Chapter 78 She is learning

Chapter 78 She is learning
  Sebastian POV
  The waiting is the worst part.
  It stretches the air thin, pulls every second longer than it should be, until even the smallest sound feels too loud inside the room. The faint scrape of boots outside the door. The distant murmur of voices. The subtle, uneven rhythm of Amara’s breathing as she stands just a few feet away from me, perfectly still in a way that is anything but calm.
  She is holding herself together.
  Barely.
  I can feel it through the bond, the way the hunger claws at her from the inside, sharp and relentless, no longer wild in the same way it was before but focused now, aware, calculating in a way that makes it far more dangerous. It is not just a need anymore. It is a demand.
  Her fingers flex at her sides, then curl slowly into fists as if she is trying to anchor herself to something physical, something real, but it does nothing to dull the edge of what is building inside her.
  “Almost,” Leviath says quietly from beside the door, his tone measured, controlled, though there is a tension beneath it that does not escape me.
  He is watching her closely.
  Not as a king.
  As something else.
  Something that understands exactly how quickly this could go wrong.
  The door opens.
  And the scent hits instantly.
  Fresh.
  Warm.
  Alive.
  Amara inhales sharply, the sound cutting through the room like a blade, her entire body going rigid as her head snaps toward the doorway. The shift in her is immediate, unmistakable, the hunger surging forward so violently through the bond that it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
  Three people step inside.
  Two women. One man.
  All human.
  All calm.
  Too calm.
  They do not look afraid. They do not hesitate as they enter the room, as they stop a few feet away, as their gazes lift toward Amara with something that is not fear, not quite submission, but something steadier. Something chosen.
  “They volunteered,” Leviath says, his voice low, directed at both of us. “Every one of them understands what this means. There will be no harm done beyond what they allow.”
  I do not like it.
  Not even a little.
  Every instinct I have bristles against the idea, the wolf in me pacing, restless, unwilling to accept this as anything normal, anything right. But the bond pulses again, sharp and insistent, and it drags my attention back to her.
  Amara does not move at first.
  She stares at them.
  Her gaze drifts slowly from one to the next, assessing in a way that is far too deliberate, far too predatory for comfort. The crimson in her eyes deepens, the gold flickering brighter beneath it as her lips part slightly, her breath catching on the scent filling the room.
  “I don’t..” Her voice is strained, thinner than it should be. “I don’t want to hurt them.”
  One of the women steps forward slightly.
  She is smaller than Amara. Dark hair pulled back neatly. There is a faint tremor in her hands, but her expression remains steady.
  “You won’t,” she says gently. “We know what we’re offering.”
  Amara’s jaw tightens.
  The hunger twists again, sharper now, more insistent, and I can feel the moment it starts to override everything else. Her control is slipping.
  “Choose,” Leviath murmurs, not unkindly. “Before it chooses for you.”
  That does it.
  Amara inhales again, deeper this time, her eyes closing briefly as if she is trying to center herself, to push through the overwhelming flood of instinct long enough to make the decision on her own terms.
  Then she opens them.
  And looks straight at one of the women.
  The second one.
  There is something different about her scent, something faintly sweeter, richer in a way I cannot fully place, but Amara feels it instantly. I can see it in the way her pupils dilate, the way her body shifts forward without her even seeming to realize it.
  “That one,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain.
  Leviath nods once.
  The woman steps forward.
  Closer.
  Close enough that I can see the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the faint pulse at her wrist, the life in her that Amara is already zeroing in on.
  “I’m ready,” the woman says softly.
  Amara hesitates.
  Just for a second.
  Her hand lifts slowly, trembling slightly as she reaches for the offered arm, her fingers brushing over the woman’s wrist as if she is afraid even that small contact might break something.
  “Just the wrist,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. “I won’t…”
  Her voice trails off.
  Because the hunger surges again.
  And this time, it does not wait.
  Her grip tightens.
  Her head dips.
  And her teeth sink in.
  The reaction is immediate.
  The woman gasps, her body tensing at the sharp bite, but she does not pull away. She holds still, just like she promised, even as Amara’s grip becomes stronger, more desperate.
