Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 10

The rush. The exhilaration of running, of my hands and feet digging into the damp soil of the forest floor, of my heart racing impossibly fast with each powerful stride. I was searching.

Looking for something that I could taste just on the tip of my tongue. Something delectable.

Something... satisfying.

It was close. I could smell the sickly sweet aroma in the air mixed with the scent of freshly disturbed earth and wet leaves. An almost metallic taste on my tongue. Almost there. My stomach clenched with ravenous hunger. It was so dark and yet I could make out every tree and bush, every single leaf in my path. I could see it all.

The huddle of brown and taupe and black fur stopped suddenly as I eased away from the bushes. Their heads lifted and stared in my direction, masks of red across their eyes and snouts, mouths dripping with something thick and crimson. They waited as I made my way closer to the group, that wondrous aroma getting thicker in my nostrils. Each step found the dirt wetter and wetter, until the earth was saturated in something much warmer than rain. It coated my palms and soles in the reddest red, and dirt clung to my skin possessively.

The wolves in front of me parted, and in the middle of the gathering, on the blood-soaked floor, was... me. At least something deep inside me told me that I was staring at myself, because what lay on the ground was unrecognizable. Honey blond hair was matted with chunks of flesh and tacky blood. Her stomach—my stomach—was torn open. Sinew and entrails ripped apart and strewn along the ground around my body, dark blood glistening in the moonlight as it poured effortlessly from the wound. An arm stretched out across the forest floor limp and appearing lifeless at first, but as I stepped closer it reached up to me, pleading to me.

There was the distinct scent of fear—of blood, too, but mostly fear. The aroma of my terror, of my blood and meat, was intoxicating. It reached every crevice of my being, and I was drunk with the need to feed.

I stared down at the body I had known for so many years and felt... nothing. No sympathy.

No regret. No affection. No loss. Just hunger. I looked into the eyes of my former self, wide and smeared with my own blood, and without mercy I lunged and sunk my teeth into my throat.

Blood poured like wine into my mouth. Meat melted between my teeth and I ate. I feasted to my heart's content with the wolves around me.

◊ ◊ ◊◊ ◊ ◊

My eyes flew open and I sat straight up in my bed. I’d woken myself with my own screams.

My stomach was heavy, the room was spinning, and before I could even manage one linear thought, I was out of bed and running to the bathroom.

The entire contents of my stomach emptied right then and there. I hovered over the toilet bowl, my arms draped over the top, and I swear I could taste blood and raw meat in my mouth. It was thick, and rancid, and the mere thought of it made my stomach tighten and forced me into another heaving fit.

When I was certain the vomiting was over, I splashed my face with some water and brushed my teeth with extreme scrutiny. Even when the taste of vomit was gone, I continued brushing until the taste of blood was a hazy memory. It was the most intense dream I’d ever had. So real, so vivid. I could still feel the dirt between my fingers and toes. Could still feel the exhilaration of the run, of the hunt. The kill.

Thoughts of the wolves in my dream turned to the animal sleeping beside my bed. God, did I even want to look at that thing after the dream I had? I needed to. I know I did, if for nothing else, then to let it out of the apartment.