“Drink,” she says, and that is an easy order.
Sabine kneels, brings her mouth to the man’s straining neck. Skin breaks beneath her teeth, the blood pours in, and there is the heartbeat on her tongue, the drumming in her chest, the only part she’s ever focused on.
But now, as she drinks, she reaches past it, and finds, folded in the metal tang, the sharp sweetness of winter fruit.
from Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil by V.E. Schwab
