🗡️Chapter 08🗡️

The wolf hauled itself toward me, a blur of grey fur and pure, unfiltered aggression.

Now, look, I’m not some decorated WWE fighter. I’m just a girl with a bag of cheap knives and a lot of pent-up rage. I know how to handle a blade; not because I'm out here looking to commit crimes or anything, but I know my way around a kitchen. I know how to make a knife do what I want it to do. But I quickly realized that chopping vegetables and trying to stop a five-hundred-pound monster are two very different things.

The beast slammed into me like a freight train. I felt claws rake across my shoulder, shredding my shirt and skin like tissue paper. The force sent me spinning, and I ate a face full of grit as I hit the sand face-flat. My lungs felt like they’d collapsed, and my head was ringing so loud I couldn't even hear my own heartbeat.

I groaned, spitting out sand and blood, and rolled onto my back just in time to see it coming for me again. Its mouth was hanging open, thick strings of drool dripping from its yellow fangs.

But then, something started going seriously wrong with my body.

A sharp, white-hot pain exploded in my hand. I watched, horrified, as my fingernails lengthened into jagged, black wolf claws, only for them to snap back and disappear under my skin a second later. Then my face felt like it was being rearranged by a pair of invisible hands. My nose twitched, stretching out into a snout, before melting back into my normal human face.

The pain was agonizing. I mean, what the hell was happening to me? Was I breaking?

I looked up, gasping for air, and saw the wolf had actually paused. It stood there, head tilted, watching my body "glitch" like it was seeing a ghost. For a heartbeat, it looked almost confused. But then its eyes narrowed, and it decided it didn't care. It lunged.

Something in me snapped. The fear was still there, but it was being drowned out by a wave of pure, red-hot adrenaline.

I scrambled to my feet, gripping that tiny knife like it was a lifeline. "Come on, you bastard!" I screamed.

I didn't wait for it to reach me this time. I ran. The wolf charged, its massive body kicking up sand as it closed the gap. Right as it sprang, I threw myself to the side and swung. I aimed for the only soft spot I could see....the eyes.

The blade sank in with a sickening squelch. The wolf let out a high-pitched, guttural cry that sounded way too human. I didn't stop. I went into a frenzy, stabbing at the eye over and over before diving under its chest and driving the knife upward, right where I figured its heart should be.

The wolf gave one last, shuddering gasp and dropped, hitting the sand with a heavy thud that I felt in my teeth.

I collapsed right there next to it, my chest heaving so hard it hurt. I stared at the carcass, my hands shaking so violently I had to drop the knife.

What the hell was that? I nearly shifted. Like, actually shifted. That was a first.

Did my body only try to turn because it felt threatened? Was that the trigger?

I didn't have the energy to think about it. I forced myself up, dragging my bruised and bloody body across the sand toward my boat. Every step felt like I was walking through wet cement. I practically fell into the boat, collapsing onto the floor and just lying there flat, staring up at the endless, mocking blue sky.

********

The taxi didn't even wait for me to shut the door before it zoomed off, tires kicking up a cloud of dust that settled over my boots.

I stood there for a second, just staring at the gate. I was back. The bruises on my arms had turned a deep, ugly purple, and every joint in my body felt like it was filled with glass shards, but I didn't care. The physical pain was a dull hum compared to the static in my head.

I pushed the gate open. It creaked, a lonely, hollow sound that echoed through the quiet neighborhood. I walked up the driveway, my eyes fixed on the mansion. It looked like a skeleton. The walls were scorched a deep, matte black, and the windows were nothing but jagged teeth of broken glass.

There was no smoke left. The heavy rain from last night had drowned out the last of the heat, leaving behind a cold, damp graveyard. Everything smelled of wet charcoal and ruined memories.

I stepped over the threshold, the soles of my boots crunching on the layer of thick, grey ash that covered the foyer. It was everywhere, clinging to the remains of the velvet chairs, coating the charred legs of the grand piano. It was like a winter of soot had fallen inside.

Strangely, not all of it was gone. The fire had been picky, devouring the center of the house but leaving the edges standing in a fragile, blackened state. I made my way toward the stairs.

I climbed gently, one slow step at a time, heading toward the master suite. My parents' room. My heart was thumping against my ribs again, but it wasn't the "glitchy" adrenaline from the island, This was different. This was the fear of finding absolutely nothing, of being left in the dark forever.

I reached the landing and pushed the door open. It hung crooked on a single hinge, scraping against the floorboards as I stepped inside.

