Chapter 2

Camilla's eyelids peeled open to a stark white ceiling, smooth plaster mocking the grit of her memories. Was it all a fevered hallucination? The pit's damp chill, Jay's snarling wolf form lunging, the rival beast—Ronan—pinning him down before everything went black. She tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but agony lanced through her bandaged shoulder, a white-hot stab that dropped her back to the mattress with a whimper. The pain dragged the truth back in a rush: the bite, the blood-slick fur, Ronan's massive cock knotting deep inside her, flooding her with seed while her body betrayed her in waves of shameful ecstasy.

Tears pricked her eyes, hot and frustrated, spilling over as sobs wracked her chest. Monster now. Can't go home like this. Her gaze drifted to the shoulder—gauze wrapped tight, faint blood seeping through—and then upward, where a face hovered above her, framed by the ceiling's edge.

"Oh, you're awake," the stranger said, voice smooth as polished wood, green eyes sparkling with concern that didn't quite mask the hunger lurking beneath.

Blonde hair slicked back with gel gleamed under the room's soft light, high cheekbones sharpening his jaw into something almost pretty—too pretty for the wild shit she'd survived. He leaned closer, shirt stretching over a lean, muscled chest, the faint scent of clean soap and underlying wolf musk wafting to her sharpened nose.

"Where am I?" she croaked, throat raw, every word tasting of salt and lingering cum from... no, don't think about Ronan's knot still echoing in her stretched pussy, a dull ache of fullness even hours later.

He smiled, teeth flashing white. "Just know you're safe."

The vagueness ignited her temper, three days of captivity fueling the fire. "First, tell me exactly where I am and why. What's gonna happen to me?" Her fists clenched the sheets, knuckles whitening.

The stranger blinked, stunned, then softened. "I'll tell you everything. But relax—you're in good hands. Nobody will hurt you." His gaze flicked to her fists; she forced them open, trembling.

That carefree smile returned as he perched on the bed's edge, mattress dipping under his weight. "Name's Jay. Tristan, my identical twin, took you. He's fucked in the head—orphans, lost fiancée named Angela. You look just like her, down to the eyes. She vanished weeks after his proposal. He snapped, thought you were her."

Camilla's mind spun, piecing it with the pit taunts. Jay—the human face of her tormentor? But this one seemed... kinder. "I just wanna go home," she whispered, mom's face flashing—worried calls unanswered.

Jay's eyes softened further. "If it's your mom, I texted her—you're at a friend's. Sent a pic of you tucked in here, asleep. She thinks I'm your boyfriend."

"WHAT?" Fury surged, but her shoulder throbbed, silencing her in a groan. Boyfriend? After Ronan's cum still leaking from me?

Jay's hand hovered, then withdrew. "You were bitten—not just any wolf. Alpha venom. Changing you." Memories crashed: fangs piercing, Ronan's override fuck, her screams turning to moans as he knotted her.

Monster. She bolted upright, pain be damned, shoving past him. The room spilled into a hallway—six doors in a row, pack scents thick in the air: sweat, fur, sex. Stairs loomed, double L-shape; she stumbled at the landing, jumping the final flight, feet slapping polished wood. Living room sprawled huge—plush couches begging to swallow her, tiny TV dwarfed by the space, sliding doors humming with voices beyond.

Jay's call chased her: "Camilla, wait!"

She burst outside, woods swallowing her—big, cozy minimalist house dead center, ironic prison. A bare path snaked ahead; she plunged in, branches whipping her arms, mantra chanting in her skull: Normal girl. Normal girl. Density thinned to a stream, crystal water gurgling over smooth stones.

Dehydration and filth screamed for it. She stripped, dirty clothes pooling at her feet, cool air pebbling her skin, nipples tightening, pussy lips still tender and slick from Ronan's claiming. One foot in—shiver racing up her calf, current weaving between toes like silk. She sank fully, shoulder held high, water lapping her thighs, teasing her clit with lazy swirls. Bliss washed the horror; Maybe not a monster yet.

"You know, if you wanted a dip, just ask." Jay's voice shattered it. He stood arms-crossed, green eyes devouring her nudity, cock tenting his jeans obviously.

"Pervert!" She splashed, but he waded in fully clothed, scooping her waist and good shoulder in strong arms. Fabric plastered to his body, outlining every ridge. "Don't be scared—it's me." His speed unnerved her—wolf fast. She slapped at his chest, wet smacks echoing. "Your powers are manifesting. Ran here fasting; you're wolf now."

His hands slid—one under her thighs, lifting her dripping pussy against his abs, the other cradling her back. Her arms looped his neck instinctively, breasts mashing his soaked shirt, nipples dragging delicious friction. Heat bloomed low, Ronan's cum mixing with fresh slickness as his scent overwhelmed—alpha, clean, aroused.

"You must be cold," he murmured, eyes locking, pulling his face inches from hers. His hand drifted, fingers grazing her ass cheek, thumb brushing her crack teasingly. Breath mingled, hot and ragged; she leaned in, lips parting, Want his tongue, his cock overriding Ronan's mark... But he pulled back. "Let's go."

Blushing furiously under his jaw, he cradled her through the forest, her gaze feasting on his profile—strong throat, pulse jumping. Back at the house, he kicked the door, announced "We're back!" Laid her on the bed, toweling her skin with deliberate strokes: rough terry over breasts, lingering on nipples until they peaked hard; down her belly, between thighs, fingers "accidentally" grazing her clit, drawing a gasp. Warmth spread, not blanket-soft but liquid fire pooling in her core.

He draped a towel around her neck, led to the bathroom. "Clothes in the cupboard. Phone too. Wifi: HOWL123. Breakfast downstairs—hurry, we talk." Door clicked shut; her cheeks burned scorching, fingers dipping to her pussy, slick and needy. Jay's touch... fuck, need more.

Downstairs, kitchen noise buzzed—other wolves. Door creaked; Jay yanked her in. "Everyone, Camilla." Four faces turned: Lizzy (pale, auburn-haired, friendly wave—"That's my clothes," giggle); Spence (brown hair, blue eyes, cereal-munching wink); Andrea (tan, blonde, eyeliner glare—"Who're you?").

Jay whispered, "Andrea's like that." Pack explained: training to control the wolf, hide it, then home. Summer captivity loomed, but mom's safety won. "I'll do it. Quick."

Jay plated food—steak, eggs, her hunger ravenous. She devoured, juices dripping chin, body fueling for the change. But under the table, her thighs pressed, clit aching from Jay's towel-tease and Ronan's ghost-fuck. Training? Or another alpha's claim?

Lizzy squeezed her hand. "Cravings hit hard—hunger, emotions, transformations. We got you."

Jay's foot nudged hers, green eyes promising. "Outside now. Sooner we start..."

Camilla nodded, plate empty, pussy clenching at the contact. The wolf inside purred, ready for whatever "training" meant—bodies pressing, knots swelling, her screams turning to pleas again.