The Lost Wolf

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

When Damian woke up her bed was empty.

He didn't question it this early into the morning; he didn't want to. He remembered those few days he had stayed at her house to watch over her, how she always grumbled in the morning. How she twisted and turned in irritation at every sound her sensitive ears picked up, and how her eyes stayed vexingly narrowed before she had her fill of breakfast.

Yet another miracle his cooking performed. He smiled to himself. No one could resist his happy blobs.

He grabbed a bag of breakfast from the kitchen and stretched, finding satisfaction in pulling at his sore muscles. He saw Ian dashing toward their room, a phone pressed tightly over his ear, but chose to focus more on the redhead cleaning a cup of pudding with all the meticulousness her spoon could provide.

"Where's everyone?" he asked, laughing lightly when she gave up on the spoon and scooped whatever she could with her finger. It reminded him of someone.

Lana licked at the pudding and threw the cup in the trash. "Training," she said simply, turning the faucet on to wash her hands.

Damian hummed and started walking out to join the others. Of course they'd be out, wolves couldn't take too long being cooped up in small spaces. Val was living proof of that.

And with the added protection of Moiras' walls, not using this chance to prepare would be a waste. Nevermind deadly.

"She's there, too." He heard her supply, and laugh. He gritted his teeth, hating how his body had gone rigid just by a mention of her. Was he so transparent?

Heading over to the training grounds by the forest, he scrunched up his nose in distaste at all the grunts and grumbles. Everyone seemed to be over-exerting themselves, the sounds they made a testament to their resolve.

The blood didn't bother him much — not that it ever really did. He didn't understand where this control stemmed from, it sure as hell wasn't from him. He grew up watching people — his friends — struggle with the thirst, and yet he never felt that same pull toward it ever since the day he was turned.

Human blood preserved him so he needed it to survive, but beings that were part of the supernatural had a certain scent in their blood, and it never appealed to him to try it.

Then she came along.

He wasn't sure when it started, but the scent of her blood didn't irritate him half as bad. It smelled... nice. And that day at that lake...

No. He wasn't good at holding back.

He snapped out of the haze and shook his head.

After seeing Val like that, it felt like everyone had hurried their pace, rushing to get as strong as possible before their inevitable battle. He shuddered. Having seen her die time and time again but still fight...

He couldn't imagine himself able of such strong will. Not when he knew losing her once would crush him beyond repair.

When had those feelings begun? And how was it that the moment he realized them was the moment she was taken away from him?

He listened in, blocking out every other sound that wasn't her. When he found her, inside the ring and mercilessly pulling at Mark's rear leg with her teeth, he saw Evan sitting by a tree near them.

He was shirtless and sweaty, so it was pretty easy to discern what he must have been doing before he decided to sit down and watch her. Some kind of sick satisfaction enveloped him at the sight of the blood on his body, wounds that had already healed. And he hated it. He hated himself for it.