I couldn’t have stopped myself if I wanted to.
I wanted his blood, needed it covering my hands.
My wolf demanded vengeance.
I didn’t have time to make this slow, but I would make it hurt.
He’d hurt the only pure thing in my life, and for that he’d pay with his life. And so I was before him a second later, curling my hand around his throat before he could blink, and lifting him off the ground.
He struggled… gods did he struggle, and it made the predator in me rise. He clawed at my hand and gasped for breath.
There’d be no mercy. I was his god, and his life would end by my hands.
I let my wolf rise swiftly, felt my jaw start to pop and realign enough that it morphed into my beast, and then I was ripping off Larkin’s necklace and curling my fingers around the delicate piece of jewelry. I grinned and went for his trachea with such brutal force his blood sprayed out like a geyser.
Hot, vicious blood covered my face and chest and gave my wolf a semblance of the death it craved. It would never be enough, but Larkin needed help.
Only seconds had passed but my bloodthirst was sated temporarily.
I let his carcass drop to the ground, went back to my mate to hold her in my arms, and ran as fast as I could.
Chapter
Eleven
Larkin
I felt like I was in a fever dream, in and out of reality. I could see flashes of light, hear bursts of sound, and feel something warm and wet move across my brow.
I tried to inhale deeply, take in the scents around me that would help me decipher what was going on and where I was. And for a second, panic swelled in me, because things were too conflicted all around me.
But then… then I smelled a scent that instantly calmed me. Odhran.
I wanted to call out to him, but my tongue felt too thick, my throat too tight. Trying to form words seemed too difficult.
I could smell antiseptic, a fire burning nearby, and something else, something that tingled my senses and tried to pull on my memories. I could sense anguish in the air, a heavy cloak of worry. From my mate. I couldn’t make out any words, but I could hear him speaking, the deep, low sound of his voice a comfort I found in this painful, confusing time.
I wanted to say his name. I wanted to ask him what was wrong. I wanted to ask him if everything worked out… why I hurt so much.
I heard more of his low rumble of words, his deep, soothing voice speaking in his native tongue. And although I hadn’t spent more than a moment in time with him so long ago, I’d be able to recognize his voice anywhere.
I couldn’t understand him, his Gaelic words soft, the inflection gentle, as if he was telling me everything would be okay.
“Odhran,” I finally said, forcing that one word past my too-dry lips and raw throat. A second later, I felt something press against my lips, then cool liquid slid into my mouth and down my throat.
“Easy, lass,” he crooned when I swallowed too much and coughed. I felt the heavy weight of his hand rest against my cheek. I opened my mouth to speak, but he hummed low. “Just rest. Just heal. I will no’ let anything hurt ye.”
I took another sip of water, coughed again, water slipping out the corner of my mouth. He was there instantly, drying it up. I wanted to open my eyes fully, to see him, but they felt so heavy. Too heavy. My entire body did, as if a lead blanket covered me. I would have been panicking if I wasn’t too weak and tired.
He started speaking in Gaelic again, and it was those words, that deep rumble from my mate, that had me drifting back to sleep.
When I woke up again, I had the strange sense that a long time had passed. I remembered bits and pieces, things that felt like a dream, not quite reality. But maybe they were. I opened my eyes, and it took long moments for my vision to adjust and clear.
I stared up at a ceiling, the rustic construction of it showing whitewashed beams that ran parallel to the floor. The coloring of the beams reminded me of the driftwood I used to collect at the beach for my father.
I didn’t move right away, just took note of my surroundings, of my body.
I licked my dry lips, swallowed against my parched throat, and felt as if my side was on fire, as if somebody had taken a knife and sliced me open.