish friend from foe. They were attacking the...the man that had attacked them, first. Lesar. Attacking him would do them all justice...and the only factor that had restrained him to begin with was his own weakness. But now the man was weakened, himself, and occupied with an attack from their winged companion. Now was the ideal moment to strike and fulfill his own thirst.
Drawing from the final reserves of his energyâ€"after this, unless he was able to draw and drink some blood, he would be left with nothing, no energyâ€"he rushed toward their attacker in a near-blur, releasing his hold on his slowly healing side and allowing the blood to drip freely once again. But it mattered not. If he was able to drink some blood, his body would have the fuel it needed to begin its natural healing process. And all that was on his mind, as it were, was blood.
Never had he wanted it so much.
Seemingly appearing behind Lesar, the side that wasn't being attacked by Keldoun at the moment, he grasped the man's shoulders forcefully and reached over him from behind, aiming to sink his fangs into the side of the man's neck, to draw upon that store of rich, coppery blood. Inhuman speed was an innate ability of his kind, but it also took energy. Energy which very much needed to be restored through blood...
He no longer cared how bad this looked, nor did he care about the reactions this action might provoke. Feeding was his only concern...
Luckily, he held onto self control enough to be able to distinguish friend from foe. They were attacking the...the man that had attacked them, first. Lesar. Attacking him would do them all justice...and the only factor that had restrained him to begin with was his own weakness. But now the man was weakened, himself, and occupied with an attack from their winged companion. Now was the ideal moment to strike and fulfill his own thirst.
Drawing from the final reserves of his energyâ€"after this, unless he was able to draw and drink some blood, he would be left with nothing, no energyâ€"he rushed toward their attacker in a near-blur, releasing his hold on his slowly healing side and allowing the blood to drip freely once again. But it mattered not. If he was able to drink some blood, his body would have the fuel it needed to begin its natural healing process. And all that was on his mind, as it were, was blood.
Never had he wanted it so much.
Seemingly appearing behind Lesar, the side that wasn't being attacked by Keldoun at the moment, he grasped the man's shoulders forcefully and reached over him from behind, aiming to sink his fangs into the side of the man's neck, to draw upon that store of rich, coppery blood. Inhuman speed was an innate ability of his kind, but it also took energy. Energy which very much needed to be restored through blood...
He no longer cared how bad this looked, nor did he care about the reactions this action might provoke. Feeding was his only concern...