Chapter 2
1273 Words
The world returned slowly through a fog of pain and pulsing silence.
Aiden wasn’t sure if he was dreaming at first. He felt the ground beneath him, cool and damp, pressing into the curve of his back. The scent of earth filled his nose wet moss, decaying leaves, and something coppery, sharp. His eyes fluttered open to a sky thick with clouds, veiling the stars like gauze.
Then came the pain.
It struck in waves, blooming from his side where something had torn into him. He sucked in a ragged breath, the air burning his lungs.
“Aiden!”
The voice was far away at first Cassian’s voice but then it rushed close like a crashing tide.
Aiden’s face was wet, not from rain, but from Cass’s hands, frantically slapping his cheeks.
“Don’t move. Please, don’t move. You’re oh my God, you’re bleeding.”
“I…” Aiden tried to speak, but it came out broken. “What… was that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see it.” Cass’s voice cracked. “It was just there and then gone. Like a shadow. But your side it’s bad, Aiden. I need to get help.”
“No hospitals.” Aiden grabbed Cass’s wrist with surprising strength. “Don’t… don’t tell anyone.”
Cass looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “You’ve been mauled, Aiden. We need to call someone!”
But Aiden didn’t know how to explain the feeling deep inside his chest like something ancient had been poured into him, molten and burning. Whatever had happened in those woods, it wasn’t meant for the police or paramedics. This was something else. Something not of their world.
“I’m serious,” Aiden gasped. “Help me up.”
Cass hesitated, but the fear in his eyes gave way to loyalty. He slipped his arm under Aiden’s shoulders, lifting him gently, and the two of them stumbled through the trees, every step sending lightning through Aiden’s ribs.
They didn’t speak again until they reached the edge of the forest.
The town of Ravenwood lay sleeping ahead of them, unaware that anything had changed.
But Aiden felt it.
Something had.
The next morning, sunlight poured through the slats in Aiden’s window, warm and golden. He blinked against it, expecting pain, the dull throb of a healing wound but there was nothing. Just the faint memory of heat, and the odd, weightless feeling that his body wasn’t entirely his anymore.
He threw off the blanket and looked down at his side.
No bandages. No blood. No scar.
Just smooth, untouched skin.
“What the hell…”
His door swung open.
Cassian stood in the frame, holding two coffees from the diner and wearing a look that said, We need to talk.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Cass said cautiously. “You’re alive. That’s… good.”
Aiden didn’t answer right away. He turned toward the mirror on his desk, lifted his shirt, and stared at the place where the beast had ripped into him.
“It’s gone,” he whispered.
Cass set the coffee down and walked over, peering at the spot. “That’s impossible. You were bleeding, Aiden. I saw it. I carried you home. You passed out on my shoulder.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Aiden said. “But something’s different.”
Cass leaned back, studying him. “You feel different.”
Aiden looked up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve got this… vibe now. Like you could bench press a truck or eat someone alive.”
Aiden arched a brow. “Not funny.”
“I’m not joking,” Cass said. “You’re not the same kid who couldn’t run a mile in gym class.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Cass added quietly, “You think it bit you?”
Aiden nodded slowly.
“And you think that means…”
“I don’t know what it means,” Aiden said. “But I think we need to find out.”
That night, the fever returned.
Aiden woke gasping, sweat pouring down his back. His bones ached. His skin felt too tight. The room spun.
He stumbled to the bathroom, flicked on the light and froze.
His reflection stared back with golden eyes.
Not amber. Not brown.
Gold, like the dying sun.
He reached up with trembling fingers, brushing his cheek. His vision was sharper. His hearing, clearer. He could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock, two rooms away. The flutter of moth wings outside his window.
And deep beneath his ribs, something stirred. Wild. Ancient. Hungry.
He collapsed to the floor, panting.
He didn’t know what was happening to him.
But he knew one thing:
He wasn’t normal anymore.
Aiden didn’t sleep again.
He sat at the edge of his bed, fingers gripping the blanket, body coiled tight like a wire pulled to its breaking point. The house was quiet except for the tick of the hallway clock and the occasional creak in the floorboards sounds that now felt unbearably loud.
He stood and walked to the mirror again.
His reflection stared back, but it didn’t feel like him. His jaw looked sharper. His eyes too bright. His body… stronger. As if the boy from two nights ago had been remade from the inside out.
He lifted his shirt.
The wound was gone. Not even a scar.
Cass’s voice from earlier echoed in his head: That’s not normal.
He knew that.
But he also knew the woods had given him something. And taken something else in return.
Whatever bit him whatever changed him wasn’t finished with him yet.
And deep down, part of him didn’t want to run.
He wanted to understand.
He wanted to go back.
Cass showed up just after dawn with a bag of medical supplies and a box of donuts.
“Thought you’d be half-dead,” he said, eyeing Aiden. “Instead you look like you slept for a week.”
“I didn’t sleep at all.”
“Me neither.”
They sat in silence on the porch steps, the donuts untouched between them.
Aiden finally asked, “Do you think it was a wolf?”
Cass shrugged. “Not any wolf I’ve ever heard of. Or seen. You said it was big?”
“Fast too. I didn’t see much. Just teeth. And eyes.”
Cass rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we should go back. See if there’s any evidence. Tracks or… something.”
“Or maybe we never go back to those woods again.”
“Come on. We need answers. Don’t you want to know what bit you?”
Aiden didn’t answer.
Because yes, he wanted to know. But more than that he was afraid of what he might find.
That night, Aiden dreamed of running.
Bare feet on damp leaves. Wind in his hair. Stars above. His lungs didn’t burn. His legs didn’t ache. He could feel the earth vibrating beneath him, every branch and rock a part of him.
Then the dream twisted.
He was chasing something.
No someone.
He saw their shape in the dark, sprinting ahead, terrified. The scent of their fear was sweet and sharp in his nose.
He was hunting them.
And worst of all… it felt good.
He woke in a cold sweat, heart hammering.
His sheets were tangled. His fingernails had dug into the mattress. And his window his window was open.
He sat up slowly.
Moonlight spilled in. Somewhere in the distance, another low howl echoed across the trees.
But this time, he didn’t feel fear.
He felt… called.
- Writer
