Chapter 12
TWELVE
EUN
"I don't want you coming into work for at least a few days," my uncle said as he pulled the needle through the last stitch.
We were in my apartment, and Leija was sleeping in her room.
I insisted he tend to Leija first. Luckily, the portable medical scanner showed that hyena's claws had missed everything she needed for her hands to function, and despite the deep punctures, she would heal well.
My uncle had a full medical kit and was a trained medic because of the work he had to do for my family before he retired to open the restaurant, which was lucky because I couldn't take her to a hospital.
Even if she spoke the language, they would have had to report a predator bringing in a wounded prey species.
If I didn't take her in and had her go in by herself, she didn't speak the language, and after they treated her, they would have called the authorities.
Our society was complicated; most people here wanted everyone to be safe, but the ones in power saw nothing wrong with the dynamics of violence, so the laws often protected the abusers instead.
"No one cares about a torn-up predator," I said, the truth of the matter. "No one will report me because of my wounds."
"This isn't about your wounds," my uncle said as he tied off the knot, securing the stitching on my arm.
He sat back and looked at me, the one where he expected me to know what he was saying without actually saying it.
The tension hung in the air, as tight as the stitching that held together my deepest wounds.
I was silent for a moment. He didn't come in the building; he wouldn't have seen, and I thought I'd wiped my mouth, hiding the evidence.
He wasn't going to judge me for fighting or even killing; that would be highly hypocritical of him. The one thing he would judge me on was my breaking a promise to myself.
"I like having Leija around the restaurant," he said, his entire body tensing.
I snarled at him, the sound ripping free from me without a thought as rage surged within me like a tidal wave.
There was no room for logical thought in my mind as the possessiveness tore me my thoughts from the morning and washed them out to sea.
He wanted to separate me from my prey. He wanted to hunt her.
My own claws bit into my palms, sending sharp slices of pain through the storm that raged in my mind, an anchor to hold me back, to keep me from attacking the one person who supported the most important choice I ever made.
The choice I hadn't stuck to when she was in danger.
My uncle didn't move or react; he just waited for me to calm down before accepting my reaction to his statement of interest.
It was all the proof either of us needed.
"Shit," I said.
"You ate after you fought," he said. "That was a fresh reaction. You're a danger to everyone until you get clean again."
"I would never hurt her," I said.
Those words felt so true to me, even when I knew it had to be false. There was no world where she was safe from me.
"This isn't about her right now," my uncle said. "You know what you have to do."
I unclenched my fingers, withdrawing my claws as I took a deep breath, trying to settle the storm that we both knew would only get worse.
I'd fed on the ones that took her from me.
Feeding on other predators wasn't the same.
The hit from the blood would wear off more quickly, and withdrawal would be harder.
I had worked so hard for my sobriety, and I had already struggled for control around Leija.
The danger to her was so much worse now that I had taken another hit.
Predators didn't have to eat prey, as with any advancing society, there was plenty of food.
With our expansion into space travel came trade and access to food and non-sentient life forms that sustained everyone's needs, without having to eat the flesh of our friends, especially since that flesh was addictive, triggering bloodlust. Eating meat from traditional sources, gotten from the blood market or hunted down out of sight of the law, caused addiction that triggered more bursts of violence.
It took time for the effects and the craving to go away.
I had been clean for years, but I'd lost it when fighting the hunters to save her.
It was worth it.
Leija was safe.
The relief of that echoed through me, paired with the shame I felt when I came back to myself, my mind swimming out of the bloodlust to find her under me, marked with my emissions.
I had lost myself, and instead of harming her, I marked her as mine.
She was mine.
That thought swirled around in me. I thought it was prey-guarding, a symptom of addiction, but if it was, I would have killed her while in the bloodlust. What I did instead changed the meaning behind the possessive thought.
I was reacting to her like she was a mate, not prey.
My uncle reached out and grabbed my shoulder, digging his claw into one of my newly stitched cuts, the sharp pain yanking me back to focus on him.
He pulled me forward and looked in my eyes.
"I'm proud of you, Eun. Taking on a full hunting pack like that on your own...
that is damn impressive, and you know it.
But even so, don't do it again. You're not alone.
You don't have to go into situations like that alone. You know I have your back."
"I know," I told him. "There wasn't time."
He nodded and let go of my shoulder, leaning back.
"If you get into more trouble with her...
I know you don't want to think about it, but you know your family can help.
You have money, but money isn't enough, and you know it.
They have their own problems, we both know that, but the one thing they do believe in is family. They will help you."
"I'm not asking them for help," I pinned my ears back.
He leaned forward again. "If she is worth taking on a pack on your own, she is worth facing them."
The fact that he was right hit me like a sledgehammer.
The thought terrified me, like a fragile butterfly perched on my palm; the awe of its beauty and the fear of my own hand closing and crushing it to pieces were wrapped into one.
I had run after her, tracking her scent, rage swirling through me when it blended in with the pack.
I had hunted her down, every piece of me raging with the chant of mine, mine, mine, and when I found them there, I had lost it.
I was anger incarnate, primal rage directed into violence.
She was worth everything.
But I hurt her.
I rutted against her on the filthy ground, my hands squeezing her injuries as I took my need for her out on her body when she was wounded and vulnerable. It was unacceptable. I'd come too with her under me, drenched in my scent, in my seed.
I didn't know how I would be able to face her again.
It would have to wait until it was all out of my system.
"I need you to lock me up," I told my uncle. "Until I'm through the worst of the withdrawal."
"I'm proud of you," he said. "Don't forget that."