Page 97 of Bloodgrove

With a cry, Will tore himself free and stumbled backward but did not manage to regain his footing in time. Eric lunged for him again. Will fell onto his back and barely caught himself on his injured arm. The bite was not deep, but blood soaked into the fabric, and Will scrambled farther away.

“Get hold of yourself! Eric! Control!”

But the man shook his head, his entire body jerking with spasms. Shadows grew along his arms, and his face twisted.

“What the hell?” Will froze.

Eric—beautiful Eric, always perfect in pressed suits and carefully combed hair—grew.

Muscles swelled, and claws formed from his hands, now twice the size of a man’s. A growl vibrated through his body, and with a savage roar, he threw back his head.

His jaw opened, a maw stretching wide across his cheeks, long wolfish teeth gleaming inside it.

Eric blinked once more, and his human eyes were gone. With the next blink, two enormous red coals stared at Will from a sea of black.

The roar shook him to the bone.

“Run!” Eric’s final word was barely understandable.

In the next instant, Will was on his feet. The monster blocked the way to the door, and beyond it waited only the deadly night. His leather slippers struggled for purchase on the stone, but he spun around and sprinted. Almost on all fours, he stumbled up the stairs and plunged into the maze of the house.

The fight for survival wiped away his shock and pain at Eric’s surrender to the bloodlust. Doors and paintings flashed past him. His feet struck hard against the floor, and his heart pumped adrenaline through his body in a frantic rhythm. Should he hide? But no one could tell him what Eric had become. Could he smell Will’s blood?

The double doors to the dining room flew open and struck the wall as Will skidded across the parquet. The servants had already laid the table for the wedding before leaving. He snatched a napkin and wrapped it quickly around his forearm.

At the center of the table lay a curved fish knife, silver, with mother-of-pearl set into the handle, a more beautiful version of the kind his father had used. A more beautiful version of the knife with which he had cut the flesh from the Albatross’s bones.

He would never make it to Elodie’s armory. Without hesitation, he grabbed it, even though he was certain he could never bring himself to kill Eric. At the thought of calling upon his magic, he remembered the broken body of the shadow mage and decided against it. But he had to defend himself, because there was no trace of humanity left in those black-and-red eyes.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and nausea rose in his throat. How was he supposed to fight an experienced vampire hunter with this thin little blade? Eric was vastly superior to him even when in control of himself, let alone with the body of a starving monster.

Was any part of his friend still in there? Or had Will just watched him die? None of the vampires had looked like this. The transformation reminded him more of a chimera.

Will pushed the thought away. This could not be Eric’s end. Not when so much remained unspoken between them.

Somehow, he had to get past Eric and reach Elodie at Duke Wilkinson’s townhouse.

A shadow moved in the corridor outside, and Will dropped to the floor, hiding in the dimness behind the long tablecloth. The growl made the hair at the back of his neck rise. He held his breath, one hand pressed over his arm while warm blood soaked into the napkin.

The monster moved almost soundlessly, and Will strained to hear.

Water dripped from Eric’s wet clothes onto the stone tiles of the corridor. Boots upon the parquet. Heavy breathing.

Nothing.

Dead silence.

Suddenly, a figure lunged toward him, and Will spun with the knife raised.

Eric—no, the monster—evaded the strike with effortless ease.

For the first time, Will saw him clearly, and a whimper escaped his lips. He struck again.

This was no longer Eric.

His face had warped into a grotesque mask, saliva and venom dripping from the fangs, his eyes enormous and glowing. His shirt hung in tatters from his body, water gleaming across his hunched shoulders. His arms were too long and ended in enormous claws that twitched with anticipation. He had lost his boots, and claws now armed his feet. Even his legs bent at an unnatural angle, built for hunting.

And now, they coiled to spring.