Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DECLAN
Pain was the first thing I felt. A dull, persistent ache thrumming through my limbs, sinking deep into my bones.
It wasn't sharp like before. Not the searing agony of the bite, not the slow, suffocating pull of blood loss, but something else.
Something wrong. I opened my eyes.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar. Wooden beams, rough and aged, stretched overhead, lit by the soft glow of a lamp.
I shifted slightly, the fabric beneath me smooth. Soft sheets, blankets. A bed. I wasn’t in the barn anymore.
The last thing I remembered was cold, the smell of death and then… Donovan. His voice had been the last thing I heard before everything went black.
I pushed myself upright too fast, my body protesting the sudden movement.
A blur of pain shot through my skull, and for a moment, the world tilted, nausea rolling through me like a storm.
“Declan.”
That voice.
I turned my head sharply. The dizziness surged again, but I ignored it because he was here.
Donovan stood near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, forearms tense.
His face was carefully neutral, but I knew him too well. That mask didn’t fool me. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched. He was worried about me.
I should’ve felt something about that. Relief, anger, maybe even gratitude, but all I felt was rage.
“What did you do?” My voice came out hoarse, rough from disuse.
Donovan didn’t flinch. “Saved your life.”
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. It sounded wrong.
“No, you didn’t.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
My boots were gone, but my jeans and shirt remained. That should’ve reassured me. It didn’t because I felt different.
Wrong.
Like something inside me had shifted, had unraveled and stitched itself back together into something else. I swallowed hard, rolling my shoulders.
My wounds, the bite, the bruises, the cracked ribs, they were all gone. Healed.
That shouldn’t have been possible. The realization struck like a hammer to my ribs, knocking the breath out of me. I snapped my head up and met Donovan’s gaze.
His expression didn’t change. But he knew.
“You should’ve killed me,” I spat.
Donovan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Dang it, Declan. You think I came all this way just to put you down?”
I shoved up from the bed, ignoring the faint lingering ache in my muscles. “Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Well, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
I hated the way my stomach twisted at that. Hated the fact that, deep down, I had hoped for that, hoped he wouldn’t do it.
Because I had wanted him to.
Because I couldn’t do it myself.
I took a step toward him.
“Donovan, you don’t get it.” My voice was low, shaking. I pressed a hand to my chest where there was no heartbeat. “This isn’t something you fix. This isn’t something you help.”
Donovan’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t back down. “I’m not giving up on you.”
I clenched my fists. Frustration burned hot under my skin, twisting with something too raw, too painful to name.
“You should,” I snapped. “Because I won’t be the Declan you knew.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Donovan held my gaze, and for a moment, I saw it. That same stubborn, reckless determination that had always been there.
The same look he had when we were kids, when he told me he’d watch my back no matter what.
The same look he had when he found me in that barn and refused to let me die.
I looked away first. My hands trembled, so I curled them into fists, digging my nails into my palms. He was wrong. He should’ve ended me when he had the chance.
I wanted him to. I needed him to. Hell, I practically begged him, but instead of doing the merciful thing, he chose to keep me alive for his own selfish reasons.
Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe it was a cruel way of looking at things. But right now, I didn’t care. I was just so angry.
Angry at him for refusing to listen. Angry at myself for still being here. Because maybe a small, pathetic part of me didn’t want to die.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to and that made me furious. I clenched my jaw, hands shaking at my sides.
The anger burned through me like wildfire, mixing with something deeper, something rawer. Fear. Resentment. A twisted kind of relief.
I hated it. I hated him for forcing me to face it and I hated myself most of all for not fighting harder to make him do what needed to be done.
“Get out,” I told Donovan in a harsh tone.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a grunt.
I couldn’t bear to look at him. Not at the stubborn set of his jaw. Not at the quiet resolve in his eyes. Not at the flicker of hurt I had caught just before he turned away.
It should’ve made me feel guilty. It didn’t. I sat there, fists clenched, every muscle in my body coiled too tight, like a wire about to snap. Everything felt wrong.
The room was too bright. The air smelled too sharp. Too full. The faintest creak of the house settling roared in my ears. I could hear things I shouldn’t be able to hear.
Smell things I shouldn’t be able to smell. My body felt like it was on fire, like there was something inside me, crawling, twisting, shifting.
And the hunger.
The cursed hunger.
It gnawed at me, deep and insatiable, a black hole in my gut that no food, no drink could fill. I swallowed, my throat dry as I hunched forward on the edge of the bed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help because even in the darkness, I could still see it.
The way Donovan’s pulse had thrummed beneath his skin. The heat of his body just a few feet away. The scent of him, rich and intoxicating, sinking into my senses like a drug.
My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. I forced myself to think of something else. Anything else.
But the hunger only surged harder, twisting into something far more monstrous. Because for one, fleeting second, I had pictured it.
