Rapture

Scars

I wake up gasping for air.

The sheet slips from my naked body as I dart up to my knees. The softness beneath my kneecaps makes me realize I'm in bed.

The first bed I ever had, actually.

I feel tingles across my back, and the memories flash back to me.

I passed out.

Only one candle is still lit. The ends of the room crawl with shades.

Where is he?

I get up and look around. My torn dress had been removed from the floor, and the dirty bath water emptied.

I step up to the mirror by the candle, turning my back to it and looking over my shoulder.

A chill passes through me, making every hair on my body prickle.

My scars looked exactly like his.

I stretch my arm back; slowly running my fingers along the claw marks. The stripes of the cuts darkened by the burn, but sealed to perfect smoothness. My fingertips could barely trace the difference.

Unbelievable... How did he do that?

I turn to face the mirror, and suddenly see how different I look. My spine straight, chest wide with unfamiliar power.

I recall the feeling of his hands pressing on me from both sides. One giving comforting warmth. The other searing heat.

What does he want from me?

A howl echoes loud outside, followed by another. And another. All sounding terribly close.

Just wolves crazing at the full moon... I tell myself; clenching my eyes as the image of the werewolf's approaching canines replays in my head.

Then I hear the claws scratching against the tree's door.