Chapter 5- What’s your name?

I slammed the gas pedal and shot out of the school gates, the engine’s roar echoing through the mountains like something wild answering me back. My black Benz might not be the flashiest thing in the world, but it was my pride—three years of saving every dollar from my job at Belle & Bakes.

(Okay, fine, my parents helped a little. But most of it was mine. Earned. Fought for.)

Elowen sat curled inside its crescent-shaped forest, as if the trees were shielding—or trapping—it on purpose. From above the town must look like a tiny heartbeat inside a massive ring of dark green. Maybe that was why the air here always felt still, cold, waiting.

Maybe that was why my senses had been weird lately—too sharp, too awake.

I kept telling myself it was nothing.

Rain streaked across the windshield in thin, silvery lines. The forest surrounding the town was heavy with mist again, dense enough that sometimes it felt like eyes watched from between the branches.

Elowen wasn’t big, wasn’t small. Two high schools, three elementary schools, and an overly snobbish private academy in the outskirts. The nearest city was a six-hour drive away—factories, grey concrete, too much noise. If you went east for twelve hours, though, you’d reach Isolde, the perfect beach town everyone here adored.

By the time I pulled into the driveway of our pale-blue two-story house, the radio was still playing the morning’s trending pop song. I pushed open the door and—

Stopped dead in the entryway.

My parents were in the kitchen.

More specifically, they were glued to each other near the counter, kissing like teenagers who didn’t know what “privacy” meant. My enhanced hearing picked up the soft hitch of their breaths before I even saw them—another thing I was pretending wasn’t weird.

I quickly looked away. Sure, it wasn’t the first time I’d walked in on them being disgustingly affectionate, but it never failed to burn my eyes.

They’d been together since high school, survived college, moved back to their hometown, and somehow still acted like they were in a rom-com montage. During family dinners, I’d catch them exchanging looks so mushy that my brothers and I wanted to fall face-first into our food to escape.

“Hi!” I called out loudly on purpose.

They sprang apart like they’d touched a live wire. Their clothes were wrinkled, faces flushed, expressions equal parts embarrassed and caught-in-the-act.

My dad cleared his throat. “I, uh, was helping your mom prepare dinner.”

I raised an eyebrow I definitely inherited from him. “Oh, I’m sure you were helping, Dad. Absolutely.”

He coughed, rubbed the back of his neck, and almost sprinted out of the kitchen.

Mom and I made eye contact—and burst into laughter at the same time.

“Be gentle with your father, dear,” she said between giggles.

“But it was just begging to be said.”

Her laughter doubled. “Yeah, well… just don’t tell him I said that.”

I gave her an exaggerated bow. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”

Heading upstairs, I peeked into my fourteen-year-old brother Derek’s room.

Yup. Asleep again.

The kid had a talent—if sleeping were a sport, he’d go pro.

Smiling, I walked into my room.

This family was chaotic, embarrassing, sometimes dramatic…

But we loved each other. Deeply. Unconditionally.

And despite the strange sensations and instincts that had been creeping up on me lately, this house still felt safe.

Mostly.

The Next Morning

I was forty minutes late.

And it was entirely YouTube’s fault.

My parents had already left for work, and Derek was hopeless as an alarm clock. So here I was—definitely missing first period. Fantastic. Truly magical.

I shot upright in bed, took the fastest shower known to mankind, got dressed, and practically flew down the stairs. My senses felt sharp again—hearing the rain outside, smelling the pine trees through closed windows.

I ignored it. Again.

I jumped into my car and sped toward school, the engine whining in protest but obedient.

When I finally screeched into the school parking lot with fifteen minutes left before second period, I bolted out of the car and sprinted toward the gates. I shoved the door open, breathing hard, lungs burning but wide awake in a way humans probably shouldn’t be.

I checked the time, half relieved, half panicked…

And for a split second—

Something inside me stirred.

Like a wolf waking up.

I still had fifteen minutes before the bell for second period.

After that insane sprint from the parking lot, I took a second to breathe and celebrated quietly—yeah, I know, not exactly athlete material over here.

