Chapter 8

Philip’s POV

"I didn't sleep for a single second after I saw her face," I said, my voice echoing in the empty, dark room.

The silence of the house usually calmed me, but today it felt like a weight. I had spent years searching for a pureblood she-wolf. She was the only hope for Rosamund. I had imagined a thousand different people, but I never thought it would be Rilla.

Just thinking her name made my blood run hot with a fury I thought I had buried years ago. I wished she had stayed dead. I wished she had never existed at all.

She was the reason I lost everything. My parents, the Alpha and Luna of our pack, died because of her. Rosamund, the woman I loved, was now a shell of herself. She lay in a bed, barely breathing, her spirit slowly slipping away. Even our unborn child was gone before it ever had a chance to live. Rilla had stolen all of it.

When I saw her last night, the rage I kept locked away for six years exploded. If Ripley had not grabbed her first, I would have torn her limb from limb. I would have left what was left for the crows.

But Royal's voice had pulled me back to reality. We needed a pureblood to save Rosamund. Now, by some sick twist of fate, the person I hated most was the only one who could bring Rosamund back.

She is a tool, nothing more. I will use her to fix what she broke. I will use her to give me the child she took away. Once Rosamund is healthy and my legacy is secure, I will make Rilla regret every breath she takes. She does not deserve mercy. She brought nothing but death and chaos to our lives. I will make sure her payment is brutal.

"Philip, breakfast is ready," Royal called from the other side of my door.

I dropped the towel I had wrapped around my waist. I pulled on my clothes quickly and dried my hair. When I walked into the dining room, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the air. Robbie and Royal were busy setting the table.

We had servants for this kind of thing, but we liked doing it ourselves. Robbie actually enjoyed the kitchen, and he was a good cook. None of us ever complained about his meals. Royal usually helped him out while the rest of us stayed out of the way.

I looked at the empty chairs and frowned. "Where is Rory?"

I remembered how shaky he looked last night. The hunger was clawing at him, and his self control was slipping.

"He is in a mood," Royal said, putting a plate down. "Cranky and restless. We offered him our blood, but he snapped at us."

A loud crash echoed from down the hall. It sounded like a dresser meeting a wall.

"I will go get him," I said, pushing my chair back.

I walked toward Rory’s room. The moment I opened the door, the smell of sweat and frustration hit me. The room was a disaster. Chairs were overturned, and glass from a broken lamp covered the rug.

Rory stood in the center of the mess. His shoulder length hair hung over his face, hiding his expression. His chest moved up and down in jagged bursts. When he looked up, his eyes were glowing a deep, violent red.

He was seconds away from losing his mind.

I walked closer and held out my arm. I pushed my sleeve up so he could see my wrist. "Drink, Rory. Just take it."

He shoved my arm away with enough force to bruise. "It won't help. It's not enough."

Royal stepped into the room behind me. He held a chilled blood pouch from the medical fridge. "I told Robin to find a girl for you. Just drink this to take the edge off until she gets here."

Rory snatched the pouch. For a second, I thought he would use it, but then his fingers tightened. The plastic popped, and dark red liquid sprayed across his hand and the floor. He didn't say a word. He just stared at the mess.

We had been through this cycle too many times. When his thirst reached this level, nothing satisfied him. We tried everything. We gave him human blood, animal blood, and even blood from other wolves. Nothing worked for long.

Sometimes I thought we would need to find an alien just to see if that changed anything. Every year it got worse. We all feared the day he would finally snap for good. If he went fully feral, we would have to put him down. He was our brother and our mate. We would do anything to keep that from happening.

"Rory, let's go see Robin," Robbie said softly from the doorway. "You can pick anyone you want until he finds a permanent match."

Rory stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Is our little bat having another tantrum?" a mocking voice asked.

Ripley leaned against the doorframe. He was only wearing trousers, his chest still damp from a shower. He looked refreshed and smug. While the rest of us were worried, Ripley looked like he was enjoying the show. He was never soft. When Rory got like this, Ripley was the only one who used force.

"Go find someone to drain before I have to handle you my way," Ripley said. "You know you hate my way."

Rory turned his head. His red eyes locked onto Ripley. The provocation worked instantly.

"Do you want to try me?" Ripley taunted.

Rory didn't bother with a comeback. He just moved. One second he was by the bed, and the next, he was a blur of motion.

Ripley slammed into the wall by the door. The sound of the impact was heavy, but Ripley didn't even blink. Rory pressed him against the wood, his face inches from Ripley’s neck. I could see the vein in Ripley’s throat pulsing. The scent of fresh, warm blood from the shower filled the small space.

"Make it quick," Ripley muttered. He looked bored. "I don't have time to be your personal snack all morning."

Rory didn't hesitate. He tilted his head and buried his fangs deep into Ripley’s neck. I heard the wet sound of him swallowing. He drank like a man dying of thirst in a desert.

Ripley stayed perfectly still. He didn't flinch or groan. Rory didn't let go, even after he should have been full. He clung to Ripley like a drowning man, using the blood to anchor his fading sanity.

"Rory," Robbie called out, his voice tight with worry. "That's plenty."

Rory ignored him. He kept pulling, his fingers digging into Ripley’s shoulders.

"That is enough, Rory!" I barked. I used my Alpha tone, making it a command he couldn't ignore.

Slowly, Rory pulled back. He wiped a smear of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He glared at Ripley, his eyes still shimmering but less wild than before.

"Provoke me again, and I'll make sure you are the next person I drain to death," Rory hissed.

Ripley let out a slow, dark chuckle. He touched the marks on his neck and looked at the blood on his fingers.

"Try it," Ripley said with a wicked grin. "Let's see who ends up as whose bitch."