The world had reduced itself to a single, pulsing heartbeat that sounded like a war drum in the back of Elric's skull. Every breath he took was like a liquid fire, searing his lungs and turning his blood into molten lead.
He was curled on the damp stone floor of the cell, his fingers hooked into the cracks between the stones. The stones, usually cold enough to numb the skin, felt like glowing coals against his fevered flesh. He had stripped off his tunic hours ago, and his bare back was a map of strained muscle, protruding vertebrae, and glistening sweat.
The Rut was no longer just a biological cycle, it was a physical invasion. His heightened senses were a curse, he could hear the skittering of a spider three cells down. He could smell the old blood in the mortar, and the agonizingly distant scent of the woman he was trying to protect.