Drinking from him. Not just biting him. Not just taking a sip. Drinking. Draining. And the worst part? For a split second, it hadn’t disgusted me. It had tempted me.
I shoved away from the bed so fast I nearly tripped. A growl built in my throat. No, not a growl, a snarl, as I dug my fingers into my scalp, desperate to rip the thoughts away.
No. No, no, no.
I paced the room, my movements too fast, too smooth. Inhuman.
The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too thick, too hot. I didn’t know how much had passed and didn’t care.
I needed to get out.
A knock. I snapped toward the door, barely registering the sound before it swung open. Donovan stepped inside. I saw red.
“Get out.”
His brows furrowed. “Declan.”
“I said, get out!” I roared. My voice wasn’t mine anymore. It was raw, rough and monstrous. “I told you I need space.”
He didn’t flinch. Of course, he didn’t. Donovan just sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Declan,” he repeated.
“I need you to explain,” I snarled, taking a step forward. “I need you to tell me why the hell you didn’t do what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
“Why?” I pressed, venom lacing my words. “Why did you save me, Donovan? I begged you to end it. I was ready to die. And you decided to keep me alive for what? Because you’re selfish?”
His hands curled at his sides, but still, he didn’t react. I took another step closer.
“You should have let me die,” I spat. “You should have ended this when you had the chance.”
Finally, finally, something in him snapped.
“You think I don’t know that?” he shouted, his voice cracking.
I stilled.
His chest rose and fell sharply, his face a mask of barely contained emotion.
“You think I didn’t consider it? That I didn’t sit there, holding you, watching you slip away, and wonder if I should just, just let you go?” His voice shook, raw and broken. “I couldn’t do it, Declan. I couldn’t.”
Something ugly twisted inside me.
“That’s not a good enough reason,” I hissed.
His eyes flashed. “Then how about this?”
He took a step toward me, closing the distance, his expression tight with something that looked too much like grief.
“My brothers are gone.” His voice was quieter now, hoarse, like the words physically hurt to say. “They’re gone, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
I stared at him, my pulse hammering. His brothers. Of course. First it had been Finn, then Asher.
“They’re dead, Declan,” Donovan whispered. “And I can’t lose you too.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, thick with things neither of us knew how to say. I should have felt something. Guilt, regret, anything.
But all I felt was hunger.
It lurked beneath my skin, slithering in the quiet, waiting. I swallowed hard, stepping back, as if putting distance between us would help. It didn’t.
Donovan’s heartbeat pounded in my ears. Slow. Steady. Tempting. I closed my eyes. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready for any of this.
Donovan moved before I could stop him. His fingers brushed against my cheek, rough but steady, tilting my face up toward him.
The warmth of his palm burned against my skin, grounding and infuriating all at once.
I stiffened. “Donovan.”
“Shut up.”
Then he kissed me.
I should’ve shoved him away. I should’ve torn myself free, put distance between us before it was too late. Before I lost control, but I didn’t.
Because the second his lips touched mine, something inside me snapped.
The hunger, the unbearable, all-consuming hunger, wavered. The razor-sharp edge of it dulled, fading into the background like static.
I groaned, my hands flying up to grip his shirt, yanking him closer. He gasped at the sudden force, but he didn’t pull away.
Donovan didn’t hesitate and he didn’t fear me.
I pressed forward, slanting my mouth over his, swallowing the soft sound he made. He parted his lips instinctively, letting me deepen the kiss.
Heat roared between us, tangled with something even more dangerous. Something I couldn't name. His fingers slid into my hair, gripping tight, anchoring me.
I groaned into his mouth, my body thrumming with something I recognized. Desire, raw and real, but also something unfamiliar.
Something different from the hunger clawing at my insides. And for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, I wasn’t drowning in it.
His tongue brushed against mine, tentative at first, then bolder. I met him halfway, drinking him in, tasting him.
And then he jerked back suddenly with a sharp inhale, breaking the kiss. His fingers lifted to his lip, swiping at a single bead of blood.
“Ow,” he muttered.
I froze. The scent of his blood hit me like a hammer. It was strong. My senses sharpened, my vision narrowing, my body coiling tight.
The hunger, the very thing I thought I had pushed away, lunged forward again, vicious and eager. Then Donovan laughed.
A soft chuckle at first, then deeper, more amused, like he actually found something funny in all of this. And to my absolute disbelief, I laughed too. It was sharp, broken, but real.
Because what else could I do?
I had been drowning in hunger, in rage, in fear. I had been so sure I was a lost cause.
But now, with Donovan cursing at his own clumsiness and me realizing I hadn’t ripped him apart in a blind frenzy? It was ridiculous.
It was just a bandaid. A temporary fix for something much, much worse. But for now? For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like myself again.