Chapter 4 : The Beast Beneath
436 Words
Liam didn’t sleep.
He never did, not when the moon crept toward fullness and the night air tasted like danger.
He stood by the window of his cabin, arms crossed, watching the trees sway like breathing giants. Clara’s face wouldn’t leave his mind—wide-eyed but unflinching, demanding answers he had tried to bury for years.
He had never meant to speak to her again. But the forest had other plans.
With a quiet sigh, he turned from the window and moved to the cellar. The heavy door creaked open, revealing the reinforced room below—stone walls, steel restraints, and the smell of old blood. His sanctuary. His prison.
He descended the steps slowly, the familiar dread building in his gut. This was where he hid from the world during the full moon. Where he chained himself down to protect the town. To protect her.
Liam ran a hand over the thick iron cuffs bolted to the wall. They’d held—so far. But the wolf inside him was getting stronger. Wilder. He could feel the change coming earlier each month, pulling at his skin like a second heartbeat.
And worse—he wasn’t alone anymore.
The scent he'd picked up in the woods last night was unmistakable. Rogues. He hadn’t encountered them in years, not since he’d left his old pack behind. But the stink of bloodlust and decay lingered like a warning.
They were here. Watching. Waiting.
He moved to a chest in the corner of the cellar and opened it slowly. Inside were relics of a life long buried—faded photos, hand-carved runes, and a leather-bound journal. He hesitated, then pulled the journal free.
Its pages held every transformation, every kill, every regret.
He flipped to a marked page. The sketches were crude, but accurate—beasts with jagged jaws and soulless eyes. Members of the rogue pack that had once tried to claim him. They fed on chaos. Unlike him, they enjoyed the hunt.
He had rejected them. And now, they were coming back.
Liam’s grip tightened on the book.
They’d come for him, yes. But more than that—they’d come for Clara. He was sure of it. She was the kind of light they couldn’t resist destroying.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Not again.
As he climbed back up the stairs, the moon broke through the clouds and lit the forest in a cold, silver glow. His reflection in the window flickered—and for a moment, he saw the wolf staring back.
He had three nights left.
Then the full moon would rise.
And blood would follow.
- Writer
