Panic. That was the overriding emotion he felt, as he unglued his sleepy eyes. Panic because he was still wearing what he had on last night, and it was drenched in crimson gore, shirt absolutely plastered to his skin. He did a quick kind of bodily inventory, which revealed he had some broken fingernails as if there had been some kind of a struggle.
He wracked his weary mind, which was still fogged and confused, and got vague almost-memories of running, a young girl screaming, and a sense of warmth and satisfaction. Had he done something monstrous?
With a sigh, when recollection finally penetrated his tiredness addled brain, he told himself that he must do something about this insomnia and waking up several times in the night. Muttering about needing a softer pillow, Count Zalda, vampire lord, turned over and tried to drift off again.