He shuddered, sweating, and retched between his knees, but kept himself from vomiting the food he needed so badly. Instead, he ripped his claws through a table by the bed, just preventing himself from destroying everything in sight.

In the last week since his escape, he would be doing well, focusing on his hunt for her and his recovery, seeming to acclimate; then something would put him in a rage. He'd broken into a manor to steal clothes—then destroyed everything inside. Anything he didn't recognize and understand, destroyed.

Tonight, he'd been weak, thinking unclearly, his leg still regenerating, and still he'd gone to his knees when he'd finally picked up her scent once more.

But instead of the mate he'd expected, he'd found a vampire. A small, fragile female vampire. He hadn't heard of a female being alive in centuries. The males must have been secretive about them, cloistering them all these years. Apparently the Horde hadn't killed off all of their own women, as the Lore told.

And Christ help him, his instincts still said this pale-haired, ethereal creature was…his.

The Instinct screamed inside him to touch her, to claim her. He'd waited for so long…

He put his head in his hands, trying not to lash out again—to get the beast back in its cage. But how could fate rob him once more? For more than a thousand years, he'd searched for her.

And he'd found her in what he despised with a hatred so virulent he couldn't control it.

A vampire. The way she existed disgusted him. Her weakness disgusted him. Her pale body was too small, too thin, and looked like she'd break with her first stiff fucking.

He'd waited a millennium for a helpless parasite.

He heard the squeaking wheel, going much faster past his door, but his hunger was sated for the first time since the ordeal began. With food like tonight's, he would shake off any physical trace of the torture. But his mind…