Once I confirmed I wasn’t about to pass out from oxygen deprivation, I strolled toward my locker. The hallway was empty; everyone was already in class.

I had just started punching in my locker combination when I heard footsteps—fast ones—pounding down the corridor.

Running was against school rules, but whoever it was sounded like they were fleeing a crime scene.

Curiosity got the better of me. I leaned out to take a look, and a blur sprinted down the hallway so fast he nearly slammed into the wall.

Fitch Jones appeared at the far end of the corridor without even breaking a sweat.

Sure, he was a striker on the school soccer team, so stamina was expected, but this?

This was not normal.

If I ran like that, I’d need an oxygen tank and possibly last rites.

Fitch stopped abruptly and stared straight at me. There was something unreadable in his expression—shadowy, intense, almost… predatory.

But God, he was still disgustingly handsome.

Even if I called him a playboy and an asshole every chance I got, facts were facts.

The guy was stupidly hot.

Annoyingly hot.

Hot in a way that made me want to scream into a pillow.

Today he wore a gray V-neck and ripped jeans, the same effortless, reckless aesthetic he always carried.

For a split second I thought he was looking at someone behind me—except obviously, everyone else was in class.

Then he started walking toward me.

Not casually.

Not curiously.

But with that smooth, calculated stride predators have when they’ve already chosen their target.

My pulse stuttered.

He stopped right in front of me.

Too close.

Our boots almost touched, and our chests were only a few inches apart.

It was way beyond my personal-safe-distance zone.

But my body refused to move.

Like something inside me froze—or reacted.

His breath brushed my cheek, cool and minty.

His eyes… There was something off about them. Soft green, but flecked with gold that shimmered strangely under the hallway lights. Beautiful, sure. But also unsettling.

Then his voice—low, rough, almost gravelly—pulled me out of my trance.

“What’s your name?”

I blinked.

He had to be kidding.

We grew up in the same town.

Went to the same middle school.

Now went to the same high school.

We’d even shared a desk more than once.

We’d done a whole group project together junior year.

He literally flirted with me yesterday.

But remembering every fling in his overflowing dating history?

Yeah, that was probably impossible, even for him.

His “hookup archive” could be published in volumes.

I looked away, shoved my books into my backpack, and slammed my locker shut.

“Asshole,” I muttered.

I turned to leave—but Fitch grabbed my wrist.

Hard.

Shockingly hard.

Something was not right.

“What the hell?” I snapped under my breath.

“Listen,” he said, voice strained with an urgency that didn’t fit him at all. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember your name. And I’m sorry I never called you. But I swear—give me your number again and I’ll call you. I promise.”

His eyes were almost pleading.

His lips—full and pink—formed a pout that probably made half the girls in school lose brain function.

“What?” I said, genuinely confused now.

He scratched his neck and gave an awkward, nervous laugh.

“We hooked up, and I didn’t call you back. You’re mad about that, right?”

What.

WHAT?

Had this guy completely lost his mind?!

Heat flooded my face. Rage. Embarrassment. Utter disbelief.

“I’ve never slept with you, Fitch,” I hissed. “And I never will. Now let go of me.”

His expression twisted—shock, confusion, maybe even something like panic.

As if it was impossible someone on campus didn’t want him.

Or impossible he could be wrong.

Just then, the bell rang.

I yanked my arm back—but in the motion, his sleeve shifted.

And I saw it.

A silver scar.

Not random.

A symbol.

A sigil.

A wolf, under a crescent moon.

My stomach dropped.

The same symbol rumored to belong to the wolf-pack sightings in the woods.

The same symbol connected to those strange attacks on the outskirts of town.

The same symbol I’d glimpsed in nightmares I pretended were just dreams.

Maybe his bizarre behavior wasn’t just Fitch being Fitch.

Maybe this had something to do with everything weird happening in Elowen lately.

Maybe… something had changed in him.

Or in me.

But I didn’t have time to think about it.

I grabbed my backpack strap, turned away, and sprinted toward class—

not daring to look back.