HIS SALVATION

Chapter 19

Clawing viciously at his own guts, howling through the marrow of every bone, and digging his claws into a heart that has never felt as tender.

Greedy hunger, desperate need and protective rage battle against absolute agony, self-loathing and heartbreak, lighting his veins on fire, painting them black, and, finally, Godric's feet falter in their steps, sending him crashing into a tree.

The world has turned red.

Bloody.

And the Lycan can't figure out if it is from the blood he can still see dripping down her shoulder and neck or from the one he saw pouring out of her mouth and leaking on the floor of her father's kitchen... or maybe it is the one on his knuckles as a flashback of her haunted eyes burns through his mind, and Godric drives his fist right through an oak tree.

And he howls.

And he growls.

And he beats the boulders and trees around him until his hands are covered in his blood.

Until the area around him finally resembles the nuclear rage burning in his guts.

A punch.

And another.

And another.

Godric doesn't stop.

With razor-sharp focus, all the tendons in his neck standing out, his lips peeled back from elongated canines, his hands shoot like lightning, throwing his fists relentlessly into every surfaces he encounters.

Watching with morbid satisfaction as they crack and fissure under his hands.

Now, they look like her eyes.

Now, they look like his heart.

          "The fact is you hurt me."

Another burst of animalistic rage and consuming self-loathing destroys him as the beast trashes inside his veins, and Godric falls forward on his bloody hands and knees, vomiting and choking up on bile, tears, and blood.

          What did I do?

          What the FUCK did I do? ...Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

Catching himself on a large pine tree, trembling and shaking from overwhelmed senses, he stands up with difficulty and presses his trembling fists against his eyes, glossy and shiny from the first tears he ever shed in his life.

Heaving breath through parted teeth and clenching his fists tightly close, his mind reaches out to her, checking on her like he has been doing instinctively and obsessively since the second he found her.

          53 miles away... Void.

          No emotions.

          Blocked.

And then, he runs.

Again.

Hoping that if he runs enough, he will finally feel pain and exhaustion in his muscles.

Maybe if he runs enough... if he pushes himself harder and faster, his thighs and calves will finally burn and ache, his sides will hurt, and his feet will be sore from digging into the ground.