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Watching Erin slowly make her way through the dark living room with Rob leaning heavily against her shoulder, Conner went over the mental list of things he needed in his head. “Passports, money…we don’t need anything else, I hope,” he muttered to himself, darting his eyes about for anything else he could have missed. Seeing in the dark was easy, listening for any tiny noise was not. He didn’t have any idea where the wolves had gone, no idea why they were here.
He walked through into the kitchen, swinging the bag up on his shoulder. He was about to open the front door, when a sudden waft of metallic blood around him hit his nostrils. Mouth welling with saliva, he muttered, “No, Conner.” His hands trembled like an alcoholic’s. Swallowing, he tried to ignore the coffee table in the living room, slathered in blood and chunks of the other wolf’s flesh. He closed his eyes, savouring the scent that sang to him in tones only heard by the few.
As if hypnotised, Conner dropped the bag from his shoulder, staggering towards the bloodied room. The memories of that nectar. Before he knew what he was doing, Conner let his hand go out to the large pool of liquid dripping from the edge of the dark wood, almost as though his hand was possessed by someone other than himself.
Conner let his fingertips lovingly trace a circle in the blood. Lifting his hand to his face, he stared half in lust, half in disgust at the redness on his fingertips. “Hello, old friend,” he murmured. Without thinking for a second further, he thrust them into his mouth, sucking the blood off with a licentious moan. His eyes slammed shut with the force of the ecstasy he felt. The metallic sweetness had a shocking effect to his senses. He felt stronger, more powerful, more alive, more like himself. His canines slid out. I need more. So long since I’ve had this…
Almost driven by an unseen force, he leaned down and licked the small table with abandon. Conner moaned in rapture as he tasted the life-giving liquid, growling in response to the wolf inside him, urging him on.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a moonbeam falling across the werewolf’s hand, still sprawled on the floor where he had left it. Curled in its grasp was a rolled curl of paper. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Conner stooped and retrieved it, unfurling the short letter with trepidation.
Bring her home. Bring our Queen home.
Conner snapped to his senses with a jolt.
He heard the clunk of Erin’s car doors closing, and the sound made him realise what the hell he was doing. He hurriedly wiped off the corners of his mouth with the thumb of his shaking hand, wiping it on the back of his jeans. Leaning away from his temptation, he steadied himself. What have I done? He took a deep breath and stepped quickly to the back door.
Part of him felt disgusted at what he had just done, but part of him felt elated, and loved the old, powerful, familiar rush of power surging through his body, awakening the wolf inside.
He hoped it wouldn’t last.

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