Axel hissed as the pain slowly subsided. His claws retracted, and his fangs receded. He shifted back into his human form, collapsing to the floor as harsh, ragged breaths tore from his lungs.
The fiery blaze in his golden eyes dimmed, and his breathing gradually steadied. But the violent tremor in his hands did not cease. A deep, primal thirst coiled within him, a need to spill blood that thrummed under his skin.
This happened every time the… episode… took hold. He had learned to suppress the worst of it by turning his own claws against his flesh, relying on his accelerated healing to mend the self-inflicted wounds. His claws sprang forth once more, and he dragged them across his own arm, wincing as blood welled and dripped onto the stone floor. Yet, the hunger in his soul remained, clamoring for something morel.
A firm knock echoed at his door. "Your Highness," a guard announced. "Lady Ophelia requests an audience."
