Marked by the Moon, Bound by Blood

Chapter 6

I stared at Anderson’s throat, exposed right in front of me. The thirst was f*****g unbearable. The warm liquid pulsing beneath his skin was literally calling my name, begging me to take a bite. My fangs felt long, itchy, and restless. I’d completely lost control of my own hands—they were clamped onto his shoulders, my black claws digging in deep.

"Misha, control yourself," Anderson rasped. His voice sounded like it was coming through a throat full of gravel.

I didn't give a s**t. I just wanted to drown the fire burning in my esophagus. I leaned in, feeling his heavy pulse thrumming against the surface of his skin. One more jerk, and I’d rip him open.

Thump.

My heart gave a massive shove against my ribs. Suddenly, a flash of a memory hit me. I saw myself sitting in the campus library, grinding through an assignment while sipping my favorite latte. The sound of my friends laughing and the smell of old books hit me out of nowhere. That reality slammed into my fading consciousness like a freight train.

"Gkh... hugh!" I gagged.

I jerked my head away and shoved Anderson back with everything I had. I scrambled backward until my spine hit the leg of the wooden table in the middle of the shack. I was wheezing. The purple glow in my veins started to dim, replaced by a wave of pure agony crashing through my body. My claws slowly retreated, shrinking back to normal.

"Hah... hah... what... what the f**k did I just do?" I asked, my voice cracking.

I looked at my shaking palms. There were bloody gouges on Anderson’s shoulders from where I’d gripped him. He was still slumped on the floor, hand clutching his neck. He looked at me with this incredibly f****d-up expression—horror mixed with a tiny sliver of relief.

"You almost turned into a monster, Misha," Anderson said. He stood up unsteadily, wiping sweat from his brow.

"I’m not a monster! I don't want to be that thing!" I screamed. I started sobbing hysterically, pulling my knees to my chest and hiding my face. "Send me back... I want to go home. I f*****g hate this place. I hate you!"

Anderson stayed quiet. He didn't come closer, probably afraid of triggering another energy blast. He walked to the corner and picked up a clay pitcher of water. He set it on the table and slid it toward me.

"Drink. You need water to settle your system," he said.

I eyed the pitcher warily. My predatory thirst had settled into a regular, bone-dry dehydration. I crawled over and snatched the pitcher, gulping the water down so fast it spilled all over my chin and shirt.

Gulp... gulp... gulp.

Once the pitcher was empty, I felt a little more human. My head was clear, even if my body felt like it had been run over by a truck. I looked at Anderson, who was now sitting in the only wooden chair in the room.

"You said we have three days," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Yeah. Three days to prove you’re not a threat to this pack," Anderson replied.

"But you said this bond is killing us. If I stay here, aren't I just speeding up your funeral?" I asked.

Anderson stared at the cobweb-covered ceiling. "In theory, yeah. But if you leave now, every werewolf in this territory will hunt you down. You won't get far with your body this unstable. You'll turn into a monster in the middle of a human town, and that ends a hell of a lot worse for everyone."

I went silent. His logic was solid, even if I hated his guts for it. I looked around the shack. It was small, cramped, and smelled like dust. There was just one wooden bed with a thin straw mattress in the corner.

"So what’s the plan? Sit here and wait for death to knock?" I asked bitingly.

"We have to try and sync our energies. Wilfredo said the bond is broken because your body is totally rejecting me. You have to stop fighting me, Misha," Anderson said.

I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Stop fighting you? You kidnapped me! You tossed me in a basement cell! You treated me like a goddamn lab rat! And now you’re asking me to 'accept' you?"

"This is about survival, not your f*****g feelings!" Anderson barked. He stood up and stepped toward me. "You think I like this? I’m an Alpha. I have responsibilities. But now I’m stuck in this rotting shack with a woman who doesn't even know what the f**k she is!"

I stood up and got right in his face. "Then let me go! Let me die out there! That’s better than bowing down to your psycho rules!"

"You are incredibly stubborn," Anderson growled.

"Damn right! I’m never going to be your 'mate' or whatever stupid word you use. I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone!" I screamed at him.

The temperature in the shack suddenly spiked. I could feel Anderson’s emotions boiling over. His eyes bled into that golden hue again. He grabbed my shoulders, but this time he was careful, trying not to trigger my defense reflex.

"Listen to me, Misha. In our world, an Alpha is never rejected. Your presence is wrecking the hierarchy I spent years building. If you won't cooperate, I might as well hand you over to the elders right now," he threatened.

"Do it! Call them! Tell them to kill me right now!" I didn't back down an inch.

Anderson stared at me, his jaw clenched tight. He looked pissed as hell, but there was something else behind the anger. He took a long breath and let go of me.

"Hmph. You’re definitely different from any woman I’ve ever met," he muttered.

"That’s because I’m a free human being, not one of your submissive little pack members," I shot back.

I walked over to the bed and sat down. I was physically and mentally trashed. I wanted to sleep, but I was terrified that if I closed my eyes, I’d wake up as a monster again.

"Take the bed. I’ll watch the door," Anderson said.

"Why? Afraid I’ll run?"

"Afraid some intruder will try to take your head before the three days are up. Not everyone in the pack agrees with the elders' decision to give you time," Anderson said seriously.