"Please," I whispered to the empty, blackened room. "Just give me one thing."

My eyes scanned the wreckage. The bed was a charred frame, the curtains were gone, but in the corner, tucked behind a fallen beam that had shielded it from the worst of the heat, stood my father's desk. It was scorched, the varnish bubbled and ruined, but the drawers were still shut tight.

I stumbled toward it, my breath hitching as I pulled at the bottom drawer. It was stuck. I growled, a low, vibration-heavy sound in my throat that sounded a little too much like a snarl, and yanked it with everything I had.

The wood splintered, and the drawer flew out, spilling its contents across the ash-covered floor.

I dropped to my knees, my fingers frantically sifting through half-burnt envelopes and old tax returns. And then, my hand closed around something that didn't feel like paper.

It was a small, heavy leather case, the kind people used to hold old maps or drafting tools. I pulled it close, my heart stopping when I saw the initials embossed on the front.

M.F.

My father’s initials.

I fumbled with the buckle, my hands shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. Inside wasn't a diary or a letter. It was a single, hand-drawn topographical map of the northern coastline, and pinned to it was a photograph.

I pulled the photo out. It was a shot of a massive, black iron gate tucked deep into the woods, surrounded by trees so thick they looked like a wall. On the back, in my mother's neat, precise handwriting, Six digits, among it a word caught my attention.

Belzedrom.

I stared at the name scrawled on the back of the photo. Belzedrom. It felt heavy, like a word that shouldn't exist, yet there it was in my mother’s handwriting.

I went back to the drawer, shoving aside the charred junk and spilling the rest of the contents onto the floor. I needed more. My fingers brushed against a glossy corner, and I pulled out another picture. I blinked, my heart skipping. It was the island. The white sand, the spindly trees, it was the exact place I’d just left hours ago.

On the back, a simple label: Blue Moon Bay.

Near the back of the drawer, I found a small, heavy black box. It was locked tight, the metal scorched but unyielding. I looked around the ruined room, grabbed a heavy, half-burnt brass bookend from the floor, and started slamming it against the lock. My breath came in ragged gasps as I hammered away until the latch finally snapped.

Inside wasn't jewelry. It was a map, rolled tight and yellowed at the edges. I unrolled it across my knees, my eyes scanning the jagged lines. It was a professional-grade topographical map, but someone had added their own ink. A trail started at the coast of Blue Moon Bay and cut deep into the "Dead Zone" of the mountains, ending at a cluster of structures labeled as Belzedrom.

I stood up slowly, the map trembling in my hands.

As I turned to grab the rest of the papers, I accidentally kicked a stack of old magazines wedged into the side of the desk. The whole pile shifted, and something heavy tumbled from the top shelf of the desk's hutch, thumping me right on the head before landing in the ash at my feet.

"Ow... dammit," I hissed, rubbing my scalp.

I looked down at the floor. It was a leather-bound journal, the cover worn smooth by years of handling. I picked it up, my thumb catching on the first page.

“We left Belzedrom today,” it started.

I sank back to the floor, my back against the scorched desk. “Yes, we did something bad, and the Alpha of Belzedrom will continue to chase after us. I know he won't stop.”

I flipped through the pages, my eyes catching fragments of their lives. “We are doing well to hide our wolf scent. It’s strange, living in the human world now... pretending the moon doesn't pull at us every night.”

I turned a random page toward the middle, and the handwriting seemed lighter, happier. “Guess what, diary? I’m pregnant with a pup. Marius is terrified, but I’ve never felt more alive.”

A lump formed in my throat. That was me. I was the "pup."

I kept flipping, the entries getting darker as the years went on. Every few pages, a name appeared that made my skin crawl: Alpha Drakan. My mother’s notes were full the fear that he was closing in.

I looked from the diary back to the map. It all lined up. Blue Moon Bay wasn't just a random island; it was the gateway.

A weird sense of relief washed over me.

I looked down at the diary, my thumb stroking the worn leather cover. This was my mother’s voice, her warnings, her life. I wasn't leaving it here to rot. I stood up then tucked it firmly under my arm and started walking out of the room, my boots leaving heavy prints in the soot.

I made my way down the stairs, my mind already calculating. I needed supplies. And I needed to be ready for the "glitch" to happen again, because if that Dead Zone was even half as bad as I imagined, I wouldn't be fighting just one wolf next time.

I stepped out into the cool evening air, the gate clanging shut behind me.

I was going to Belzedrom tomorrow. And God help anyone who tried to stand in my way.