Page 52 of Donovan
My muscles stiffened, but I didn’t let it show.
Donovan’s body language was the opposite. He was leaning forward now, curiosity alight in his eyes. Hopeful.
“We need protectors,” Jonas continued, his voice low, but clear. “Defenders. Our flock has never been strong in battle. We’ve relied on our numbers, on our speed, on our ability to avoid the fights we couldn’t win. But these attacks… they’re becoming more frequent. We need people like you.”
I could feel Donovan's posture shift beside me. He was practically vibrating with eagerness. He wanted this. He wanted to help. But I?
I felt nothing but the cold grasp of wariness tightening around me. I could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere, its seconds dragging by.
The Guild would be looking for Donovan soon. For both of us.
And staying here, taking on a job as a protector for some village of peaceful shifters? It would be a mistake.
The longer we stayed, the worse it would be.
Jonas must have sensed the hesitation in my silence. His next words were softer, almost coaxing. “You’d have a home here,” he said.
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. There was no safety for me, not anymore. Not since I became a monster. I wasn’t looking for a place to belong.
I was looking for a way to keep moving, to survive another day.
But Donovan’s gaze shifted toward me. He wasn’t asking me to accept their offer right away. He wasn’t asking for much.
But the way he looked at me, the way he silently communicated everything without saying a word, told me what he was thinking.
He wanted this. His shoulders were relaxed, and I could see the hope in his eyes. I could see him imagining a future here, imagining peace after all the chaos.
I clenched my jaw, pushing the words down, fighting the urge to tell him it was too dangerous. Too reckless. I opened my mouth to speak but found I had nothing to say.
Instead, I just picked up my mug, pretending to take another long drink, my mind still reeling with the weight of the decision hanging in the air between us.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DECLAN/ DONOVAN
DECLAN
Later that night, we returned to the cabin.
The warmth of the feast was gone now, replaced with the quiet crackling of the fire and the distant, whispering sounds of the forest outside.
Donovan was sitting on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots, the faint rhythm of his movements calming, yet not enough to quell the storm stirring inside me.
I stood by the window, staring out into the dark, my fists clenched by my sides. The hunger was back.
It had been muted during the battle, dulled by the rush of adrenaline, the heat of the fight.
The feast had offered a temporary distraction. Its warmth, the steady flow of conversation, all of it masking the gnawing need that was now clawing its way back up.
It wasn’t just the bloodlust. It was everything.
The constant battle inside me, the push and pull of wanting to remain in control, to hold back, and yet, the relentless desire to just… give in.
To stop pretending I had a grip on everything, to stop pretending I wasn’t already lost.
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into the skin of my palm as I fought it back. I wasn’t an animal, but tonight, it felt like I was losing that battle.
I exhaled sharply, stepping away from the window. I was about to move across the room, to find some way to calm myself, when I felt him.
