214 - Step By Step Relationship
Delice continued to clean up his wounds, both of them drawn into complete silence as their thoughts took over their minds.
“How do you feel?” She asked, pulling away.
“Better,” he replied, his voice a little husky from the suppressed sparks that her touch had ignited in him.
When she stood up and walked away from him, his gaze followed her.
He wanted to thank her for taking this risk for him, but the words were too heavy and they weighed his tongue down heavily to the point that it felt like it had been nailed to the floor of his mouth, his throat strained with an unnecessary pain.
“I hope they find the attacker soon,” she said quietly, sitting on the floor and toying with a collar mindlessly before tossing it away when she realized what she was holding.
Embarrassed.
Oliver and Laura used to be such a messy couple.
She couldn't even begin to think about the things they had done here.
The horror.
“I am worried about my daughter,” George's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Mira.
Of course, she had been worried about Mira. Delice had even thought about handing her over to someone before she would leave but that would have drawn too much suspicion, considering that she was George’s mate and he had marked her.
She was worried about her daughter too but she was certain that she would be alright.
Mira was Zezi’s daughter too, the King would ensure her safety.
“Sad about my mother.” George heaved a sigh of despair. “Zezi must hate me. I hate myself even more.”
She wanted to speak but he rose to his feet, staggering past her to the table. He grabbed any bottle his hand laid upon sniffing them for water and turning them over, disappointed at their emptiness.
“George?” Delice called after him.
“I need water,” he said, his voice husky, like nails scratching against a metallic board.
He didn't feel like himself, but thirsty.
His claws dung into the table, his fangs elongating, his vision tinted with blue.
He was so thirsty he couldn't stand. He couldn't even think.
All he knew and was certain of was his thirst.
“No, you need blood.”
He curled his hand at either side of him before grabbing the edge of the table, breathing heavily like he had ran so much and was now out of breath.
“You are thirsty because you need blood,” her voice reached him from over his shoulders but he shook his head.
“No, I do not.” Rage laced his voice.
Was she deaf?! He was thirsty, he wanted water. It was fucking simple!
Was she de—
He heard the sound of something getting tossed into the air, and he turned instinctively to catch it. A claw tore the small sack as he caught it, blood dripped from it and a whiff of the metallic liquid went straight up George's nose.
Everything blurred at that moment.
The next time he took a breath, his lips were stained with blood, and the small sack was empty.
Shame washed over him as he held the blood sachet limply in his hand. Momentary disgust and consuming defeat.
He had, indeed, needed blood.
“You should rest, while you can.” Delice said as she tossed her empty sachet of the blood on the table. With speed, she grabbed a couple of blankets, her intention to sleep on the floor, far away from him, evident. “That was all the supply I could take with me. Now, all we can do is hope.”
George sighed, teary eyed.
“Why are you not laughing at me?” He asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed and his gaze fixed on the floor.
She turned to him. “Why should I?”
He scoffed, the sound devoid of its humour; a mockery to himself.
“I am like you now, a bloodsucking monster,” he raised his head and said those words while holding her gaze. “You should be glad I am suffering the same fate I have repeatedly insulted you and punished for. You should be filled with glee. Why aren't you happy at my downfall, Delice?”
“Why should I?”
“Why not?!” He snapped. “Are you a saint not to be?!”
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