Page 33 of Fathom

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."