Series: Star Moon Pack Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 118781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
And oh, it feels good.
I’m on all fours, growling as I look around at so many stunned faces. I snap my jaws, and a few of them back away, and yes, that feels good, too. I’m going to tear all of them apart, piece by piece, one by one, while the others watch and wait their turn. I’m hungry for the taste of their blood, starved for the sound of their screams. Screams of horror, of regret for ever fucking with me.
But there’s one in particular whose blood I need to taste the most, whose screams I most need to hear. He’s still standing beside me, frozen in place, and he looks like he’s seen his worst nightmare come to life. “How? Why, how?”
He doesn’t have much time to think about those questions because I lunge at him. I must take him by surprise because it’s easy to knock him onto his back with a resounding thud that rattles his bones and mine.
The joy that bursts free inside me is like nothing I have ever known. I’m so strong! My claws—they’re so sharp! It doesn’t take any effort to split the skin of his cheek and make his blood spill out across the ground. He howls in pain every time I slice into his chest, shoulders, stomach, and legs, which only drives me further.
More, I want more, and I take it, cutting through him like a knife through butter. He’s nothing. He’s no one. Just flesh, and flesh is so easily destroyed. Every slice is repayment. Every bite is a reward. Every drop of blood represents the blood he spilled from me over the years.
“Help me!” he manages to scream one final time before I’m tired of listening to his shrieks, and instinct leaves me sinking my teeth into his throat. My senses are in overdrive, and the taste of his blood is the sweetest thing that’s ever touched my tongue. It dances along my taste buds, coating my throat, and I intend to drink up every last drop. As the life drains out of him, it only seems to make me stronger. I’m consumed with a need to end him, once and for all.
When I’m finished, when I lift my head with blood dripping from my fur, I find the person who made my life miserable for as long as I can remember dead beneath me, his eyes bulging, his mouth still open in a silent scream. His blood pools beneath him, and I want to bathe in it. I want to coat myself in it.
“Lili! What have you done?”
“He’s dead!”
“She fucking killed him!”
My head snaps up, and reality comes rushing back. I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by everyone who’s made life hell for me simply because I existed. And now I have power, now I’m one of them, and I’ve killed one of them in front of their very eyes. A growl rumbles in my chest, and a gasp rises up. They could easily shift and fight me, but they aren’t. Because they’re afraid.
The torn body beneath my front paws is reason enough to be.
One of the black wolves crosses in front of me, those golden eyes glowing as they fix on mine. He isn’t afraid.
“What are you doing?” The voice echoes in my head though nothing comes out of him. Of course, he’s his wolf. But I can still hear him as if we are both in our human bodies, speaking normally. I’ve heard of the mental telepathy wolves share, but of course, I have never experienced it until now.
“Did you intend to kill another wolf?” he demands.
I killed another wolf. The meaning sinks in, finding its way through my pride, joy, and the bliss of finally being who I was meant to be. Of making one of them pay. The sounds of Dexter’s screams still ring in my ears, and it’s a beautiful sound that makes my heart beat faster.
At the back of my mind, I’m reminded that he was a wolf, and I killed him. One of my own kind. Horrible enough, I want to do it again. I look away from the golden-eyed wolf and find Hannah cowering, one hand covering her wounded eye, dried blood on her cheek and chest. I could do it again. I would gladly do it again. I don’t realize I’m growling at her until she gasps and falls back a few steps. “No. No, don’t do it,” she pleads.
Even as her reaction sends pleasure sizzling through me, it also holds me back. Is this me? Am I actually thinking this way, imagining how sweet it would be to tear out her throat and roll around in her blood? It would be so easy, maybe even easier than it was with Dexter, and there’s nothing she could do to stop me, especially if he couldn’t. He was huge and powerful but no match for my wolf.