Chapter 6: The Pull
1051 Words
The gym felt smaller now.
Scarlett moved through it like she always did—towel in hand, hair up, earbuds tucked in—but everything was louder. Every sound sharper. Every scent clearer.
She could hear conversations from the far end of the building. Smell the distinct difference between fresh rubber mats and the lingering trace of Lizzie’s perfume. Her own heartbeat, steady and strong, pulsed in her ears like the beat of a drum.
She didn’t tell Lizzie.
She couldn’t.
Because how did you explain that your senses were sharpening day by day? That after one night and one touch, your body didn’t feel entirely like your own anymore?
And worse—she didn’t hate it.
She could feel her strength more vividly now. Her balance, her movement. It was subtle but undeniable.
She wasn’t becoming something else.
But something inside her was waking up.
---
Damon hadn’t been back since their conversation.
Three days.
Not a call. Not a text.
But Scarlett felt him anyway. Like his presence echoed in her bones. She could still hear his voice in the back of her mind, telling her to stay close, to trust her instincts.
The frustrating part?
Her instincts wanted to find him.
Not for answers. Not even for protection.
But because his absence felt… wrong.
---
It was nearly dusk when she stepped out the gym’s back door, the orange glow of sunset slicing through the alley. She took a breath, her skin buzzing from another long day of pretending everything was fine. The alley was quiet, framed by ivy-covered walls and dumpsters. A cat darted past a trash bin, and in the distance, a siren wailed faintly.
Scarlett leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
That’s when she felt it.
The air shifted—like it dropped ten degrees.
Not a sound.
No footstep. No voice.
Just a presence.
Behind her.
Scarlett turned slowly.
A man stood at the edge of the alley, half-shadowed by the dying light. Not Damon.
Taller. Leaner. Messier. His posture was loose, almost lazy, but there was nothing relaxed in his gaze.
Scarlett stepped back. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
He smiled. “Neither are you.”
The voice was smooth. Too smooth. Like a knife wrapped in velvet.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, even though her pulse kicked up.
“You should be.”
Then, suddenly, he moved.
Fast.
Scarlett barely had time to step back before he was in front of her, hand pressed to the wall beside her face. He didn’t touch her—but he didn’t have to.
She could feel it.
His breath was hot. His energy chaotic. Wild.
“You don’t smell like one of us,” he said softly. “But you don’t smell human anymore either. That makes you interesting.”
She glared at him. “Touch me and I’ll break your arm.”
He laughed, leaning closer. “You can try.”
And then—
He was gone.
In one blink, he was ripped backward—violently—as if snatched by an invisible force.
Scarlett’s eyes shot wide.
Damon stood behind the other man, one hand gripping the back of his shirt, the other curled into a fist so tight his knuckles had gone white. His face was fury—pure, silent, lethal.
“Last warning,” he growled.
The man stumbled to his feet, coughing, blood on his lip. But he didn’t challenge Damon.
He backed away, smiling.
“You’re too late, Wolfe. The girl’s already marked. It’s only a matter of time.”
Damon’s expression didn’t change. But his body radiated power—something so raw Scarlett could feel it vibrating through the pavement beneath her feet.
The other man vanished down the alley, slipping into the shadows like smoke.
Scarlett leaned against the wall, her breath coming fast.
Damon turned to her slowly.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” she said, voice tight. “Not really.”
He didn’t touch her—didn’t even move closer—but the tension in his body said enough. He was barely containing himself.
Scarlett straightened. “That wasn’t the same one from before.”
“No,” Damon said. “That one’s worse. He doesn’t follow orders. Even rogue ones.”
“He knew I was… changing.”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “They can smell it. And they’re drawn to it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re becoming something rare,” he said. “Something they think they can use.”
Scarlett swallowed hard. “You told me I wouldn’t change.”
“You won’t,” he said firmly. “But they think they can push it. Make you cross a line you don’t even see yet.”
“And what happens if I do?”
His voice was quiet, but deadly serious. “Then they can claim you. Control you.”
Scarlett looked up at him, eyes flashing. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
Damon stepped closer at that—slow, deliberate. His expression softened just slightly, but his eyes burned with something deeper.
“No. You don’t,” he said. “And as long as I’m breathing, you never will.”
They stood there for a moment, silence thick between them. The sun had dipped below the horizon, the alley growing dark.
“Why didn’t you come back?” she asked finally.
Damon looked at her. “Because being near you makes it harder to protect you.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” he said. “Because the closer I get, the more they notice.”
Scarlett held his gaze. “I don’t care.”
He smiled then. Not a grin. Something smaller. Sadder. More dangerous.
“You should.”
---
Later that night, Scarlett sat on her apartment floor, legs tucked under her, staring at the scratch on her shoulder in the mirror. It was darker now. Not red—but silver. Faint. Almost glowing under the right light.
A new kind of hunger stirred in her bones.
Not for food.
For truth.
For him.
And far away in the woods outside the city, a howl split the trees.
Not random.
Not feral.
It was a call.
And Damon Wolfe answered it.
- Writer
