Chapter Eight: The Wolf Beneath the Skin
1097 Words
Sabrina couldn’t sleep.
The rain hit the window like a warning. Each drop sounded like a ticking clock, reminding her time was running out. For what, she wasn’t sure. But the growing ache in her chest told her something was coming.
She sat by the window, knees to her chest, watching the storm. Her fingers played with the edge of her blade — not because she wanted to use it, but because it reminded her she was still in control. Or at least, she used to be.
Downstairs, silence.
Isaac hadn’t returned since their argument.
She still remembered the coldness in his voice when he whispered, “I can’t protect you if you keep lying to me.”
But how could she tell him the truth?
That she wasn’t just an assassin.
That she wasn’t just a wolf.
That something inside her — something old, something dark — was waking up.
Something that even she feared.
---
At 3:12 a.m., the silence broke.
A knock.
Three slow taps on the door.
Not urgent. Not loud. Calm. Too calm.
Sabrina stood, heartbeat rising. She didn’t reach for her blade — not yet — but her fingers twitched beside it. She walked slowly down the hall, each step light as air.
Another knock.
Three taps again.
She opened the door.
It wasn’t Isaac.
It was a woman — soaking wet, eyes dark, lips pale. Her black coat dripped onto the floor.
“You’re Sabrina Cuevas,” the woman said.
Sabrina didn’t speak.
“I’m not here to fight,” the woman said, raising her hands. “I’m here to warn you. He’s lying to you.”
Sabrina didn’t blink. “Who?”
“Isaac Hale.”
The name felt like a knife now — one she’d once trusted, maybe even loved, now twisted deep into her spine.
“You don’t know anything,” Sabrina said sharply.
“Oh, but I do,” the woman said, stepping closer. “I know he’s not just spying for the mafia. He’s playing both sides. There’s another group — older, hidden. They’ve been watching you for years, Sabrina. Long before you met him.”
Sabrina’s chest tightened.
“You think I’m the monster?” the woman continued, eyes narrowing. “You think he’s your savior?”
Sabrina slammed the door.
But she couldn’t unhear the words.
---
Isaac returned an hour before sunrise.
His coat was dry. His hands were clean. But his eyes — they were different. Cold. Heavy. Tired.
“Where were you?” Sabrina asked, standing by the kitchen table.
“Work,” he said simply.
“Don’t lie.”
He looked at her. “You’re one to talk.”
Sabrina’s hand twitched again near her blade, but she stopped herself.
“I had a visitor,” she said. “A woman. She said you’re not who you say you are.”
Isaac didn’t react. Not a blink. Not a twitch.
“She said you’re with another group. Something older. What is she talking about?”
He looked away.
She stepped closer. “Tell me.”
Silence.
Then, finally, he said it.
“They call themselves the Crimson Order.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
“They believe in blood, fate, and control. They think wolves like you are the key to something ancient. Something buried. I didn’t want you involved—”
“But I already am,” she cut in.
“Yes,” he said, “because of me.”
Sabrina’s voice dropped. “So what now? You spy on me? Turn me in? Use me?”
“No,” Isaac whispered. “I want to destroy them. I joined to bring them down from the inside. But then I met you.”
She stepped back. “And now I’m a problem.”
He reached for her hand. “No. You’re the reason I still remember who I am.”
But Sabrina’s hand didn’t move.
Something cracked inside her.
---
Later that night, she found the journal.
Hidden beneath Isaac’s old clothes in the back closet. Bound in dark leather. Cold to the touch.
She opened it.
Page after page of drawings — wolves, fangs, ancient symbols, maps of bloodlines. And one sketch that froze her in place.
It was her.
Drawn in pencil, her face perfect. But behind her was a shadow — not just of a wolf, but of something with wings, claws, and eyes like fire.
Beneath the image were four words.
“She remembers. She forgets.”
Her hand trembled.
She flipped to the last page.
A letter.
To whoever finds this,
If Sabrina Cuevas sees the truth before she’s ready, it could destroy her.
But if she doesn’t, it could destroy us all.
---
Sabrina ran out of the room.
She didn’t know where she was going — just that she couldn’t stay.
She ran through the forest behind the cabin, the wind tearing at her clothes, the moon calling to her blood. Her wolf instincts begged to take over. Her heart screamed to shift.
But something stopped her.
A sound.
Laughter.
Not far ahead.
She crept toward it, moving between the trees.
In a clearing, five men stood around a fire. Dressed in red robes. Their faces hidden by masks. One of them held a photo — her photo — and burned it slowly over the flame.
“She’s close,” one of them said. “The memories are cracking. The beast is waking up.”
Another voice: “And when it does?”
“Then we’ll find the gate.”
Gate?
Sabrina leaned too far forward.
A branch snapped.
All five heads turned.
“Go!” shouted one.
But Sabrina was already running.
She didn’t look back.
She didn’t have to.
She could feel the heat of their chase. Hear their footsteps. Smell their rage.
She ran until her legs burned. Until her throat was dry.
She didn’t stop until she collapsed back at the cabin.
Isaac was waiting.
His eyes went wide.
“Sabrina—what happened?!”
“They found me,” she gasped. “The Order. They were chanting. Talking about a gate. About me.”
Isaac grabbed her arms. “Did they see you?”
“Yes.”
He looked sick.
She pushed him. “What’s the gate? What do they want from me?”
Isaac looked away.
Then whispered: “They want to open what you sealed long ago.”
“What are you talking about?” she snapped.
He looked into her eyes. “Sabrina… this isn’t your first life.”
- Writer
