She bit down slowly, her fangs sinking into Astaroth’s surprisingly tender flesh. Golden blood spurted, filling her mouth with its sweetness, spilling down her throat. Her eyes fluttered closed and she held on to his arm with both hands now, her teeth cutting into the meat. Christ, his blood was amazing. Warmth spread from her throat, from her belly, outwards. It reached her ribs and the pain went away and she could feel them, she could actually feel them, begin to repair themselves. Cuts and bruises and breaks and fractures were all absorbed into the spreading warmth.

She pulled her mouth away slightly, chewed, swallowed, and it was dizzying. She’d never tasted anything like it. It was more than nourishing – it was more than intoxicating. It was pure pleasure. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her skin sizzled with electricity. She took another bite, ripped out a chunk of meat, swallowed, then clamped her mouth on his arm again. She moaned, down deep in her throat. Her left leg was shaking. She twisted a little, ploughing fresh furrows, drinking more blood. The pleasure was building. Rising. Jesus, it felt like …

She was going to explode. Wave after wave of sensation swept through her, stronger and stronger each time, and it built and built and finally there was nowhere left for it to go and the wave crested and she did explode, every single nerve ending singing out in rapturous harmony, every cell of her body dancing on fire and she cried out and her knees went and she lost her grip on his arm and she collapsed, gasping, to the stone floor.

Astaroth passed a hand over his mangled forearm, and his hand brought healing.

“You have eaten of my flesh,” he said, “and you have drunk of my blood. You will be my voice on Earth. You will be my eyes, my ears, my hands. You will enact my wrath, secure my vengeance, and deliver my judgement. Stand now.”

Slowly, Amber stood, watching her reflection in the mirrored walls as she did so.

She was taller. She was even taller and stronger than before. Her clothes strained to contain her. Her skin was still that glorious, glorious red, but now it positively shone. Her horns had grown, too. They were practically antlers now, majestic and proud. She was beyond magnificent. She was something else entirely.

“Kill the Hound,” said Astaroth.

Amber dragged her gaze away from her reflection.

She was taller than the Hound now, even without her horns. His yellow eyes were wide. He growled, and stepped back. Astaroth ignored him, kept looking at her.

“What use have I for one Hound? His brothers failed me. He failed me. Kill him and I can start afresh.”