He choked, "She's a werewolf." And fell to his knees, weeping.
Sarah was unable to move, unable to believe her ears. She finally dropped to the floor and put her arms around him. He heaved with painful sobs, rendering speech impossible. She held him until he quieted, helped him to his feet and then to the sofa. He sat and stared straight ahead without a word. Sarah had not seen him like this since Emily died. None of this made sense, yet it had to be true for him to be this distraught. After a while Jackson, still silent, rose and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To hunt."
Sarah put herself between him and the door. "You know you can't do that right now."
"Yes I can."
"Remember Lisa. You need to stay here now."
He clenched his teeth. "Get out of my way, Sarah."
"I am not going to let you do something you will regret forever. Please, just sit down. I will get you some blood and a drink." He glared at her, and for a moment she thought he might fight her. Then he turned around and sat back down.
Sarah handed him his two glasses. "What happened?"
Staring through her, he took a long drink of scotch. "I told her I am a vampire. She told me she's a werewolf."
"How can that be? She doesn't even smell like one."
He waved a listless hand in the air. "She's a ruling wolf or something; doesn't smell like a dog."
"Oh God, where is she now?"
"I have no idea."
"How did you leave things with her?"
"She's a fucking werewolf; there are no things to leave." Jackson downed his drink, picked up his glass of blood, went to the bar and grabbed three bottles of scotch.
"Where are you going?"
"Up to my room to drink until I pass out." Sarah watched him climb the stairs while tears ran down her face. He seemed so hopeless. She went up to tell Connor what had happened then back down to the drawing room. Her intention was to stay there to make sure he did not go out to hunt.
Jackson's head pounded. He vacillated between disbelief and agony. His gut twisted and he desired only one thing-escape. He stood, scrutinizing Elisabeth's painting, wondering how any of this could be real. The sound of a car door, and then an engine starting jarred him into realizing Elisabeth must have stayed in the woods all this time. A wave of grief engulfed him and ripped through to his core, knocking the breath from him. He let out a primordial scream and threw the glass of blood at the painting with so much force, the crystal shattered and blood splattered crimson all over the painting and wall. He steadied himself with his hands on his knees for a moment, panting; then opened a bottle and started to drink, fast; desperate to find oblivion.