Frost Fire

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The girl lay there. For a second, he froze. She still looked the same. Younger than she actually was, her features soft and angelic, her eyes… Scarred. That was the word for them. They were a perfect silver color, pure and unblemished. Still, their lack of naivety left them scarred. No. He couldn’t do this, not to the girl.

She looked dazed with sleep, but horrified. Her expression was terrible to watch, as the horror slowly overtook any trace of sleepiness. Then, recognition. Her eyes widened, her mouth trembled. Because she knew him, just as well as he knew her. “No,” she whispered.

Drake took a step forward. His boot thumped in time with his stalling heart. He clenched his forearm, contracting his muscles, bringing his claws forward. Then he quietly whispered his response.

“Yes.”  

She didn’t scream. He watched her trembling lip, waiting for it to part and let loose a blood-curdling shriek. But she didn’t. The girl just stayed there sitting, shaking, clutching the sheets close to her.

Drake glanced down to his claws. Then back to the girl. And back to his claws. He thought about the first time he’d ever killed something. It’d been a deer he’d hunted. Its blood, crunching bone, and last thrashes—those were things ingrained in his mind. He swallowed hard and watched as a drip of sweat slowly trickled down to the tip of his broken claw. His stomach felt sick.

He leapt forward. Not thinking, not feeling, just following his instincts. Or maybe it wasn’t instincts, because those were supposed to keep people alive, and what he was about to do—he’d definitely be dead soon.

He landed right beside her bed, the carpet muffling the thud of his boots. The girl didn’t even recoil. She was completely frozen. Even her shaking stopped.

Drake gulped in a breath and thought back to Dad’s orders. Bring back the girl’s blood. That was all he needed, all the proof it required to free his mom. Just her blood. 

“I need your blood,” he whispered to the girl. “I swear, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need your blood.”

Either she didn’t hear him, or she didn’t understand. Because she remained frozen, just gaping at him.

Footsteps pounded in the hallway outside her door. Hunter guards. He only had seconds to save Mom’s life. Not enough time to think this through.

Drake grabbed her arm, yanking her toward him. He circled one arm around her shoulders to keep her from moving, and then sliced his broken claw across her neck. It was done. That quickly, it was done. Her blood coated the tip of his claw; he had what he needed.

The girl sagged against him. Panic rose in him, but then he saw her chest moving. She was still breathing. She was just unconscious from shock.

He whirled toward the window, preparing to leap out. But then the door burst open. He hadn’t been quick enough. Mom would die. And he would die, too.

He wanted to shout, scream, cry. Instead, he turned to the girl. He gently laid her back onto her bed, making sure her head rested comfortably on a pillow. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing his fingertips across the cut he’d given her.

Something struck his head, and stars exploded in his vision. Blocking out the sight of the blood. And the girl.