Gia
. Her physical absence should have made it easier to resist her, but even the torment of his wounds couldn’t completely extinguish his need to go to her. It had taken every ounce of his control to huddle in on his wounds as she left with her mate. Now, as he lay there in a pool of his own blood and other bodily fluids, he couldn’t suppress the lonely cry of his wolf from deep inside him.
Fingertips gently probed his body and he clenched his teeth as Grigore began to clean his wounds. The sloshing sounds of water did nothing to drown out the howls of mourning echoing in his ears.
“This would heal more quickly if you changed form, master.”
Sorin shook his head. “Never again.”
Grigore hesitated, his fingers momentarily pausing their work. “Master?”
“I have to start all over again, Grigore.” His voice echoed in his ears, full of pain and defeat. “She’s taken it all away from me, turned me into the monster I’ve tried so hard not to be.” His tongue swirled around his mouth as if subconsciously seeking evidence of the crimes his memory threw at him. The taste of her blood lingered, taunting him with its flavor and swarming him with the sensory memories that came with it. He could almost hear her moans of pleasure, could almost fee her soft skin . . .
“Grigore, fetch me something to drink. I must wash the taste of her from my mouth.”
“You have more pressing concerns—”
“Go,” Sorin screamed.
A fresh wave of pain broke over his body and he roared it to the ceiling, closing his eyes as his cries bounced off the stone walls and mocked him with his own suffering. He rolled over, using the pain to block out the emotional turmoil churning in his spirit.
“I will survive this,” he hissed to the empty air. “I will battle this beast inside me into submission and I will emerge victorious.” He stared at the doorway, imagining the graceful curve of Gia’s legs as she walked out the door with the worthless wolf she’d chosen over him.
“You will not destroy me, Gia,” he whispered. “I will be a gentleman again. If it takes your death, I will get back what you’ve stolen from me.”
28 days later . . .
Sorin woke with a scream, writhing in pain on the floor as he fought down the beast that had nearly managed to tear its way out of his flesh. He was certain its claws were digging into his throat, its furred form filling him up as it stretched out and tried to force its way from the prison of his body. The image frightened him and sent a cold sweat pouring over his skin. He didn’t have to open the window to know a full moon hung in the sky. He could feel it.
“Grigore!”
The brownie appeared at his side, his face calm and composed despite the concern shining in his eyes. His knuckles grew white as he tightened his grip on the cup in his hands. Sorin’s eyes widened in horror as the sound of the brownie’s steady pulse thundered in his ears. His fangs ached, his hunger sharpening at the nearness of fresh blood.
“Master, please. You can’t go on like this.”
“Just give it to me!” Sorin screamed, trying to drown out the savage hunger raging inside of him. He snatched the cup from his servant’s hand, desperately battling the urge to tear open the brownie’s throat and drink from his veins instead. He could not remember a time when his hunger had been so all consuming.
Grigore winced, a rare crack in his complacent façade. He turned his head away when the vampire raised the cup to his lips.
Sorin braced himself for the bitter scent of the sedative, but the smell that wafted past his nose held no trace of the potion he’d come to recognize. He shoved himself into a sitting position, ignoring the unsettling sensation of another body inside his own that protested the movement. Forcing himself to focus past the chaos of his hunger, his gaze dropped to the bottom of the cup.
“What is this?
“Red wine.”
Sorin’s hand tightened on the cup, a feeling of dread prickling over his skin like ice. “I do not smell the sedative.”
The skin around Grigore’s eyes tightened. “There is none.”
Sorin clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, forcing the snarling beast back down into the pit of agony his body had become. He swore he could feel his insides bleeding in tattered ribbons from his beast’s increasingly desperate attempts to free itself. His dry throat ached with the need for liquid sustenance. Grigore’s heart pulsed so close to him he could almost imagine the taste of the fey’s blood on his tongue. After a moment he opened his eyes again, boring a hole through Grigore with his stare.
“Please, do not look at me like that, master.” Grigore shifted his weight to his other foot. He seemed nervous, but his gaze never left Sorin’s face. “You said it would only be until the next full moon. It is now the next full moon.”
“I need more time,” Sorin whispered, his body practically vibrating with his attempts to remain still. “I can’t control it yet—”
“You can control it, master, you simply cannot erase it.”
Sorin’s eyes narrowed, anger beginning to boil inside him at Grigore’s impudence. He was the master and Grigore was his servant. The brownie had no right to speak to him in such a way.
Punish him! Spill his blood!
His hunger had taken on a voice, his desperate need for sustenance eating away at his sanity. Sapping Grigore’s energy no longer took the edge off of his starvation. The dreaded beast inside of him had tasted blood, had indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. It had remembered what it was to be alive . . . and it was not going to be silenced again.
His hands tightened around the cup, tears springing to his eyes as he struggled to rein in his temper.
“Grigore, my friend,” he choked. “Please. I--I cannot . . . I do not want to hurt you.”
Even as the words left his mouth, his body shifted on the floor. He knelt there, leaning forward until he had to put a hand on the ground to hold himself up. His nose twitched as he scented the air just in front of his servant.
Blood . . . so close.
“I have done you a disservice, master,” Grigore said sadly. “I have remained silent, allowing you to waste away nearly to nonexistence.” He frowned and straightened his spine, drawing himself up to his full three-foot frame. “I will do so no longer. You have a chance to have a full life again and I will not be the one to take it away from you.”
