#luis dante

"Did you think I'd be afraid to come, brother?" The voice of the huge shadow, moving soundlessly across the cold stone tile, was so thick, low, and rumbling that it seemed to make the floor vibrate. The gloomy bathhouse had, until that moment, looked half-abandoned, sending a dreary echo through its dark corners, and now the air was filled to the brim with his presence.

Dante's tired eyes recognized every last detail of the figure drifting through the dusk. Some had been devoured by his greedy gaze many times over (the neck, the hot hollows beneath the ears, the jugular notch), others were revealed to him for the first time.

"I thought it would be unpleasant for you."

"You mean 'frightening'?" White teeth flashed in the gloom. It was the Salamanders' Chapter Master, finally stepping into the pale circle of lifeless light scattered across the floor by the dying lamps.

"I would never suspect you of that, Tu'Shan."

"Well, I'm a little afraid." The huge Chapter Master drew closer still, and against his will Dante felt his temples begin to pound. The scent of his body, already sharp and tart — like fragrant wood catching from a stray spark — now wrapped around him, creeping into his nostrils, his throat, his heart.

Tu'Shan showed his hand, still trembling slightly. The one that had gripped his jaw when he'd gone feral with thirst. With Thirst.