Free Lorne (The Dark League 1) by Melody Adams Page A

me like ... like a damn whore! Why do you treat me like ... like DIRT? As ... as if I were not worthy of you! You damn son of a bitch!“

    Lorne

    With a pounding heart, I stared at her. What had I done? In my pitiful attempt to resist what was between us, I had hurt her. Again and again. I could see that now. I saw it in her eyes and it simply broke my heart. Yes, I had treated her like dirt, had used her for my pleasure to calm my hunger for her and whilst doing so I had not considered her feelings at all. It had all been about me! – What I needed, what I did not want! Yet the old witch was right. I could not run away from my feelings.
    “Please forgive me,“ I said miserably. I ... I ... I’m so sorry! You’re right! I have treated you like a whore, yet you’re the most important person in my life. Day and night I can only think of you. I’m incapable of staying away from you. I ...“
    “But why?“ she sobbed. “Why are you doing this if you can allegedly only think of me? I understand the ...“
    “I’m a coward, Trisha!“ I admitted, pained. “I never wanted   a mate because ... because ...“
    “Because what?“
    “My best friend, Serge had a mate. I had always admired their love but then ... One day she was killed by a Renegade. Serge could not get over her death. He went mad, ran amok and ...“ I suddenly had the awful day before my eyes.
    “What happened then?“ asked Trisha quietly.
    “I had no other choice. He ... he was mad and he killed people indiscriminately at a wedding celebration. It was awful.“

    I could hear the screams as I approached the house. I had followed Serge, knowing that he was out of control. The house was decorated with garlands and balloons. An arch of white and red roses decorated the door. A woman was screeching loudly, a baby was screaming. Filled with horror, I rushed up the steps to the house and tore the door open. Corpses lay in the entrance and I almost stumbled over a girl of about eight years old whose big blue eyes were looking up at me without seeing. Her throat was cut, she was dead. I had to tear myself away from her gaze, I was petrified by what I saw, by what my best friend had done and, judging by the screaming, he was till raging. I stepped over the dead people and went into a festively decorated lounge. A wedding cake was standing on a long table at which the guests had been seated. Blood was pouring over white marzipan, dying the cream pink. The bride groom was lying a table, one of his arms torn from his body and red blood running from the stump, forming a huge pool of blood on the expensive Persian carpet. A baby was lying in a baby carrier, screaming. Some people had squeezed themselves into a corner and were whimpering and sobbing – a woman was praying quietly. Serge was standing in the middle of the room, the bride in his arms. Shock and fear were written across the young woman’s face. Her white dress was covered in blood and blood was running from a wound in her neck. Serge looked at me with bloodshot eyes – crazed eyes!
    “Oh, Lorne! Have you come to the party, too?“ asked Serge, laughing. “I’ve left you a few. But this one here – this one belongs to me. The bride is mine, oh yes!   – But I’m happy to leave the baby to you, I’ve heard that baby blood is quite something!“    
    “Let the woman go, Serge!“ I said calmly, approaching him slowly.
    “Pl-please!“ the bride stammered with fear. Her eyes looked at me beseechingly.
    “Let her go, Serge! You’ve had enough for today, haven’t you?“ I persuaded my friend. “Come on, man! Let her go! She’s not your taste anyway!“
    “You’re right! She’s too fat!“ said Serge, pushing the woman in my direction. “You can have her, then I’ll take the baby!“
    The bride fell to the ground at my feet. I saw Serge taking a step towards a young woman who had by now grabbed the baby together with the carrier and was now taking cover behind an armchair. I leapt