The cool night air, once a simple comfort, now scraped against Christopher's overheated skin, a mockery of his spiraling control. The fire within him was no longer a contained burn but a bonfire, fueled by a relentless, primal hunger. From the rooftop, the city spread out below, a pulsating vein of a thousand careless heartbeats. Each one was a potential meal, a flashing reminder of the control he had fought so hard to possess. Tonight, the threads of that tapestry were not just fraying—they were tearing apart, unraveling into nothing.
His heightened senses, a screaming, raw cacophony of the city's underbelly, latched onto a new scent. It wasn't the sweet, lingering memory of his princess, this was an acrid fug of cheap wine and stale sweat, a scent that belonged to a man with a face like a permanent snarl, stumbling down the street. An easy, pitiful target. The beast's demand roared in Christopher's veins, eclipsing all reason. With a wicked, almost involuntary grin, he launched himself from the ledge, a shadow swallowed by the night.
The attack was a blur of motion, a cyclone of teeth and claws. The man's scream was a thin, desperate sound, cut short by a wet, choked gurgle. A sickening crunch. A final shudder. Then, the heavy, oppressive silence. But the silence brought no satisfaction, only a craving for more. The beast raged, a storm trapped inside him, seeking another conduit for its unholy power.
"The first time you've lost control," a voice, dripping with cruel amusement, cut through the predatory haze. Christopher's head snapped up, kill-fever still high in his blood. He knew that voice, that mocking cadence. Alex.
Alex emerged from the deepening gloom of the alley, his smirk a weapon aimed straight at Christopher's rawest nerve. He didn't rush, taking silent, deliberate steps that drew out the moment. "This is interesting," he said, his gaze flicking from the crumpled body on the street to the dark-eyed creature standing over it, as if observing a fascinating new specimen.
Christopher's feral rasp scraped against the alley walls. "This isn't the time, Alex." He flexed his claws, the sound of tearing air a silent, deadly threat, a reminder of the power he had unleashed.
"But it is," Alex countered, stopping a few feet away. The space between them crackled with unspoken tension. "The scent of her, it did this to you? I warned you she'd be your ruin, Christopher, but I never imagined she'd have this much effect on you, and so fast."
Alex's words were a knife twist, a cruel reflection of Christopher's lifelong, unbreakable discipline—a control that commanded the moon itself. To be brought to his knees by a woman, to be undone so completely. It fueled Alex's cruel satisfaction. The prophecy, he realized, was unfolding right before his eyes.
Christopher's instincts screamed at him to attack, to silence Alex's taunts with a swift, brutal end. The beast raged, a storm of fury and hunger.
"Alex, leave," Christopher commanded, the growl low and dangerous. "Before I silence you for good."
It was a warning, the last shred of reason clinging to a mind consumed by the beast. Alex didn't falter. He just smiled.
"What kind of friend would I be if I let the King slaughter innocent people?" he said, the amusement darkening into something sharper. "This is going to be fun."
The words hung in the air, a final escalation. Alex's fangs descended, his brown eyes shifting to a dangerous, burning red. He knew Christopher was stronger, a cosmic force of will and power. But he didn't need to win. He just had to distract him, to fan the flames of the beast until nothing was left of the man.
Christopher's grin widened, the feral hunger twisting his lips into a horrifying parody of a smile. "Your funeral," he said, and the devilish light in his eyes wasn't just a threat, it was a promise.