Chapter 172: The Crimson Tide [13]
The woman scrambled backward. Her hand went to her belt, searching for another weapon. But. Nothing left.
"Wait—" she started. Trying to buy time. Trying to think. "We can—"
But Alaric moved.
Fast. Too fast for her to react.
His hand shot out and closed around her throat. Lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing.
Then he turned and slammed her back into a tree trunk.
CRACK!
The impact drove the air from her lungs. Her ribs broke. Pain exploded through her chest.
Blood filled her mouth. She coughed and it spilled down her chin.
Alaric held her there. Pinned against the rough bark. His grip was iron. Unbreakable.
His pupils pulsed. Dilating and contracting. Like a heartbeat.
He leaned in closer.
Sniff!
The fresh, warm scent of blood, clouded his senses.
His tongue came out, and he moved to her face, following the trail of blood down her chin.
The woman’s eyes widened. She tried to struggle but her body wouldn’t respond properly.
Alaric pulled back slightly. Looked at her with those inhuman eyes.
"Good," he said quietly. Almost to himself.
His grip on her throat tightened.
Her struggles weakened. Eyes starting to roll back. Consciousness slipping.
Then his grip loosened. Just enough so that the air rushed into her lungs in a desperate gasp.
But he didn’t let go.
His free hand moved to the collar of her cloak, his fingers closed around the fabric.
He yanked it aside, tearing it away from her neck.
The cloth ripped, exposing her pale skin beneath.
Her pulse was visible. Racing.
The woman’s eyes widened. Understanding dawning.
"No," she choked out. "Please—"
But Alaric’s mouth opened.
His canines extended. Elongated into fangs.
He leaned in close. She tried to thrash. But his grip on her throat held her immobile. Pinned against the tree like an insect.
"Don’t—" she muttered.
His fangs pierced her skin, sank deep into the side of her neck.
Her scream cut off into a choked gasp.
Blood flowed. Hot. Rich. Flooding his mouth.
Alaric’s eyes closed. A sound escaped him, something between a groan and a sigh of relief, Satisfaction.
Like something that had been clawing at him from the inside finally getting what it needed.
He drank.
The woman’s body went rigid. Her hands still clawed at his wrist but with less strength now. Her movements growing sluggish. Weak.
Her mouth opened. Trying to scream. Only a faint whimper came out.
Blood ran down her neck. Staining her torn clothing. Dripping onto the ground.
Alaric drank deeper. His throat working. Swallowing.
The woman’s struggles faded. Her arms fell limp at her sides. Head lolling back against the tree trunk.
Her eyes stared up at nothing. Glassy. Unfocused.
Still breathing. Barely.
Alaric’s grip on her throat loosened completely.
The forest was silent except for the sound of his feeding. And her faint, rattling breaths.
Getting fainter.
And Fainter.
Then he pulled back. His fangs retracted slowly, sliding back into normal teeth. He licked his lips, tongue catching the last traces of blood.
Satisfaction rolled through him. The burning in his eyes dimmed, still glowing, but softer now.
The woman hung limp in his grip. Her skin had gone pale. Bloodless. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.
Exhausted. Completely drained. Barely conscious.
Then he released her throat.
She swayed. Her legs couldn’t support her weight and she fell forward, collapsing against his chest.
He looked at her, then his hand shot up. Grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back roughly.
She gasped. Eyes fluttering open halfway.
He tilted her face up toward the moonlight. Studied her with new interest. His head cocked to the side.
Blood still wet on her neck. Trailing down to her collarbone. Her lips stained red where she’d coughed it up earlier.
"You’re not bad," he murmured in a low voice.
Before she could process the words, he leaned in.
His mouth captured hers. Not gentle. But possessive.
The woman’s eyes went wide with shock. She tried to pull back, but there was no strength left. Her hands pushed weakly against his chest.
He deepened the kiss. His tongue traced her lips, tasting the blood there. Metallic, though still warm.
A sound escaped her throat. Half protest, half whimper.
After a long moment, he pulled back. His lips separated from hers with deliberate slowness.
Then he leaned in close to her ear. His breath warm against her skin. When he spoke, his voice was soft. Almost gentle. But the words were ice.
"If you tell anyone about what happened here tonight..." He paused. Letting the silence stretch. "I’ll hunt you down. Track you to whatever hole you crawl into. And I’ll make you wish I’d killed you now when I had the mercy to do it quickly."
His fingers tightened in her hair for a second and then he released.
She dropped immediately. Hit the ground hard. Her body rolled onto its side, limbs sprawling. Gasping for air that burned her throat.
She was Alive. Barely. But alive.
He stood over her. Looking down with those glowing crimson eyes.
"Consider yourself lucky," he said quietly. "I’m in a generous mood tonight."
Then he turned away and started walking deeper into the forest. His footsteps faded into the darkness between the trees.
The woman lay on the ground. Trembling. One hand pressed to the puncture wounds on her neck.
His warning echoed in her mind. Over and over. That soft, gentle voice promising horrible things.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Just lay there in the dirt and blood, staring at nothing.
Deeper in the forest, Alaric moved through the underbrush. Branches scraped at his clothes. Leaves crunched under his boots.
"More," he murmured. Voice low. Hungry despite what he’d just taken. "Need... more."
The blood hadn’t been enough. The hunger still clawed at him. Demanding. Insatiable.
Then he stopped. Eyes narrowing. The glow intensified.
As he sensed movement ahead.
He turned and saw a pack of Dreadhounds emerged from the shadows. There were six of them.
Massive bodies, matted fur, eyes reflecting red in the moonlight. Their maw wide-opened, revealing rows of teeth.
Low growls rumbling from their chests.
They’d been drawn by the smell of blood. The sounds of fighting. Looking for easy prey.
Alaric looked at them. Head tilting.
"You’re annoying me," he said flatly.
The lead Dreadhound lunged. Jaws open wide.
Alaric moved.
Faster than the beast. His hand shot out and caught it by the neck mid-leap. Fingers digging into fur and flesh.
Crackle!
Red lightning crackled up his arm.
The Dreadhound’s snarl turned into a yelp. Then a whimper. Its body convulsed.
He threw it aside. It hit a tree with a sickening crunch and didn’t get up.
The other five circled. Wary now. Recognizing a bigger predator.
But Alaric didn’t wait for them to attack.
He lunged.
Crackle!