Chapter 4
1085 Words
Scarlett stood at the edge of the studio, arms crossed over her chest, watching the rain lash against the wide glass windows.
It had been two days since her last session with Damon.
Two days since he’d told her not to talk about the claw marks.
Two days since she’d looked out her apartment window and seen something watching her. Something that didn’t flinch when she locked eyes with it. Something with glowing eyes and too much stillness to be human.
She hadn’t told Lizzie.
She couldn’t.
Because the moment she started saying the words out loud—someone was on the roof; I saw eyes in the dark; my skin itches like something under it is waking up—it would stop being strange.
It would become real.
“Scarlett!” Lizzie’s voice rang out from the far end of the gym, breaking the silence. “You’re zoning out. Come help me wrestle this new rowing machine into place before I hurt myself.”
Scarlett shook herself and walked over. The machine was still half in its packaging, clunky and awkward.
“Should’ve let them install it,” Scarlett muttered.
Lizzie huffed. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Together they dragged it into place, grunting and laughing as it scraped along the rubber flooring. Scarlett tried to stay present, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Damon. His absence the last two days felt intentional, like he was giving her space—or avoiding her.
“You okay?” Lizzie asked suddenly.
Scarlett blinked. “Yeah. Why?”
“You’re doing that thing where your face goes all serious and movie-trailer-y. Like you’re about to drop some dramatic truth bomb.”
Scarlett smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just tired.”
“You’ve been weird ever since that guy showed up.”
Scarlett froze. “Damon?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, he’s hot, but he’s got serious... tortured-antihero vibes.”
“Maybe he’s just private.”
“Or maybe he’s hiding a dark and brooding secret,” Lizzie teased, wiggling her fingers dramatically.
Scarlett laughed, but again—it felt thin.
Because what if he was?
---
It wasn’t until after closing that something changed.
The gym was dark except for the emergency lights. Scarlett had stayed behind to clean the equipment and take a few quiet minutes for herself. Rain still tapped steadily against the windows, a soft percussion that made the silence feel deeper.
She was halfway through wiping down the kettlebells when a strange scent hit her.
Musky. Earthy. Not bad, exactly—just unfamiliar. Like wet leaves and iron.
She straightened slowly, heart suddenly aware of itself.
The gym door was still locked. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.
But the air had changed.
And then she heard it—a low, guttural growl.
Not a dog. Not human. Something in between.
Scarlett turned, eyes scanning the dark. The growl came again, from the far end of the gym, near the stretching area. Shadows were thicker there. She reached for her phone, backing up toward the front desk, but as she fumbled for the flashlight—
A figure stepped into view.
Not Damon.
This man was taller, broader, with messy blond hair that hung over piercing pale eyes. His clothes were soaked from the rain, black shirt clinging to his chest. He looked young—but there was something in his expression that felt old. Tired. Feral.
And then he smiled.
“You must be Scarlett.”
She froze. “Who are you?”
The man tilted his head, eyes glinting. “A friend. Or I could be.”
Her fingers found the flashlight and flicked it on. The beam landed on his face—and for a moment, his pupils flared wide, not like a human’s. More like a beast’s.
“I think you should leave,” Scarlett said, forcing steel into her voice.
“I think you don’t know what you are,” he said calmly.
“What?”
He stepped closer. “He shouldn’t have come to you. Not yet. Not like this.”
She backed away. “Who?”
“Damon.”
She stopped cold.
The man smiled again. “He always did have a weakness for danger.”
Scarlett’s fingers found the emergency alarm button under the desk.
But before she could press it, a second growl filled the room—deeper, louder, protective.
The front door shattered open.
Damon was a blur. He moved like nothing Scarlett had ever seen—faster than thought, faster than anything should be. One moment, the blond stranger was standing confidently—and the next, he was slammed hard against the weight rack, metal groaning beneath the force.
Scarlett ducked instinctively behind the desk, heart racing.
“You weren’t supposed to come here,” Damon growled.
“She deserves to know,” the blond man snapped.
“Not from you.”
Scarlett peeked over the desk. Both men were locked in a silent standoff. Damon’s chest rose and fell with tightly leashed rage. The other man’s lip was bleeding, but he grinned through it.
“She’s waking up,” he said softly. “Whether you like it or not.”
And with that, he turned and walked calmly out the broken door, disappearing into the rain.
Damon stood still for a long moment, back to Scarlett, fists clenched.
Finally, he turned toward her.
His face was softer now. Concern replacing fury. “Are you okay?”
Scarlett stepped out slowly. “Who was that?”
Damon didn’t answer right away.
Then, quietly: “Someone who shouldn’t be here.”
“I want answers,” she said, trembling but firm. “No more cryptic half-truths. No more riddles. What the hell is going on?”
He stared at her—torn between honesty and protection.
“You’re not ready.”
She took a step forward. “Try me.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and something in his expression softened. Like he saw something in her that even she hadn’t uncovered yet.
“You’re stronger than you think,” he said quietly. “But strength doesn’t mean you need to carry this alone.”
“Then don’t make me,” she said, barely whispering.
Damon reached out as if to touch her arm, but stopped short—fingers hovering just above her skin.
“There are rules,” he said. “But for you… I’ll bend them.”
- Writer
