Until the shocking revelation of real werewolves throws society into turmoil, the world's definition of fear was set at a low expectation. However, as humans exploit these creatures, trading them for power, Seraphina's world unravels on her 18th bir...
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I returned to the kitchen, trying to push down the ache in my chest. It was strange—I hadn’t been the one struck in the limo, yet the pain felt like it was mine.
Sam followed closely behind, still in his wolf form, his body brushing up against my legs as if sensing my discomfort.
“Honey? Everything okay?” my mom asked, her voice full of concern. My dad had papers spread out on the table, probably in preparation for more questions, but I waved them both off. “It’s fine. He wasn’t here for any of that. Just wanted to make sure I was ‘treating Sam properly.’” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from seeping into my voice. My dad’s gaze softened as he realized what had happened.
“Ah, one of those people. But you handled it, didn’t you?” he said, his tone gentler now.
I nodded, but the memory of Sam’s scars and the fear in the golden-eyed guard’s expression left a sour feeling. I couldn’t shake the image of Mr. Simpson’s fury either. Without saying anything more, I turned and headed upstairs. Though it was still the middle of the night—barely three in the morning—I didn’t feel like being around anyone.
“You going back to bed?” Dad called after me. I didn’t answer, letting Sam slip into my room before I shut the door behind us. Their hushed voices of concern faded as I collapsed onto the bed, curling up in a tight ball. My chest felt like it was caving in, and my breathing became shallow. I let the tears fall, soaking the pillow beneath me.
Sam jumped onto the bed, pushing himself beneath my arms, his body warm and steadying. I buried my face into his fur, inhaling the leathery scent that felt so familiar and comforting. I clutched at his fur, desperate for some sense of normalcy as the world spun around me.
Sam stayed quiet, offering nothing but his presence as I sobbed into his fur until exhaustion overtook me.
When I woke again, it was still dark. Sam hadn’t moved. His fur rose and fell gently with each breath, his sleeping form reassuring.
“You awake?” I asked through our mental link, not wanting to wake my parents.
“I am now,” he grumbled sleepily in my head, stretching lazily on the bed. His fur, matted and stuck together where my tears had soaked it, looked ridiculous.
I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. Sam turned his muzzle to inspect the mess I’d made. Rolling his eyes, he began to groom the spot, and I recoiled in disgust.
“It’s no different from cleaning up after a child,” he commented dryly, unfazed by my reaction.
I shifted my gaze, trying not to think about it. “What’s wrong with me?” My voice was serious now, the weight of everything crashing down on me again. I hadn’t fully processed what had happened—the fact that I had transformed into a wolf, or that there were still werewolves on the loose.
“You must be adopted,” Sam said, almost nonchalantly. “Even I didn’t expect this when you turned. Not exactly what I had in mind when I moved here.”
I shot him a sharp look and hugged one of the pillows against my chest. “I’m not adopted. My parents are my biological parents.”
Sam gave a little shrug. “It’s a stretch to believe that a random woman out in the middle of nowhere just turns into a wolf without any genetic influence. Maybe there’s something in your family’s past. A werewolf gene doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.”
“Funny. But how would I find out?” I asked, my tone sarcastic but curious.
“Do you know your grandparents?”
I shook my head. “No. Mom and Dad never talk about them. It’s always been this weird, unspoken thing.”
Sam gave me a look that said, There’s your answer.
“If my parents don’t talk about them, what makes you think they’ll tell me anything?” I sighed, burying my face into the pillow again.
Sam huffed softly, his ears flicking as he shifted on the bed.
“Say, how are there still more of your kind roaming free? I thought most werewolves were in captivity?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Some wolves have managed to stay hidden. They know how to avoid getting caught. It’s not as hard as you think, if you’re smart about it,” Sam explained.
I stared at the ceiling, clutching the pillow tighter. “Ugh. Why does it have to hurt so much?”
Sam tilted his head in curiosity. “Hurt?”
“Feeling the pain of other wolves… like I did with that guard. That doesn’t feel right.”
“You could feel his pain? Sera, I don’t think you’re an average werewolf. Only alpha’s can feel other wolves emotions regardless of what pack they belong to.” Sam’s voice carried an odd tone of certainty through the mental link.
“What?” I whispered, my voice barely audible as panic flickered through me.
“You’re deeply connected to the wolves around you—any wolf. That’s a trait of an alpha. You must be able to feel what they feel.”
“How could I be an alpha? Shouldn’t they have noticed when I was born?” The very idea made my skin crawl. “I should’ve been locked up like the others…”
“Maybe it was dormant until now. Who knows? But you need to be careful. Alphas don’t get to stay free for long.” Sam’s warning was clear, and the thought of being captured sent a shiver down my spine.
“Well, what now? I don’t think finding out where I came from is going to change anything,” I said, hugging the pillow tighter.
“Just stay low. We don’t want Mr. Simpson showing up with a whip next time.” Sam’s attempt at humor lightened the mood a little, though I still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.
I nodded, trying to convince myself that keeping a low profile would be easy.
