The brown dragon crashed down not far from him, its wings bent at a bizarre angle, their whereabouts unknown. It struggled feebly on the ground, hot, smoky blood spraying from its wounds.
Its black pupils were already dull and lifeless. Suleiman's massive body bore down on it, his crushing weight making the earth tremble.
Suleiman lowered his head, and instinctively, his claws tore open the dragon's throat, putting an end to its resistance.
He had no other thoughts. He didn't think at all; he acted on instinct.
Then he began to feed. He tore into the dragon's flesh, but what he tasted wasn't the satisfaction of eating meat or the tang of blood.
With every mouthful, a pure, warm torrent of energy surged into his body. The warmth coursed through his limbs and organs, replenishing what he had lost.
The weakness of near-death began to fade.
He could clearly feel the life force leaking out of him being stemmed. He devoured the other dragon in great mouthfuls, not to sate his hunger, but to become whole again.
By the time he swallowed the last energy-rich piece of flesh, the brown dragon's body was gone. Only a few broken bones remained.
And he felt stronger and more replete than before. The lethal hunger had disappeared completely, replaced by a sense of power unlike any he had ever known, as if he could level the entire mountain range.
He raised his head toward the blood-red night sky and let out a satisfied, imperious roar.
The roar shook heaven and earth, echoing again and again across the entire Mountains of the Moon.
Suleiman jolted upright in bed, gasping for breath. His chest heaved as he retched over and over.
What the hell was that, sleep paralysis? Every sensation had been so real—the stench