Chapter Twenty-Eight: Carol's POV
When I opened my eyes again, I saw an unfamiliar ceiling. The mattress beneath me was too soft, completely different from the cotton bed I'd fallen asleep in at Twilight Manor.
I tried to sit up, but my head was heavy and my limbs responded slowly, as if they no longer belonged to me.
I tried to call out to my wolf in my mind—that presence that had always been at the edge of my consciousness, that I'd never truly touched but could sense was there.
Only silence answered me.
I realized I'd never truly connected with it, never felt the bond other werewolves described. I forced myself to sit up, swung my legs to the edge of the bed, and my bare feet touched the cold tile. The chill jolted me awake a bit more.
Just then, the door opened.
The sound made my whole body tense suddenly, my head snapping toward that direction.
For a moment, I held a stupid, desperate hope that it would be Simon, that he'd found me and come to take me home.
But when that familiar scent hit my nostrils, I immediately felt a wave of intense nausea.
Maurice.
He stood in the doorway, fully dressed in a three-piece suit, his black hair meticulously combed. That calm expression had made me uneasy from the first time I saw him.
I tried to stand, but my legs couldn't support me. I'd barely gotten halfway up when my knees started to buckle.
I thought I was going to fall, but he suddenly appeared in front of me, using those cold hands to hold my shoulders and ease me back onto the bed.
This solicitude sent goosebumps all over my body.
He was too close. The man who violated me that rainy night was him, had always been him.
It was Maurice St. Claire. My professor, the man who praised my mind, gave me opportunities, yet brutally hurt me.
I shoved him back hard, pressing my trembling fists against his chest.
Marcus's three years of training became muscle memory. I swung again, aiming for his jaw.
But he caught my wrist before my fist landed. He effortlessly neutralized my attack, making shame and fear burn in my chest simultaneously.
I tried to break free, using the counter-moves Jack had taught me, but he didn't budge, didn't even seem to care much about my struggles.
When I finally stopped, panting, full of anger, eyes stinging but not shedding a single tear, his expression still hadn't changed at all.
"Carol." His voice was exactly the same as in class, calm and steady. "You need to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself."
"Don't touch me." I said through gritted teeth, trying to pull my wrist back. "After what you did, you still dare—"
The door opened again, and Hilda interrupted me. "If it weren't for him, you'd already be dead at the claws of those werewolves."
She walked in, standing by the bed, looking at me expressionlessly. "Five rogue wolves ambushed you two days ago. We still haven't figured out why they wanted to kill you. Maurice arrived in time and saved your life. So before you lose your temper, perhaps you should think about that first."
Two days. I'd been missing for two whole days.
Simon must be looking for me. Must be tearing the city apart looking for me—unless he thought I deliberately ran away, waiting for me to come back.
The thought that Simon might think I left him made my chest ache.
"They didn't succeed because I got there in time," Maurice said softly. "You were badly hurt and unconscious the whole time. We spent a long time stabilizing your condition. More precisely, your body went through a... rather complex physiological transformation process."
As soon as he finished speaking, a wave of heat surged from deep within my body, so hot I gasped.
The heat kept spreading outward, my skin burning from the inside.
My knees weakened, and I fell forward, barely catching the edge of the bed, my hands shaking so badly I could hardly hold the sheets.
Maurice instinctively reached out to support me. I didn't pull back, but instead leaned toward him—his cold presence had become salvation at this moment.
What was I doing?
That thought was suppressed by another stronger desire.
He was Maurice, the man who hurt me. I should run, should resist, not like now, getting closer and closer, lips parting, breathing rapidly.
This wasn't fear, it was desire. Desperately wanting to get close to him, wanting his touch, wanting his scent.
We stood frozen like that, my hand on his chest, his hand on my shoulder, the air filled with a dangerous tension.
Hilda walked to the machine by the bed, her fingers rapidly sliding across a touchscreen I hadn't even noticed.
I heard the soft beep of medical equipment and caught a glimpse of the monitor's glow, but I just couldn't take my eyes off Maurice, couldn't stop moving closer to him.
"Her body is changing." Hilda said, her voice still calm. "The merging of two forces is progressing much faster than expected. Given the interaction between the werewolf bloodline and vampire virus in her body, her body can't withstand the metabolic load brought by this integration process."
Two forces? I tried to understand, but all I could feel was Maurice's body under my touch.
"She needs to release the excess force inside her body," Hilda said, her eyes scanning the data on the monitor. "Through sexual intercourse. You know, vampire transformation sometimes completes this way, requiring intense physiological stimulation to finish the final integration. If she can't release it, those two forces will tear her apart from the inside. She'll die."
No no no.
I wanted to shake my head, wanted to push Maurice away, wanted to do anything to prove I still had control over my own body.
But my limbs didn't obey me.
Instead, they pulled me closer, my hips pressed against his thigh, my fingers clutching the fabric of his vest, as if desperately holding him down.
I could feel the hard muscle on his chest, could feel his body temperature was much lower than normal, but that coldness felt like heaven to me right now.
As if this was what I wanted.
My reason was screaming, my body was doing the complete opposite.
Shame burned inside me, hot and fierce, mixed with fear, anger, and that terrible, undeniable desire.
I couldn't tell which feeling was which anymore. This wasn't me. This couldn't be.
I would never—I didn't want—
But my body wanted it. My body craved him. No rational thought could override it. I felt myself pressing against him, my back arching, my thighs tensing, wanting to wrap around him, pull him in.
I heard myself make a shameful sound, completely uncontrolled, surging from deep in my throat, making me want to find a hole to crawl into. Then I started to hate myself.
"Paul is in the lab," Hilda said from somewhere behind me, her voice still steady. "Right now only Maurice can help you."
Maurice's jaw tightened.
His hand was still on my shoulder, fingers pressing into my skin through the thin clothes.
I could feel his whole body was tense, as if using all his will to force himself to stay still. When he spoke, his voice was hoarser than I'd ever heard it, completely stripped of its usual elegance and smoothness.
"Hilda—"
"Her condition is getting worse," Hilda interrupted him, turning to look at him, showing a trace of concern in her eyes for the first time. "It's clear from the data. Temperature continues to rise, heart rate is unstable, hormone levels have exceeded safe thresholds. We don't have much time left. In another ten minutes, she'll die, Maurice."
Ten minutes to make this choice that wasn't really a choice, because my body had already decided, and my consciousness could only be dragged along, crying and screaming to keep up.
Hilda walked toward the door, her steps quick and decisive, like handling something unrelated to her.
She paused at the doorway, looking back at me. That expression was neither concerned nor completely indifferent. "I'll be right outside," she said. "Don't take too long."
Then she left, closing the door behind her, the sound quieter than I expected.