Chapter 5
1174 Words
The rain had stopped by morning, but the scent of it lingered in the city air—fresh, heavy, and full of something Scarlett couldn’t name. She hadn’t slept.
After Damon and the strange man had vanished into the night, she’d stood in the broken entryway of the gym for a long time, heart thudding in her ears, waiting for her thoughts to make sense.
They never did.
She’d cleaned up the broken glass by herself. Told Lizzie she’d “dropped something heavy,” and that she’d take care of the early shift. A lie. A small one. But necessary. Lizzie didn’t need to know what had happened. Not yet.
Scarlett stood now in the storage closet, trying to slow her breathing. She was still jumpy. Still on edge. But there was also something else creeping beneath her skin—something unfamiliar.
Energy.
Not adrenaline. Something different. Like her muscles were waiting for a signal they’d never needed before.
And her instincts? They weren’t whispering anymore. They were shouting.
She pulled her hoodie over her head, tightened her ponytail, and stepped back into the studio just as the door opened.
He was there.
Damon.
He looked like he hadn’t slept either. His dark shirt was soaked from the misty morning, clinging to his chest. His hair was damp, curling slightly around his forehead. But it wasn’t just how he looked—it was how the room responded to him.
Even alone, Damon carried weight. Gravity.
“Morning,” he said softly.
Scarlett folded her arms. “You broke the front door last night.”
“You were about to be cornered,” he said. “I didn’t have time for knocking.”
She let the silence sit between them before stepping closer. “You said you’d bend the rules.”
“I will.”
“Start bending.”
Damon’s jaw shifted. For a moment, he seemed to war with himself. Then he motioned toward the studio. “Come with me.”
She followed.
He led her past the turf, through the back hall, and into the small yoga room—quiet, dim, the walls lined with mirrors and soft floor mats. He closed the door behind them. Scarlett’s heart started beating faster.
Not from fear.
From knowing.
Something real was coming.
Damon stood a few feet away, arms crossed. “You asked what’s going on.”
She nodded.
“I can’t tell you everything. Not yet. But I’ll give you a piece.”
Scarlett held his gaze. “Then give it to me straight. I can handle it.”
A slow, almost sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You say that now.”
He looked down, then back up. “There are people in this world who aren’t what they seem. Not exactly. People who are part of something older. Wilder.”
Scarlett’s skin prickled. “You mean like… what? Magic?”
“Not magic,” he said. “Instinct. Nature. Blood.”
She took a slow breath. “The man from last night. He wasn’t… normal.”
“No. He wasn’t.”
“And neither are you.”
He didn’t answer.
Scarlett stepped forward. “You told me to trust my instincts. That they’d help me. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to be listening to. Something’s happening to me, Damon. I feel things I can’t explain. My body—my senses—they’re changing.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “It’s starting.”
Scarlett blinked. “What is starting?”
He hesitated, then took a step toward her. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“There’s something in you. It’s not like me—but it’s drawn to me. Drawn to us. That scratch on your back—it’s a mark. A sign. One of ours must’ve touched you, even without shifting. That kind of contact… it wakes things up.”
She stared at him. “You mean it’s from that other man? The one from last night?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s doing something to me?”
Damon nodded. “Think of it like a ripple. You’re still human. But your soul heard something. Answered something.”
Scarlett stepped back, shaking her head slightly. “This is insane.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”
She sat down on the edge of the mat, heart racing. “Are you saying I’m going to turn into something?”
“No,” Damon said, kneeling across from her. “You can’t be turned. That’s a myth. But you’re linked now. To us.”
“Us,” she echoed. “As in…?”
He met her eyes. His were dark, unreadable.
“Wolves.”
There it was.
Said out loud.
Scarlett didn’t move. She just sat there, breathing quietly, her world tilting.
“Are you telling me werewolves are real?”
Damon gave her a long look. Then, slowly—deliberately—he pulled the sleeve of his shirt back. On his forearm was a thick scar, jagged and pale against his skin. Four long marks, like claws.
“I’m not here to convince you with stories,” he said. “I’m here because you were dragged into something dangerous. And now, you’re on a path that doesn’t let you turn around.”
Scarlett’s voice shook. “So that man last night… he’s one of you?”
“Not mine,” Damon said, his jaw tightening. “Not part of my pack.”
Scarlett caught the word.
“Pack,” she repeated slowly.
Damon didn’t flinch.
She leaned forward. “There’s more of you.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re in charge of them.”
He didn’t answer, but the silence said enough.
Scarlett leaned back against the mirror, staring at the ceiling. “This is the part where I’m supposed to scream or run away.”
“You could.”
“But I won’t.”
Damon tilted his head slightly, watching her.
Scarlett closed her eyes for a moment. “Something in me says I shouldn’t be scared of you. And that terrifies me.”
Damon exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath since he walked in. “You should be scared. Not of me—but of what’s coming.”
“Is that what the other one wanted? To scare me?”
“No,” Damon said darkly. “He wanted to claim you.”
Scarlett froze. “Excuse me?”
Damon stood, tension rising again in his shoulders. “There are rival packs. Rogues. Ones who don’t follow the laws. That man was sent to test your reaction. To mark you.”
Her stomach twisted. “So I’m… claimed?”
“No,” Damon said, his voice sharp. “Not while I’m still breathing.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, heat flickering between them like a match hovering over dry grass.
Then Scarlett asked, softly, “What happens now?”
Damon’s answer was immediate.
“You stay close to me.”
- Writer
