Chapter 127 A Burning Desire
Ophelia shrieked, falling onto her knees, but Killorn lunged past her. He pinned Beetle down, who flailed and snarled, revealing the fur that sprouted from his skin. Beetle was close to shifting.
"Burn your gown, Ophelia, NOW!" Killorn roared, the sound half human and wolf. She was quick to undress, forgetting her modesty, and tossed the fabric into the blazing fireplace, turning around to quickly scramble to put on his tunic. "Throw everything into the fire!" he seethed.
Ophelia quickly obeyed, uncorking the bottle, and pouring the entire thing into the fireplace. Immediately, the flames engulfed and grew bigger, as if absorbing oil. She tossed in the glass for good measure, jumping back as embers flew into the air, nearly licking at her exposed legs.
"GIVE IT TO ME!" Beetle's darkening eyes locked onto her, his teeth revealed, gnawing and biting at the air. He wanted to pounce at her with every menace in the world, to unleash his savageness upon her. He pounded his fist on the floor, paling with each second as he wrestled dominance with his wolf. The fabric hit her mid-thigh, but Ophelia curled into a ball on the floor anyway, back turned to them both. She was scared that running past them would result in Beetle grabbing her ankles and yanking her to the ground.
"Just… a bite!" Beetle seethed, fighting and clawing with all of his might. He sounded nothing like himself, and neither did his dark, coarse fur that grew from his face. He was no longer human, his pupils turning into sharp slits like a broken moon. "Get ahold of yourself," Killorn seethed, his command as Alpha slicing through Beetle's insanity. Beetle flinched and strained, his muscles bulging out of his shirt, his skin turning pale from the force of the Wolf's Sovereignty. "Run… Luna!" he shouted, fighting to grapple back at his wolf. Saliva dripped from his razor-sharp fangs, glinting with malevolent hunger. His nose twitched, his entire body trembling. His ears, pointed and alert, pointed in her direction, capturing the faintest of sound, focused on nothing, but the target. "GO!" Beetle begged, releasing a final guttural growl, his body slumping as he seemingly won the struggle. He bowed his head, heaving and coughing, but still trembled with uncertainty. "NOW, OPHELIA!" Killorn roared, his voice shaking the walls. Ophelia staggered, heading straight for the door. She flung it open, revealing another horrific screech and unfazed Reagan who stopped her in her path. In his hand was a bird cage with what appeared to be a winged, tiny monster inside. The stench of burning cotton and silk danced in the air, washing away the scent of Ophelia's blood. In just a few minutes, her dress was ablaze, leaving behind a wake of strange, distracting smoke that masked her. "So, it is your blood that has caused madness amongst monsters," Reagan observed, glancing at the troubled men on the floor and the wild beast in his hand. "I had my suspicions the second I saw those silver veins on the monster's brain."
Ophelia gulped, forced to retreat into Killorn's study as Reagan headed inside. Now, the room no longer smelled of her blood, but just burnt fabric. Beetle had finally stopped struggling on the floor, as he grabbed his chest, gasping and choking for air.
"For a werewolf to behave like a vampire thirsting for blood and your flesh, do you finally understand the danger that you're in, young lady?" Reagan ominously replied. "Not just werewolves, but any creatures of the moon goddess."
Ophelia slowly blinked in confusion.
"D-do you think…" Ophelia trailed off in fear. "Do you t-think it's p-possible that my blood could be used to lure out monsters? L-like bait?" A stiffening stillness danced in the room. The scent of her clothes lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the creature's insatiable appetite. A hunger that'd echo through the depths of the night, had she not burned it to crisps.
"Highly likely," Reagan said. "But it is not like anyone drained you of your blood, so how would it be possible for someone to use it as bait?"
Ophelia felt like that was a rhetorical question. Reagan seemed to always know everyone's deepest, darkest secrets as if his eyes could read right through people. Was that the advantage of being old?
"We'll discuss this tomorrow," Killorn warned. "For now, get some rest with Layla. The two of you are needed tomorrow to continue healing the injured. I've set my men and the maids on rotation throughout the night to keep a watchful eye on the wounded downstairs and in the makeshift hospital."
Reagan hummed in response, turning to Ophelia, almost waiting for her to tell him something. "You must feel helpless, young lady. A burning desire to be of use, but no idea how."
Ophelia pressed her lips together. "Tomorrow, can you teach me how you healed my wound earlier?"
"Of course, any help would be greatly appreciated," Reagan agreed, turning to Killorn in a reminder that the man was far too possessive for his own good. "If your wife wishes to grow out of the shell she is, you mustn't be the one to hold her back, lest she grows out of you as well."
Killorn took a step forward, but Reagan's lips curled into a humored smile. "The salves I used on you as a child can still be found downstairs should your wound reopen."
Ophelia's breath hitched as she curled her arms around Killorn's bicep, resting her forehead against his stature. She watched as Reagan walked off, his steps light, yet heavy on the footboards. The couple descended into stillness, neither able to utter a single word. Finally, as they stood under the moonlight that poured through the window, Ophelia took his hand into hers.
In silence, Ophelia guided him outside of his study. His fingers, long and calloused, entangled with her delicate ones. She walked ahead of him and he trailed after her without uttering a single word. Nothing needed to be said. They both knew of his horrific past. He just didn't know about hers.
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