Jonathan's POV
The old woman's desperate pleas echoed through the blood-soaked corridor as her voice faded into nothing more than a wet gurgle. Her final breath escaped in a shuddering wheeze. Was she the eleventh victim today? Maybe the thirtieth? The numbers had lost all meaning hours ago.
Her husband's trembling hands released his wife's corpse, letting her crumple to the marble floor like discarded cloth. His fingers shook in the air while his jaw worked soundlessly. He reminded me of a dying fish gasping for water that would never come.
I didn't grant him the luxury of fear. My claws found his throat before he could even process what was happening. With a sharp twist of my wrist, I crushed his windpipe and gripped what remained of his pathetic life.
The gore splattered across the walls meant nothing to me anymore. The sounds of death had become my constant companion. The terror in their eyes as life drained away no longer stirred any emotion within me.
