Chapter 3 - Dave’s struggle with his inner wolf.
1486 Words
The night clung to me like a second skin, thick with the scent of sweat, whiskey, and blood. I leaned against the brick wall, my fists throbbing, my lungs dragging air like I had been running for miles. The fire inside me hadn’t gone out. It prowled. Waiting.
Elena stood in front of me, her hand still on my cheek, her eyes steady even though she had just watched me nearly lose myself. I expected fear. Disgust. Pity, at best. But there was none. Instead, there was that strange, quiet determination in her gaze, the same look she’d worn the first time she saw me break down in front of her months ago.
“Dave,” she said softly, brushing her thumb over my jaw where sweat clung. “Talk to me. What just happened back there?”
My throat tightened. How could I explain it when I didn’t understand it myself?
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice gravelly. “It’s like… something takes over. My hearing, my strength, even my anger—it’s not normal. And when he touched me, when he wouldn’t stop—” I broke off, shaking my head. “I wanted to destroy him, Elena. Not just fight. Not just defend myself. I wanted…”
The word stuck in my throat like a blade. Blood. That was what I wanted.
Her hand slid from my cheek to my chest, pressing gently over my heart. “But you didn’t. You stopped. You’re here.”
Only because of her. I wanted to tell her, but the words tangled in my throat.
Instead, silence stretched between us, heavy with everything unspoken.
Somewhere down the street, the muffled hum of traffic went on like nothing had happened. A dog barked in the distance. Life continued as if the world hadn’t just shifted inside me.
“Elena,” I said finally, my voice low. “Something is wrong with me. I’m not… normal.”
Her lips curved, but not in mockery. In sadness. “Do you think I don’t know that already?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. Then she said, “Because I’ve seen it before.”
The air seemed to still around us. My pulse stumbled. “What are you talking about?”
She glanced away, her shoulders tense, as though weighing whether to say more. “Not here,” she murmured. “Come with me.”
Before I could argue, she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the alley. Her grip was firm, grounding. The beast inside me paced but didn’t fight her touch. In fact, it calmed under her warmth, like she was the only thing holding me together.
We walked in silence through quiet streets until we reached her apartment. I had been there dozens of times, but tonight, stepping inside felt different—like crossing into a sanctuary. The scent of her lavender candles mixed with the faint aroma of coffee and paint. Her world. Her safe space.
She let go of my hand only when the door clicked shut behind us. Turning to me, she folded her arms. “Sit.”
“Elena—”
“Sit, Dave.”
Something in her tone left no room for argument. I sank onto the couch, muscles still twitching from leftover adrenaline. She perched across from me, her eyes sharp.
“You’re not crazy,” she began. “And you’re not alone in this. What you’re going through… it has a name.”
The fire in my chest flared. “You know what this is?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. Because my family has been watching for people like you for generations.”
Her words landed like a blow. “Watching for… people like me?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “You’re not just a man, Dave. You’re a wolf.”
I laughed, harsh and hollow. “A wolf? Do you hear yourself? That’s insane.”
“Is it?” she countered. “You growled at him. Your eyes—” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “They weren’t yours tonight. They were golden. Burning. You broke his jaw with one punch, Dave. That wasn’t human strength. Tell me you don’t feel it, deep inside, clawing to get out.”
Her words hit too close. I wanted to deny it, but the truth pulsed under my skin, undeniable. The growl. The fire. The hunger.
“I don’t want this,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
Her expression softened. “I know. But you don’t get to choose what you are. You only get to choose how to live with it.”
I dragged a hand over my face. “Why me? Why now?”
She hesitated again, and for the first time tonight, fear flickered in her eyes. “Because something is coming, Dave. And you’re not the only one.”
Her words sank into me like ice.
Not the only one.
The beast inside me lifted its head, as though it had been waiting to hear those exact words.
---
Memories of the Beast
I didn’t sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, fragments of the past returned—the moments I had buried, the ones I told myself were nightmares. I saw myself at twelve years old, standing in the backyard while the moon hung low and silver. My father’s voice called from inside, but I couldn’t answer. My ears were too full of sound: the scuttle of insects under grass, the whisper of wind against leaves, the thrum of my own heartbeat like thunder.
That night I had run—faster than I should have been able to. The world blurred, the ground bending beneath my feet, and when I stopped, panting in the woods, my fingers had curled into claws. I remembered the sharp sting of my nails cutting my palm when I clenched too hard.
I told myself it was just imagination. A dream. Childhood fear. But it wasn’t.
The second memory came from last winter. I’d been walking home after work when two men cornered me in the underpass, knives glinting. I had been afraid—until I wasn’t. Something had broken loose inside me, something that made the knives look like toys. They came at me, but I didn’t remember the fight, only the aftermath: one man unconscious, the other groaning with a broken arm. My knuckles were raw, my shirt ripped, and my ears still ringing with that same inhuman growl.
The cops never came. No one asked questions. But deep inside, I had known: I was dangerous.
And now Elena had given the beast a name.
---
Elena’s Truth
By morning, Elena sat across from me, nursing a mug of coffee while I sat with untouched tea. Her eyes were tired but alert, as though she hadn’t slept either.
“You said your family’s been watching,” I said finally. “What does that mean?”
She sighed, setting the mug down. “My grandmother used to tell me stories—about a bloodline cursed, or blessed, depending on who you asked. Men and women who carried the wolf inside them. They were hunted once, feared and worshipped in equal measure. Some became monsters. Others protectors. But all of them struggled the way you are now.”
“And you believe those stories?”
“I didn’t,” she admitted. “Not until I met you.”
Her words sent a shiver down my spine.
I leaned forward, voice hoarse. “So what now? Do I just… wait until it takes me over completely?”
“No.” Her voice sharpened. “You learn control. You learn to master it before it masters you. Because if you don’t, someone else will.”
“What do you mean?”
Her jaw tightened. “There are others out there—wolves like you. But not all of them want to live quietly. Some want power. Some want blood. And they’ll come for you when they realize what you are.”
The room seemed colder suddenly, the shadows pressing closer.
“And you?” I asked, searching her face. “Why are you helping me?”
She hesitated, her lips parting as if to answer. But then her gaze shifted to the window, her body going tense.
“Elena?”
She didn’t answer. Slowly, she stood, moving toward the curtain. My pulse quickened, the beast inside stirring.
She pulled the fabric back just enough for me to glimpse outside.
Someone was standing across the street.
A man. Still as stone. Watching.
Our eyes met through the glass, and my chest tightened. His gaze wasn’t casual. It was knowing.
The wolf inside me roared.
Elena let the curtain fall. When she turned back to me, her voice was a whisper edged with steel.
“They’ve already found you.”
- Writer