  The bond explodes.
  Relief.
  Pure, overwhelming relief floods through it as the first pull of blood hits her system, the hunger easing just slightly, just enough to take the edge off the unbearable pressure that has been building since this started.
  For a moment, it works.
  For a moment, it is controlled.
  Amara breathes unevenly against the woman’s wrist, her hold firm but not crushing, her movements deliberate as she feeds, drawing just enough to steady herself, to regain control, to..
  No.
  The shift is subtle at first.
  A tightening.
  A change in rhythm.
  Then it spirals.
  The hunger does not fade.
  It sharpens.
  What was relief turns into something else entirely, something deeper, more consuming, and I feel the exact moment it stops being enough.
  Amara makes a sound.
  Low.
  Rough.
  And her grip tightens further.
  Too tight.
  “Amara,” I say immediately, stepping forward.
  She does not respond.
  Her body presses closer, her hold becoming unyielding as she draws again, deeper this time, faster, the control she had just seconds ago slipping through her fingers like sand.
  The woman’s breath stutters.
  Her knees falter slightly.
  And that is when I move.
  “Enough,” I say, sharper now, my hand coming down on Amara’s shoulder as I try to pull her back.
  She resists.
  Not consciously.
  Not maliciously.
  But with strength I was not expecting.
  Her body locks in place, her focus completely gone, the hunger fully in control now as she continues to feed, her breathing growing heavier, more erratic with every second.
  “Amara, stop.”
  Nothing.
  Leviath moves.
  Faster than I have ever seen him.
  His hand snaps forward, gripping Amara’s arm with enough force to make the bones beneath strain, his expression shifting instantly from measured control to something far more dangerous.
  “That’s enough,” he says, his voice carrying a command that shakes the room.
  Still.
  Nothing.
  The woman sways.
  Her color drains.
  And that is when it becomes real.
  “She’s going too far,” I mutter, my voice tight.
  I do not wait.
  I grab Amara fully then, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other bracing against her shoulder as I pull with everything I have.
  “Amara!”
  The bond slams into her.
  Hard.
  I push through it, force everything I am into it, not gently this time, not carefully, but forcefully, like throwing a lifeline into a storm and demanding she take it.
  Come back.
  For a second, nothing happens.
  Then she jerks. Her body goes rigid. And her teeth rip free.
  The woman collapses instantly, her knees hitting the floor as the sudden loss of support sends her down, her breathing shallow, uneven.
  Amara stumbles back into me.
  Her chest heaves.
  Her eyes are wide.
  Wild.
  Horrified.
  “I—” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t- I couldn’t-”
  Leviath is already moving, catching the woman before she fully hits the ground, his hand pressing firmly against the wound to slow the bleeding as he turns his head sharply toward the door.
  “Get a healer. Now.”
  The command snaps through the air like a whip.
  Footsteps scatter instantly.
  Amara shakes in my arms.
  Not from hunger now.
  From something else.
  Guilt.
  Fear.
  “I almost..” Her words falter, her hands trembling as she stares at the blood on them like she does not recognize it. “I almost killed her.”
  I tighten my hold on her instinctively, grounding her, steadying her before she can spiral further.
  “But you didn’t,” I say firmly.
  Her head snaps toward me, her eyes searching mine like she is looking for something to hold onto.
  “She’s alive,” I continue, quieter now but no less certain. “You stopped.”
  “She stopped because we made her,” Leviath says evenly, though there is no accusation in his tone, only truth.
  Amara flinches.
  I glare at him.
  “Not helping.”
  His gaze flicks to me briefly, then back to her.
  “She is learning,” he says instead, more measured now. “And learning has a cost. This is hers.”
  I do not like that either.
  But I cannot deny it.
  The room settles into a heavy silence as the reality of what just happened sinks in, the air thick with it, with the weight of how close that came to ending very differently.
  Amara’s breathing slowly steadies.
  Her hands stop shaking.
  But the hunger..
  It is still there.
  Quieter now.
  But not gone.
  And that is the part that worries me most.