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Chapter 8

I turned my head, saw them square off, and froze, feeling as though my body were trying its best to sink into the rock on which it lay. I had never felt so vulnerable. If Aloysius lost the battle for me, the wolf would need only stalk a few steps and tear out my throat, or my belly, and I wouldn’t be able to move an inch or raise a hand to stop him. But if I saw my husband killed, I wouldn’t want to.

They circled, neither taking his eyes from the other as they stepped agilely over crevices and ridges in the rocks. Aloysius leaped lightly across a four-foot tributary and the wolf coughed a vicious barking growl and charged a few steps forward, then backed quickly toward me as the demon went to all fours and responded in kind. Aloysius rose and retreated immediately, his eyes flicking to me and back to the wolf, and I knew he was trying to draw the wolf away from me. The wolf followed him, stiff-legged, fangs gleaming, continuously growling. Each time the wolf stopped, Aloysius made as if to rush it, then backed away again, each time drawing the wolf a little farther into the forest, farther away from me. But after only a short distance, the wolf’s eyes flicked to me, also, and it refused to be drawn any farther away. The tone of its growl changed subtly, deepening, intensifying. It was going to move on Aloysius. He sensed it, and his muscular body flexed, like that of a runner awaiting the crack of the starter’s pistol. He fixed his silvery gaze on the wolf and I saw his pupils begin to glow red as he gave over almost complete control to the demon.

The wolf’s growl grew louder. I saw its body tense. It was only about ten feet from Aloysius, and it would reach him in one good leap. I yelled as I saw its powerful hindquarters bunch, but it did no good. It made the leap.

The demon sidestepped the lunge but the wolf was whirling even before it landed, and it immediately came at Aly again, rushing low. The demon hurled itself into the air, somersaulting, and the wolf reared, following it up, slashing Aly’s back as his body flipped in the air above its head. The wolf, lightning fast, was already going for him before he landed, and when he did, facing his adversary, the wolf sprang onto his chest, fangs grazing his throat before he even regained his balance. Blood flew. The demon straightarmed the wolf and threw itself backward. It managed to get a foot under the wolf and propel it away as Aly’s back hit the ground. The wolf went flying, landing in the leaves a few feet behind the demon, who came off the ground with one lithe movement and whirled to face it again. Blood streamed thinly down Aly’s chest from a slash near his clavicle, and bloody scratch marks adorned his cheek and stomach.

I sobbed in fear so great it was suffocating. The most compassionate, kindest person I’d ever known—the one least deserving of pain, who’d already withstood so much—was being attacked and injured, perhaps killed, before my eyes, and I could only watch in an agony of helplessness. Though usually respectful and loving of everyone and everything, especially nature, I was aware suddenly of a hatred for the wolf so dark and bitter that my stomach churned with it. Seeing my husband’s beautiful face marred in such a way intensified the hatred into a fierce, desperate loathing. I was choking on it. I wanted to get my hands on the wolf, to rend it limb from limb. I imagined its hot blood splashing over my naked body.

I realized suddenly that I could smell blood in the air, could smell everything—the musk and rage of the wolf, my husband’s sweat and blood, my own fear. I could differentiate between the smells and trace each to its source in the body from which it emanated. I could hear the whisper of leaves caressing one another in the air overhead, could hear the universe turning on its axis, feel its magnetic field and the pull of each force working within it, sense the gravitational changes as galaxies flew away from its center. Could hear each of our roaring heartbeats, and that of a rabbit that cowered in the bushes nearby, then broke madly for better cover. I sensed the wolf sensing the rabbit, sensing me sensing it sensing the rabbit, and caught a psychic whiff of deadly purpose and single-minded resolve. Instinct told it to fight. Nothing else was possible or even considered. It would fight to the death. I intuited the same purpose, the same intention, in Aly, wished it for myself. Wished desperately that I could summon that strength of will, the strength to break my bonds. Again I imagined what I would do if I could.

My fear dissolved, leaving only rage. Something new, or perhaps only heretofore unnoticed, reared its head and took a look around. I felt it awaken, felt its cold joy as its hungers awakened also. My head rose of its own accord and my eyes locked onto the thongs that bound my hands and feet. I was seeing them through my own eyes and the eyes of the alien within me. I jerked my right hand and the leather thong stretched, bending the small tree to which it was attached, then broke with a pop. The other three thongs followed. All this happened in the blink of an eye, and when I rose to a squat and turned in the direction of the battle, the combatants were squaring off again, the wolf now with a trace of blood shining wetly on its muzzle. I could see the red slickness of the blood in the moonlight, could make out the wolf’s eyes and the expression of solemn determination on my husband’s face. Could see each leaf and stick caught in the wolf’s pelt.

The wolf screwed its hindquarters down onto the rock, preparing for another leap, and I saw Aly notice me suddenly, saw that I had distracted him at the worst possible moment. In the second it took him to gauge my condition and glance back at the wolf, it had become airborne. It slammed into Aly and I saw his strong arms encircle its body. Then they fell together.

