Mystic High ✓

MH │13

In the previous chapter: Charlotte and Oriane went to the infirmary for Jessica. Taking a short cut through a restricted area, they bumped into Uilliam who gave them both detentions for trespassing.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It took every ounce of self-control Uilliam had not to run back, grab her, and... and... He shook away his foul thoughts. Something deep inside of him wanted and wanted and wanted. Which was completely unlike him. Uilliam was pragmatic, efficient, and impartial. He's had centuries to perfect his self-control. Additionally, the only thing that mattered to him was escape from his previous lifetime's tormentors. The other mighty beings that if realised what has become of him, would... do worse than a painful death to him.

What was happening right then? He never acted this way. Not in centuries. Not in ever. Only the task at hand mattered. It didn't even happen the last few times he interacted with Oriane. This time though, with her back pressed to his chest for a few seconds, he had frozen. Then he of course had the good sense to step back, else he had no idea what he would have done. He was surprised that when he spoke to her, his voice hardly betrayed the turmoil that boiled in his gut.

What was it about that... under-aged girl that drew him? Not that her age mattered all that much had she been born at his time - back when women were married when they were thirteen years of age. Any later, they were considered unwanted or too old. Not helping conscience! He grit his teeth.

Then his mind sharpened and he asked himself, Did Maeve know this would happen? She must have. It couldn't possibly be chance. That witch of scourings. He never should have bargained with her. When he was free of this animalistic need, he was going to hunt her down and demand an explanation.

It was done now, however. In the past. So he would live with his decisions as he had always done. While the loss of his god-hood might have enraged him, it really didn't since he never enjoyed it when he was all-powerful and scorned by his fellow beings. Still he had never truly regretted his life-changing transaction with the witch. Something was happening to him again, and it was altering him to the core in a way that he understood not. As her scent departed further and further away, he felt himself enraged some more. He wanted to grab at the shelf before him and hurl it at something.

He needed to kill, to hunt, to possess.

Uilliam shook his head vigorously, hands in his thick hair. Hair that blended perfectly into the darkness and shadows that only assisted him in Hunting. He knew though, deep down, that he was acting like a deranged dog. But he didn't care.

Never once in his long and lengthy existence had he felt this deep need. Perhaps this earthly body had finally caught hold of him and he was being forced to merge with it. It was what he loathed to happen. It was torture, his need to control the instinct-driven haze that proceeded to overtake his mind inch by inch. By the unholy gods, he didn't want to care.

But he had to. Uilliam had no choice but to control his body's desires and inclinations that was currently holding him prisoner because he had a job to do. It consisted of investigations of the anomalies and the protection of the seat of power in this college. It consisted of him being in control. He mentally told himself off - though it was becoming obsolete. He smashed a knuckle over one of the metallic walls that kept the security room well, secure. It only chipped away a small part of the tension in his chest. He was going to need to Hunt tonight. No negotiations.

Uilliam leaned his head against the hole in the metal wall.

Someone will have to come down here and get it fixed - who better than the one who had led him into this crazed state?