The Bitten Queen
Pain radiated through his leg, burning, spreading up into his hip, and his vision narrowed into white-hot focus: survive, get back, make it stop.
He staggered upright, screaming, stumbling blindly toward the faint glow of the house. Branches tore at his jacket and face, the underbrush clawing at his skin. Every step was agony, but adrenaline kept him moving, carrying him through the suffocating dark.
By the time he reached the edge of the clearing where the driveway glimmered in the moonlight, the thing released him. His calf was bleeding heavily, the bite deep, the tissue already swelling under the wound. He cursed again, spitting out blood from a cut lip, shaking with rage and pain.
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