I heard an unearthly howl, realized it came from my own mouth, and felt my own muscles bunch just before I found myself sailing through the air. I landed on my feet just behind the wolf, which was burrowing for Aly’s throat. The demon held it off, eyes glowing like fire coals, and I felt an answering warmth bloom in my own pupils. The wolf darted its muzzle forward. One more thrust and its teeth would reach Aly’s carotid. It made the thrust and I hurled myself upon it.

My strength startled me, but held no surprise for the creature that I was becoming. With no hesitation, it grabbed the wolf’s head and twisted. I saw Aly’s arms tighten around the body. The neck broke with an audible snap. The back legs kicked feebly for a moment, then the huge furry body went limp.

The demon’s fiery eyes burned into mine. It pushed the wolf’s body away and rose. It regarded me silently, then reached toward me. My husband turned it away, kept its eyes averted until he overcame it, then turned his own calm, concerned eyes back to me.

But my eyes were drawn to the blood on his face, his chest. I stepped toward him, closing my eyes momentarily to better enjoy the heady, brassy scent. I opened my eyes and reached for him. He stood still. I stepped closer and rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then lick at the blood that still oozed from the scratches there. The taste was sweet, metallic, and intoxicating. I whimpered and it turned into a soft growl. I lapped again and again, until the bleeding stopped. Looked into his eyes. Kissed him lightly. He responded gently, but did not move to hold me. He only waited, expectantly.

I looked down at his body, at more blood that still ran from the slash near his clavicle, from the scratches on his stomach. Suddenly I was breathless with lust—for him, for his flesh, his blood, his fluids. I clasped his shoulders and put my mouth to the deepest slash and sucked. Impatient with the trickle, I moaned desperately, trying to suck harder, to draw more from him. He touched my face and I felt my teeth sink into his flesh. My incisors. My fangs.

He gasped softly but held still, allowing me my hunger. I drank ardently, finally forcing my fangs from his sweet skin, forcing myself to be content with licking the punctures, then the salty essence of his perspiration. I could taste the condition of every organ in that precious fluid, could calculate his electrolyte balance and feel the rhythm of cell production in his marrow. In awe, I raised my head and looked at him.

I could see every beautiful inch of him more clearly than I usually saw him in the brightest daylight. Could feel every muscle contraction, hear every beat of his heart, every spurt of blood that jetted through every valve, with senses that were not only heightened, but supernaturally empathic. I bent my head and once again tasted his blood, this time from the scratches on his chest and stomach. When I had licked it all away and sucked the wounds dry, I could still smell blood. I remembered the slash on his back and slunk around him, visiting the same hunger on it. When no more blood rose to my lips, I stepped back and looked at him, keeping my hands on his elbows, realizing I had been holding them in a viselike grip. I let my highly tactile new vision roam his strong shoulders, his back, his muscular buttocks. Caressed him. He did not protest, merely stood there. He knew what I needed, and was giving me time to take it.

I moved back around him, looked into his eyes, saw only patient orbs of silver. No redness glowed within them. His lips parted and he started to speak, but the site of his fangs so overwhelmed me that I stopped his words with my mouth, sucking at their hard whiteness and at his lips and tongue, my own growing teeth sometimes bumping and grazing his with a sensation that tore eager moans and whimpers from my gasping mouth. I wanted more of him, more of his flavors, his essence. I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth.

A soft moan escaped him and, in his surprise, he touched my face as though to stop me. I grasped his buttocks and sucked harder, letting my lower teeth just scrape him slightly, letting my lips form a rim that caressed his length while my tongue flicked and licked and moved on him until he grasped my head again, this time in passion, guiding my rhythm, matching it with his thrusting hips. The taste of his flesh impelled me to bite, but I contented myself with the knowledge that it would not be necessary—he would feed me again momentarily. As the thought manifested, his hands tightened on my head and a sharp cry escaped him. As always, I swallowed his emission, but more hungrily than ever, trying to suck him as dry as I had sucked his wounds. He moaned rhythmically as he spurted, then whispered my name and sank to his knees in front of me.

For a long moment he gazed into my eyes, and I knew he saw the same crimson passion I’d seen in his. I licked my lips and smiled, baring my fangs for him, knowing they would leave no doubt what I’d become. He shook his head slowly, eyes closing, and I saw his lips tremble. He spoke in a voice so low and choked that, even with my new preternatural hearing, it was hard to pick up. “Oh, my darling...what have I done to you?”

“You did nothing,” I said, loving the feel of my fangs caressing my inner lips as I spoke. “My love and need to sssave you did it. And I love it, Aly...I love it...”

I laughed and lunged for him playfully, then felt my teeth locking onto his throat. I tried to stop, but something was driving me, pushing me, forcing me, and I could not. I screamed in terror as I bit down, then in delight as I felt his blood spurt into my mouth.

Powerful hands pried me gently from his throat, then closed painlessly around my own neck in a way that sent me instantly into the dark void of unconsciousness.

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