His words only half-registered. The world before him turned red as Sorin lunged for Grigore, his fangs bared and his hunger drowning out any logical thought. A ravenous hunger clawed at his belly and food was just a few feet away . . .
Pain erupted at several points of his body. Sorin snarled as Grigore stepped back. The brownie had not raised his hands, had not moved except to step back from the vampire’s sudden attack. Sorin swiped at a tickling sensation on his face, shocked when he lowered his hand and found it smeared with blood.
“Do not attempt another attack on Grigore,
vukodlak
, or the next flurry of my sword will see the floor coated in your old congealing blood.”
Sorin’s jaw dropped at a flash of green caught his eyes. Morgi hovered in the air, her eyes bright as she glared down at him. The little sword she held in her hand caught the moonlight, glinting with all the malice of a much larger weapon.
“Grigore is right,” the pixie continued. “Enough is enough. I’m tired of watching you mope around, sucking the energy from my friend. You will stop your whining and you will return to the werewolf. Drink blood, have sex, be happy.” She narrowed her eyes. “And for pity’s sake, hunt for your food! Don’t just snack on whoever’s handy. It’s rude.”
The shock that had momentarily overwhelmed his hunger faded under a rush of hot anger. The beast inside him whirled around, howling and snapping to be released. Sorin’s skin seemed to tighten around his bones as if straining to retain the shadowy form within.
The beast rose up on the tide of his fury. Sharp claws gripped his insides as it began to crawl up his throat with the thread of anger in its jaws. Desperate to avoid the transformation, Sorin downed the wine. Even as he swallowed it, he knew it wouldn’t help. No amount of alcohol would calm the beast he’d denied for four weeks.
“Grigore, I am begging you,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “One more night. Her magic—”
“The magic vanished with the full moon,” Grigore countered evenly. “What you’re feeling isn’t magic, it’s—”
“Don’t say it!” Sorin roared.
“It’s love!” Morgi yelled. “It’s not magic, it’s love! Your sire poisoned your human mind against everything you were and everything you need, but your beast remembers. Let your beast lead you to a better life. Gia wants you. She will give you a new life and a new pack.” The pixie’s face softened. “You know you love her.”
“You don’t understand!” Sorin cried, the pain saturating his words. “Can’t you see that only makes it worse? Why can none of you understand?”
The beast raging inside of him froze. Sorin nearly fainted with relief as even his dreadful hunger was forgotten on a flood of frustration and pain. He stared from Grigore and his sad pitying expression to Morgi with her tiny sword at the ready, still red with his blood. Neither of them understood. They hadn’t been there.
“I tried it your way once,” he snarled. “I went back to my pack and that night I went to my bed covered in their blood. Don’t you see, I am not a werewolf! I am not a living creature that can share the bonds that are forged between members of a pack. And without those bonds, there is nothing to help the animal inside me recognize the difference between family and . . .” he choked, “prey.”
Screams from a lifetime ago echoed in his ears and he didn’t bother trying to shut them out. He’d hid from them long enough. Perhaps if he stopped fighting the horror over what he’d done would help him to resist the dark urges he felt now.
“You went back to your pack fresh from the grave,” Grigore said finally. “You had just died, violently, so you said. You had a new bloodlust that was different from the urge to hunt that you had felt before. If you had had a sire who truly wanted to help you, then I believe that night would not have gone as it did.”
“Why do you torture me?” Sorin whispered. “All your talk of Gia, you obviously think you know how I feel about her. I am fighting with everything I have not to go to her because I fear what I would do if I lose control of my beast again. Why do you insist on making it so much harder?”
“I’ve lived in this area since before the Red Water Clan was even a memory,” Morgi spoke up. “In all that time I’ve seen lupas and lycaeons come and go. So believe me when I tell you that Gia can help you. She understands emotion better than any alpha wolf I’ve seen yet and despite her hideous taste in mates--before you of course--there is no doubt in my mind that Gia will put the whole of all that stubbornness of hers into making you a happy well-adjusted werewolf.” She tilted her head. “I mean,
vukodlak
.”
“Sorin, I can see your conflict,” Grigore said gently. “You scramble to convince yourself that a life with Gia just cannot be. If you were human you may even succeed. But you are part wolf. And your wolf knows a mate when it finds one. If you are ever going to find peace, you must find a balance.”
It was all just too much. His body and mind had taken too much abuse this past month, his hungers and emotions had been denied too long. If he waited here any longer, it would only be a matter of time before someone died. He let go of his control, allowing his mind to fill with thoughts he’d fought against with every fiber of his being for the last lunar cycle.
Despair, anger, and a need so strong it left him weak swallowed him whole. Memories exploded in his mind, filling his head with sights and smells. Gia’s voice moaned in his ear. The scent of her skin, a combination of musk and fruity shampoo, tickled his nose. The slick wetness of her pussy teased his cock. He could almost feel her in his arms now, could almost believe she was opening herself to him, waiting for him to fill her as only he could . . .
The change was almost a welcome distraction. The feel of claws exploding from his fingers eased the ghostly memory of her flesh in his hands. The cracking of his bones almost blocked out the whisper of her voice. The cool air moving through his fur as he bolted from the room relieved some of the heat that threatened to overwhelm him. He traded one hell for another as the beast consumed him and bolted out of the study.