Page 23 of Donovan
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a grunt.
I couldn’t bear to look at him. Not at the stubborn set of his jaw. Not at the quiet resolve in his eyes. Not at the flicker of hurt I had caught just before he turned away.
It should’ve made me feel guilty. It didn’t. I sat there, fists clenched, every muscle in my body coiled too tight, like a wire about to snap. Everything felt wrong.
The room was too bright. The air smelled too sharp. Too full. The faintest creak of the house settling roared in my ears. I could hear things I shouldn’t be able to hear.
Smell things I shouldn’t be able to smell. My body felt like it was on fire, like there was something inside me, crawling, twisting, shifting.
And the hunger.
The cursed hunger.
It gnawed at me, deep and insatiable, a black hole in my gut that no food, no drink could fill. I swallowed, my throat dry as I hunched forward on the edge of the bed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help because even in the darkness, I could still see it.
The way Donovan’s pulse had thrummed beneath his skin. The heat of his body just a few feet away. The scent of him, rich and intoxicating, sinking into my senses like a drug.
My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. I forced myself to think of something else. Anything else.
But the hunger only surged harder, twisting into something far more monstrous. Because for one, fleeting second, I had pictured it.
Drinking from him. Not just biting him. Not just taking a sip. Drinking. Draining. And the worst part? For a split second, it hadn’t disgusted me. It had tempted me.
I shoved away from the bed so fast I nearly tripped. A growl built in my throat. No, not a growl, a snarl, as I dug my fingers into my scalp, desperate to rip the thoughts away.
No. No, no, no.
I paced the room, my movements too fast, too smooth. Inhuman.
The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too thick, too hot. I didn’t know how much had passed and didn’t care.
I needed to get out.
A knock. I snapped toward the door, barely registering the sound before it swung open. Donovan stepped inside. I saw red.
“Get out.”
His brows furrowed. “Declan.”
“I said, get out!” I roared. My voice wasn’t mine anymore. It was raw, rough and monstrous. “I told you I need space.”
He didn’t flinch. Of course, he didn’t. Donovan just sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Declan,” he repeated.
“I need you to explain,” I snarled, taking a step forward. “I need you to tell me why the hell you didn’t do what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
“Why?” I pressed, venom lacing my words. “Why did you save me, Donovan? I begged you to end it. I was ready to die. And you decided to keep me alive for what? Because you’re selfish?”
His hands curled at his sides, but still, he didn’t react. I took another step closer.
“You should have let me die,” I spat. “You should have ended this when you had the chance.”
Finally, finally, something in him snapped.
“You think I don’t know that?” he shouted, his voice cracking.
