A Primal Passion - A Night's Mate| Book One

Chapter Sixteen- Alive, but very Dead

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The world in which we know is nothing we knew. The man you were dreaming of marrying was actually a horrible beast. Your mother was a whore, your dad a thief. Your best friend would sell your secrets to get ahead, you love everyone far more than they will ever love you. 

You see, life is supposed to be a fairytale. People live their lives watching movies and reading books where everything ends okay. The tribulations some face are trivial and easily overcome with minimal effort. The director or writer poorly portrays a struggle one must realistically overcome. Choosing to live when all one wants to do is die is a task costs a painful toll. 

Josephine didn't die. Her face scarred over and a pink scar, gnarly and gruesome, marred her face. She didn't die. Her lips grew pale and chapped, her eyes dull and void, she didn't die. Her skin became thin, her body heavy and lifeless- but she didn't die, did she?

Sinclair sat by her side every day, he held her hand, he prayed to the gods and goddess to wake her from her comatose state. Her father would read her stories every night, stories of her mother. Nothing piqued her interest. Nothing made her flinch, or fret, or fright. 

Reggie came in thrice. He looked uncomfortable, did nothing but play games in the room silently. Boone payed his respects, often coming with Fin but mainly he would come to sit by Sinclair's side.

The pack was in shambles. While they had won the war, thanks to Phoenix, Shiva, and the fire demons, many had lost their lives. Alpha Aleksandr had disappeared alongside Shiva and Phoenix was kidnapped by Raziel. 

Sinclair tried his best to attend to his duties as the Alpha of the Highlands, but the cost of winning had begun to weigh on him like no other. 

His mate was alive, but very much dead, and a full moon was rounding. Full moons leave wolves filled with primal needs, to reproduce, hunt, and protect. Sinclair would never touch Josephine in her state, he knew she would perish- break. But the need to delve into her mind and fight off the horrible emptiness was gnawing at him with an agonizing desperation.

Sinclair had gone as far as contacting a Phobian by the name of Harlow. Harlow was only a couple centuries old, but Phobians were hard to find. The creatures were lonely and filled with depression and often avoided people.

Harlow was average height with an average built that she hid under a large grey sweatshirt and old, baggy blue jeans. Her hair, a raven black, was messy and unkept. It often hid her face, which was pale except for the darkness of her eyes, which was smudged with messy, black eyeliner. She had becoming features if she didn't look ready to die.

The female was setting up her 'station' around Josephine. Her station consisted of three large long black candles that emitted a green flame. Multiple short, purple candles decorated the other surfaces. The candles helped Harlow allegedly, and Sinclair was too desperate to question it.

"You're going to want to leave," Harlow said with a monotone drawl.

"No."

Harlow stated with a firmer voice, "Unless you don't want this to work as efficiently as it could you will do as I say. I've never fed from someone who's been already fed on by Allurian. If I'm not careful I will leave her completely empty with no chance of getting better. So as I said, 'you are going to want to leave.'"

Sinclair took a deep breath and nodded. His mate was alive, but dead. Rising he walked to the door, pausing. Turning back he moved quickly to Josephine. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling blankly, blinking every other few seconds. Sinclair pressed his lips against her forehead and winced.