Blood & Honour [Book Four of The City of Eternity Series] [✔]

4.26: Discoloured

Do I want to live?

Yes, I think so. Through my gasping breaths, I can feel my chest tighten at the idea of dying, a primal response, a natural survival instinct, there was no denying that dying was the least of my wishes.

Do I want to kill to live? No. God, no. Every nerve, every cell, every inch of my body revolts at the idea. I could barely stomach the part of my job that required sentencing someone to death... I don't want to hurt her. It isn't her fault. How could I hurt her?

Do I think I have a choice? That, I'm not sure.

I stare into her glowing, blood-red eyes, and the truth hits me like a punch to the gut. I know there's no other way out. There was no bartering, no screaming her name to wake her up, no trap I could coax her into. There is no reasoning with a newly turned werewolf. I knew enough of their history to know that if there'd been a few transformations, sure, you are more than likely to be able to bring them back; but that first time - they're stuck inside their own head for days, until they shred something open and feed the beast whispering inside their mind.

She's standing right there, in the centre of the room, growling, her breath harsh and laboured. Between me and the only door. And I'm still chained, still helpless. My mind races, but I come up with nothing. No plans, no options.

She's my friend.

I knew the only reason I was still alive was because Gina was lying in the centre of the room, her body convulsing and adapting to the new changes. Her once human form was now fully contorted, twisted into a hulking dog-like figure cloaked in white-grey fur. She was small for a werewolf, but that was no comfort to me; she was still a werewolf, she was still flowing with the power that comes with that.

Her breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, each exhale a growl filled with vibrato. Her eyes, those delightfully warm, full of life and fire, now burned red, glowing unnaturally and looking positively wild. The beast that had set up shop inside her head, whispering its commands and demanding her compliance had now taken over - and I could feel that at any moment, any second, she was going to pounce on me.

I could see her newly formed claws twitching, tension building in her shoulders as she kept low to the ground. This wasn't Gina - the woman who would tip-toe into my office, clutching a mug and just stand there silently, enjoying my company, or, the woman who would shoot me daggers in meetings because she'd heard something she wanted to physically fight against. That Gina wouldn't return for a long while, lost, chained, inside. When she did, she'd barely remember this moment; only glimpses would come back to her, flashes in her nightmares. She'd remain lost until I was dead - until she had ripped me apart and fed on the blood pumping through my veins.

"Gina..." I whisper, my voice barely audible, even to myself. I don't know why it leaves my mouth at all. Maybe I hope that, deep down, there is some small, tiny part of her that is trying desperately to take control of her body. Maybe, part of me hopes that she'll stop, because she's recognised me, and bring herself back. But even as her name leaves my lips, I know it's useless. There's no glimmer of recognition in her eyes. There's no sudden change in her demeanour. There's just a creature using her eyes.