Bloodforged by Nathan Long Read Free Book Online

she had lived? As a warrior, she had walked the knife-edge of savagery all her life, always on guard against the siren call of slaughter that had lured many a good man to the worship of the Dark Powers. She had resisted then, and she could resist now.
    Yes.
    She would refuse to make her new nature an excuse to abandon the principles of honour and mercy and restraint she had sworn by while she lived. It would be difficult, but easy things weren’t worth doing, and a vow meant nothing until it was tested. She would find a way to live without hurting the innocent, even tonight, even while trapped on this boat. There would be some way. She was sure of it.
    She folded her arms across her breast and closed her eyes, relieved to have come to a decision. Now she would sleep, and gather what strength she could to face the challenge that awaited her when the sun went down.
    It was not a peaceful sleep, for her hunger grew like a living tumour with each passing hour. Many times during the day, she woke to the baying of it and had to fight it with all her strength before she could find unconsciousness again. Finally, there was no slipping back under. The emptiness in her breast was too painful, and she lay awake, staring at the canvas in front of her face and gripping herself with her claws. She could sense the heart-fires of the crew as they moved around the ship above her. There were five of them, and regardless of the vow she had made, she wanted nothing more than to fill the bare hearth of her cold heart with their warmth.
    Why had she not fed upon Gabriella’s maid before she had quit Nuln? The girl’s blood would have held her for at least two days. When had she last fed? Two nights ago? Longer than that? Even if all had been calm since, she would have been feeling the pangs by now, but her exertions of the night before – escaping Gabriella’s house, fleeing from Hermione, racing across the city – had wrung her dry. Her veins ached with want. Her tongue felt as if it were turning to powder. Even her eyes felt dry.
    Again she cursed herself for not thinking her escape through more thoroughly. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t like her to act without thinking. She was a grown woman and a veteran soldier, experienced in the necessities of travel and well versed in the preparations required before a dangerous journey. She had been in such a tearing hurry to be gone. The red rage that had overcome her had practically dragged her out of the house by her collar.
    And that was it, wasn’t it? The red rage.
    For all her talk of maintaining control of her savagery, Ulrika was so lost in it she didn’t even know when she was under its spell. Her actions since the turning of Gabriella’s key in the lock had not been those of a woman of the world, but of a petulant child, of a spiteful cat who shreds her mistress’s things because she has been left alone. A rush of shame came over her as she remembered her rationalisations for breaking her vow to the countess not to leave the house – and rationalisations were all they had been. Gabriella’s actions didn’t matter. A vow was a vow, and Ulrika had broken one for no better reason than wounded pride.
    She was disgusted with herself, and baffled as well. She felt as buffeted by emotion now as when she had been fifteen and thought the world a hateful place full of know-nothing adults and locked gates. Why had she reverted to such childish behaviour? Was it because Gabriella treated her like a child? Was the red rage some symptom of her new unlife? Would it cool at some point and allow her to think? She prayed to her father’s gods it would be so, and soon.
    After a time she crawled out from the tarp and raised her head over the cargo. A lattice of red light slanted down through the grate that covered the hatch. Sunset. Less than an hour to go, but even an hour seemed unbearable. She sat with her knees up and her back to the bulkhead, watching the slow fading of the light because