ISABELLA’S POV
The pool’s icy grip tightened around my chest, its black water a living thing clawing at my lungs. I thrashed, my drenched dress tangling my legs, my red hair plastering my face like blood. A memory that wasn’t mine surged—jagged teeth flashing, a wolf’s amber eyes glowing in the dark, its growl echoing as water choked me. My scream bubbled uselessly, my arms flailing for the surface. Hands seized my shoulders, yanking me up, and I gasped, air burning my throat.
Jake’s face loomed, his glasses fogged, brown hair dripping. “Bella, you okay?” His voice was flat, his hazel eyes darting to the crowd behind him—Vanessa, Dylan, my classmates, their phones still glowing with that fake nude photo of me. His grip on my arms felt rehearsed, like he was playing a part for their approval, his lips twitching into a nervous smile.
I shoved him, my palms slamming his chest. “Get off me!” My voice cracked, raw with fury. I staggered to my feet, water streaming from my dress, pooling on the grass. My cheek stung where I’d slapped him, my handprint red on his face. “How could you…?” I hissed, my eyes burning.
Jake’s mouth opened, but no words came. His shoulders hunched, his gaze flicking to Dylan, who smirked, beer in hand. The crowd’s laughter had died, their face blank, eyes wide. I’d never fought back, never bared my teeth. For nineteen years, I’d swallowed their insults, their shoves, their taunts of “Ginger Witch.” But tonight, Jake’s betrayal—those photoshopped photos, his fake concern—snapped something inside me. I was done being their punching bag.
“Stay the hell away from me,” I spat, my voice a blade. I turned, my sneakers squelching, and ran, pushing past Vanessa’s sneer, past the flashing phones. The gift I’d bought Jake, that leather journal, lay trampled in the grass, its pages soaked. I didn’t stop to pick it up.
The streets blurred, neon signs bleeding into the night. My dress clung to my skin, the red fabric translucent, outlining my shivering body. I couldn’t go home. Karen would see me dripping and immediately accuse me of whoring around, and slap me until my ears rang. Mark would nod, his gray eyes cold, they’d never listen if I told them that I nearly drowned, that my heart was shattered. Home was a cage, and I’d rather die than face it.
My feet carried me to Hell’s Kitchen, to a bar: The Lunar Den. Its neon sign flickered, casting a blue glow on the cracked sidewalk. I pushed through the door, the bell jangling. Heads turned—truckers, bikers, women in tight dresses—their eyes raking me over, a drowned rat in a blue dress. Whispers followed: “What’s with her?” “She’s soaked.” I ignored them, my jaw tight, and slid onto a barstool, the leather sticky under my thighs.
The barman, a burly guy with a gray beard, raised an eyebrow. “You look like trouble, kid. What’s your poison?”
“Tequila,” I said, my voice hoarse. “A shot, please.”
He squinted, his hand pausing on a bottle. “You got an ID? You look sixteen.”
“I’m nineteen,” I snapped, leaning forward, my wet hair dripping on the counter. “Legal enough. Just pour.”
He grunted, eyeing me, then grabbed a shot glass. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea.” I didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to know how pathetic my life is, he didn’t need to know that I’m being called a slut over a fake photo. The tequila burned my lips, fire racing down my throat. I slammed the glass down. “Another shoot.”
He poured, slower this time. I downed it, the heat spreading, numbing the ache in my chest. Another shot. Then another. The bar spun a bit, faces blurring into shadows. My head buzzed, but the pain didn’t fade—nineteen years of torment crashed over me like that pool. Mom’s slaps, her venomous words: “I regret you were born.”
Dylan’s fists, Lucas’s taunts. Vanessa’s cruelty at Crestwood, her clique’s laughter. And Jake, the one person I’d trusted, selling me out for a laugh. Tears pricked my eyes, but I clenched my fists, nails biting my palms. I wouldn’t cry. Not here.
“Hey, sweetheart,” a gruff voice slurred. A man slid onto the stool beside me, his leather jacket reeking of smoke. His buddies—two more, with greasy hair and leering grins—flanked him. “Why so wet? Need someone to warm you up?”
I glared, my vision hazy. “Not interested. Leave me alone.”
He chuckled, his hand brushing my arm. “Come on, don’t be like that. You’re showing off in that dress.” His eyes dropped to my chest, where the wet fabric clung, my boobs visible through the blue material.
I jerked back, my stool scraping. “I said no.”
His grin faded, his grip tightening. “You don’t get to tease and walk away, bitch.” His friends closed in, their hand grazing my waist, my thigh.
Panic spiked, my heart racing. I shoved at them, my arms weak from tequila, my voice rising. “Get off me!”
“Relax, we’re just having fun,” the second guy said, his breath sour. He pulled me closer, his fingers digging into my hip. I twisted, my elbow catching his ribs, but he laughed, pinning my wrist.
The barman watched, his face blank—nobody cared. I was alone, drowning again, the wolf’s eyes from that memory flashing in my mind.
A blur of motion cut through the haze. One second, the men were on me; the next, they were sprawled across the floor, glasses shattering. A man stood between us, his back to me, his shoulders broad under a black leather jacket. His dark brown hair was tousled, catching the bar’s dim light, and his stance radiated danger, like a predator coiled to strike. He turned, and I froze.
His face was chiseled—high cheekbones, a sharp jaw dusted with stubble, lips curled in a scowl. But his eyes, a deep emerald green, burned with an intensity that stole my breath, like they saw through my soul. He was tall, maybe six-two, his black shirt hugging a muscular frame that moved with lethal grace.
“You alright?” His voice was low, a gravelly growl that sent shivers down my spine. He stepped closer, his gaze flicking over my drenched dress, not leering but assessing.
I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He glared at the men, who scrambled to their feet, blood trickling from one’s nose. “Touch her again, and you’re dead,” he said, his tone flat but deadly. They bolted, the door slamming behind them.
I stared at him, my head spinning, not just from tequila. The way he’d moved—too fast, too strong—wasn’t human. One moment, they’d been grabbing me; the next, they were down, like he’d flickered through time. My skin tingled, a strange pull tugging at my chest, like I knew him, though I’d never seen him before. He was gorgeous, painfully so, his rugged beauty a stark contrast to Jake’s boyish awkwardness.
My body reacted, heat pooling low, my ovulation making me reckless. I’d planned to give myself to Jake tonight, to seal our bond, but Jake had betrayed me. This stranger, this savior, stirred something wild, something I couldn’t name.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “This place isn’t safe for someone like you.”
“Why do you care? Huh?” I laughed, bitter, the tequila loosening my tongue. “Do you want to have a taste of me too?”
His eyes darkened, a flicker of hunger crossing his face. I stood on tiptoes, my lips grazing his ear, my breath shaky. “I’m saying, do you want fuck me?”
