Chapter 86 Those aren’t canines

Chapter 86 Those aren’t canines
  Amara POV
  The scent of her curls through the room like smoke that refuses to thin, sweet and alive and dangerously inviting as it slips beneath my control and settles somewhere deep inside the hollow ache clawing at my stomach. 
  Hunger presses against my ribs with growing insistence, not the dull whisper I have managed to endure these past days, but a sharp, gnawing thing that scrapes against restraint like claws against stone. 
  I draw in a slow breath through my nose, forcing my lungs to fill with the familiar scent of paint and oil instead of the living warmth standing just a few feet away, yet it does little to dull the violent edge creeping into my thoughts.
  Lola steps farther into the room, unaware of the storm gathering behind my eyes, her hands twisting together as nervous energy spills into motion that only draws my attention more firmly to the steady rhythm pulsing beneath the delicate skin of her wrist. 
  That sound becomes unbearable in its clarity, each beat echoing through my skull like a drum meant to summon monsters from dark water. 
  My fingers curl tighter against my palms until the sting of my own nails biting into flesh becomes the only anchor keeping me rooted in place.
  “It has been strange without you here,” she continues, voice softer now, as though confiding something important rather than stepping blindly toward disaster. “Different in ways I did not expect. No one knew if you’d be found. We believed you were dead.”
  I swallow hard, forcing my jaw to loosen before the tension splits it apart. “Different how?” I ask, my voice sounding wrong to my own ears, roughened by something too close to hunger to disguise.
  Her lips lift into a tentative smile that does nothing to ease the pressure tightening around my chest. “More relaxed,” she says, her words flowing with hesitant excitement that only makes my pulse quicken in uneasy warning.
   “There have been gatherings almost every night. Music, wine, laughter. The servants seem happier too. They actually like the changes.”
  The words land poorly, striking something sharp and defensive deep inside me. I stare at her, trying to separate truth from illusion, yet instinct whispers that her version of events carries the same false shine as polished glass meant to hide cracks beneath the surface.
  “They like it,” I repeat slowly, tasting the phrase as suspicion coils tighter inside my chest.
  “Yes,” she insists, nodding quickly, relief flickering across her face as if she believes agreement is near. “They have been smiling more. Talking freely. It totally feels less.. rigid.”
  Rigid.
  The word scrapes against memory like sand against raw skin. I have seen servants trembling under careless cruelty, have watched fear bloom in their eyes at the smallest misstep, and the idea that chaos now passes for kindness twists something bitter beneath my ribs.
  “That is not happiness,” I say quietly, my voice lowering into something edged with cold disbelief. “That is indulgence dressed up as comfort.”
  Lola’s brows knit together in confusion, her posture stiffening slightly as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “You have not seen it,” she argues gently, her tone soft but persistent in a way that sets my nerves on edge. “It has been.. fun, in a strange way. People laughing together. The servants talking like they are not afraid all the time.”
  Fun.
  The word lands like flint striking steel, sending sparks through already frayed control. 
  Something inside me recoils at the idea, not because joy is unwelcome, but because the scent drifting from the corridors earlier spoke of recklessness rather than celebration. 
  I remember the servants rushing without discipline, the sharp smell of wine clinging to the air, the careless disregard that should never take root in a place built on strength and order.
  “You think this is kindness?” I ask, unable to keep the sharp edge from creeping into my tone. “You think chaos makes people safe?”
  “I think people deserve to breathe,” she replies, lifting her chin slightly as uncertainty gives way to quiet insistence. “And I think they enjoy it more than you realize.”
  The room seems to shrink around us, the air thickening until every breath feels harder to pull into my lungs. Hunger coils tighter, anger feeding it like dry wood thrown onto flame, until the boundary between instinct and emotion begins to blur in ways that make my pulse thunder against my ribs.
  Her head moves.
  Just slightly.
  Enough to draw my gaze toward her neck despite my desperate attempt to hold it steady on her face. The steady rhythm beneath her skin pounds louder now, drowning out reason, drowning out memory, drowning out every fragile thread of restraint I have managed to weave together these past days.
  “They are not happy,” I murmur, my voice lowering into something strained and dangerous. “They are surviving.”
  Lola exhales slowly, her expression softening in what she likely believes is understanding. “Maybe you just cannot see it yet,” she says carefully. “Sometimes things change for the better when control loosens.”
  Control loosens.
