Chapter Five: The Mark of the Maker
1290 Words
I woke up to the smell of rain and expensive coffee, but my body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. Every muscle ached with a dull, throbbing heat, a reminder of the bones that had snapped and reset themselves in that alleyway. For a second, staring up at the dark, high ceiling of Kael’s penthouse, I let myself believe it was all a fever dream. Maybe I’d just passed out at the library and had a really vivid nightmare brought on by hunger and stress.
Then I shifted, and the silk pillows beneath me hissed. I looked at my hands. They were human, but the skin around my knuckles was raw, and my heart was still thumping with a heavy, predatory rhythm that wasn't there yesterday.
The nightmare was real. And I was wearing the Executioner’s clothes.
I sat up, my head spinning. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed a gray, drizzly morning over the city. From this high up, the cars looked like toys and the people were invisible. It was a view of the world from someone who sat above it, someone who judged it.
"You’re awake."
I jumped, nearly falling off the sofa. Kael was sitting at a glass table across the room, a laptop open in front of him and a ceramic mug in his hand. He looked annoyingly put-together for someone who had been out killing people a few hours ago. He’d changed into a black turtleneck that made his silver eyes look even more intense.
"What time is it?" I croaked, my throat feeling like I'd swallowed sandpaper.
"Late enough that your boss at the library has already called your phone six times," Kael said, not looking up from his screen. "I took the liberty of turning it off. You don't work there anymore, Elara. Try to keep up."
"You can't just decide my life is over!" I snapped, the wolf inside me giving a small, sharp growl of agreement. "I have responsibilities. I have a cat—oh my god, my cat. Barnaby hasn't been fed."
Kael finally looked at me. His expression was flat, completely devoid of the heat I’d felt from him last night. "I sent someone to your apartment. The cat has been fed and moved to a safe house. Your landlord has been told you’re taking an emergency leave of absence. As far as the human world is concerned, you’ve vanished for a few weeks."
I stared at him, stunned. He had scrubbed my life away in a matter of hours. "You're a psychopath."
"I'm efficient," he countered, closing his laptop. "And I'm the only reason your apartment isn't currently being searched by people who don't care about feeding your cat. Come here. Eat."
There was a plate of eggs and toast on the table. My stomach gave a loud, embarrassing rumble. I realized I wasn't just hungry; I was famished. It was a hollow, aching kind of hunger that made my hands shake. I didn't argue. I walked over and sat opposite him, devouring the food like I hadn't eaten in weeks.
Kael watched me, his chin resting on his hand. "The 'Created' transition requires an immense amount of caloric energy. Your body is rebuilding itself on a cellular level. You’ll be eating like a stray for the next few days."
I stopped mid-bite, the toast suddenly tasting like ash. "You keep saying that. 'Created.' Marcus said it too. What does it actually mean? I thought werewolves were... you know, bitten. Like in the movies."
Kael leaned back, his eyes darkening. "Bitten wolves are 'Turned.' They carry a viral strain. Born wolves are 'True.' But you? You were 'Made.' There was no bite, Elara. No saliva exchange. You were human until a specific lunar frequency or a chemical trigger forced your latent DNA to rewrite itself."
"Latent DNA?" I shook my head, my mind reeling. "I’m just a normal girl from Ohio. My dad was a postman."
"Is that what they told you?" Kael asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "The moon doesn't just choose anyone. It chooses people who already have the spark. Someone knew you had it. And they triggered it in that alley because they wanted to see what would happen."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. "A test? You think someone turned me into a monster just to see what I’d do?"
"I think someone is trying to build an army," Kael said. He reached across the table, his fingers catching my wrist. He turned my arm over, exposing the pale skin of my inner forearm. "I found this while you were asleep."
I looked down. There, just below the crook of my elbow, was a faint, shimmering mark. It looked like a bruise at first, but as the light hit it, it glowed with a dull, silver light. It was a symbol—a circle with three slashes through it.
"What is that?" I whispered, my heart beginning to race.
"A Maker’s Mark," Kael said, his thumb tracing the symbol. His touch was cold, but it sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. "It’s like a brand on cattle. Whoever did this to you didn't just want to change you. They wanted to own you."
I tried to pull my arm away, but Kael’s grip was like iron. He wasn't hurting me, but he wasn't letting go either. His eyes were fixed on the mark, a look of pure, murderous hatred flickering in those silver depths.
"Does it mean they can find me?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"It means they’re already looking," Kael replied. He let go of my arm and stood up, walking to a safe at the far end of the room. He pulled out a heavy, silver-plated dagger and tucked it into his belt. "Marcus thinks you’re a liability. The Council thinks you’re an abomination. And whoever marked you thinks you’re property."
He turned back to me, his expression hardening. "I’m going out to find the man who sold the trigger to that rogue wolf in the alley. You stay here. If the doorbell rings, don't answer it. If the alarm goes off, get into the reinforced closet in the bedroom."
"Kael, wait," I said, standing up. I felt small in his oversized shirt, but I couldn't just sit here like a bird in a cage. "Why are you helping me? Last night you said if I lose control, you’ll be the last thing I see. Why not just... end it now? Why keep me here?"
Kael paused at the elevator, his hand hovering over the sensor. He looked back at me over his shoulder. The sunlight hit his face, making him look less like an executioner and more like a man burdened by a weight I couldn't imagine.
"Because," he said softly, "the person who marked you is the same person who murdered my partner three years ago. You aren't just a complication, Elara. You’re the bait."
The elevator doors slid shut, leaving me alone in the silent, glass-walled fortress.
I looked down at the silver mark on my arm. It felt like it was burning, a cold, phantom fire beneath my skin. I wasn't just a librarian anymore. I wasn't just a werewolf. I was a lure for a killer.
And as I looked out at the city, I realized I didn't know which was scarier—the people hunting me, or the man who was using me to find them.
- Writer
