At midnight, Knox Blackwood paced the floor of his private chamber with all the composure of a rabid beast. His skin itched with the need to rend and tear and mate. The spiraling was worse now—much worse. Ravage, his wolf, circled him like a parasite under the skin, hissing and spitting, scraping its claws against the inside of his skull.
It had all started after the war and after years of captivity, of being a gladiator who fought for his life in the vampire pits more than he ate. Now, Ravage was always, always thirsty for blood. Knox had tried to control his wolf for years, but in these past weeks, the animal part of him only wanted to ravage.
Knox had not told anyone about what was going on with him, not even his brothers. The healer knew because he had been meeting him in secret and providing him with antidote upon antidote to quench this blood thirsty madness. But the tiny man knew better than to breathe a word of it to a living soul.