  The words twist something violent inside me, the fragile wall between hunger and action cracking beneath pressure that has been building for far too long. My breath sharpens, dragging deeper through flared nostrils as her scent floods my senses in overwhelming waves.
  Sweet.
  Warm.
  And oooohhh.. so alive.
  My lips part before I can stop them, breath escaping in a low, strained exhale that carries more heat than air. The tension in my jaw becomes unbearable, and before I fully register the motion, my fangs slide free with a sharp, involuntary snap that feels as natural as drawing breath.
  Lola freezes.
  Her eyes widen instantly, the fragile composure she has clung to shattering into visible shock as her gaze locks onto my mouth. Fear blooms across her features with brutal speed, draining color from her cheeks until her skin pales beneath the flickering lantern light.
  “Amara..” she whispers, her voice trembling in a way that makes the sound feel brittle and thin.
  The fear in her scent hits me like a spark falling into oil.
  Hunger surges violently in response, twisting deeper into something savage and primal that claws at the inside of my ribs with vicious insistence. My vision sharpens again, narrowing until every detail of her throat, her pulse, her breath becomes impossible to ignore.
  I take one step forward before I realize I am moving.
  Just one.
  But it is enough.
  “Your teeth.. those aren’t canines..@ Lola breathes, her voice barely more than air now, her body shifting backward as instinct urges her away from the threat she only now begins to understand. “What.. what are you?”
  The question echoes inside my skull, yet meaning struggles to take shape beneath the roaring hunger drowning out reason. My hands lift slightly at my sides, fingers flexing as if preparing to grasp something that does not yet exist.
  I can hear her heart.
  Loud.
  Panicked.
  Beautifully alive.
  Another step forward happens without conscious command, my body moving with terrifying certainty toward the source of the rhythm calling to something monstrous inside me. 
  The distance between us shrinks until her scent wraps around me like a living thing, thick enough to taste against the back of my tongue.
  “Amara, stop,” she pleads, her voice breaking into raw fear that only feeds the growing frenzy clawing through my veins.
  I want to stop.
  Goddess, I want to stop.
  But hunger does not listen to reason, and anger has stripped away the last threads of control I had left to cling to. My pulse hammers wildly, each beat echoing louder than the last until the world itself seems to pulse in time with the frantic rhythm inside her chest.
  My body lunges before I can command it otherwise.
  The movement is fast.
  Violent.
  Driven by instinct rather than thought.
  “Vampire!” She squeals. My eyes shoot to her neck. 
  Lola gasps sharply, stumbling backward as I surge toward her, my hands lifting as if to seize her shoulders and drag her closer. The scent of her fear floods my senses completely now, intoxicating in a way that feels dangerously close to victory rather than horror.
  And then the door slams open.
  The sound cracks through the room like thunder, sharp enough to split the frenzy gathering inside my mind.
  Strong hands seize my arms before I can close the distance between us, the grip firm enough to halt my forward motion with brutal certainty. The familiar scent of iron and storm crashes into my awareness, cutting through the haze swallowing my thoughts.
  “Amara.”
  Sebastian’s voice lands against my senses like a blade striking stone, sharp and commanding in a way that forces my body to still even as hunger rages violently beneath the surface.
  I struggle against his hold for half a second, instinct refusing to release its grip without a fight, yet the bond between us pulses fiercely, pushing against the wild frenzy threatening to swallow me whole.
  “Look at me,” he commands, his voice low but unyielding.
  I drag in a shaking breath, forcing my gaze upward until it collides with his. His eyes burn with fierce intensity, not fear, not disgust, but determination sharpened into something unbreakable.
  “Breathe,” he says quietly.
  The single instruction feels impossibly difficult, yet I obey, drawing in a slow breath that tastes like iron and restraint rather than blood and hunger. My chest rises sharply beneath the effort, lungs struggling against the violent rhythm hammering inside me.
  Behind me, Lola lets out a shaky sob.
  The sound slices through the fragile calm forming around Sebastian’s presence, reminding me with brutal clarity of how close I came to tearing into her throat without hesitation.
  Close enough to feel the memory of it burning beneath my skin.
  Sebastian’s grip tightens slightly, not in punishment, but in reassurance that I am not alone inside this storm tearing through my veins.
  “You are stronger than this,” he murmurs, his voice lowering into something steadier now, something meant only for me.
  I close my eyes briefly, forcing the hunger downward with every fragile thread of willpower I have left to gather.
  But deep inside, the monster stirs restlessly, pacing behind thin walls that feel far too fragile to trust.