Lycan Lineage

Better Safe Than Sorry

Night fell too fast, almost without warning, and it brought with it a chilling sense that we were in the wrong place at the worst possible time. One moment, the sky still held that soft golden glow, and the next, it was just a dark curtain closing in around everything. I felt that twist in my stomach, like the kind that hits when you realize too late that you’ve made a bad decision. And it wasn’t just because of the sign at the park entrance saying it closed at dusk. It was something deeper, more instinctive, like my body was trying to warn me before my mind could catch up.

The wind changed too. It turned colder, damp, carrying a strange smell, damp earth mixed with decaying leaves. The kind of darkness that feels heavier somehow. Denser. I shifted uncomfortably in the car seat, like the air was thickening around me, pressing down, making it harder to breathe.

I glanced over at Cherrie. She wasn’t laughing anymore. Her fingers now tapped nervously on the steering wheel. She didn’t want to admit it, she never did. But I could tell. She felt it too. Something was off. And it wasn’t just because we’d ignored the sign.

The sign at the entrance had been crystal clear: “Closed after dusk.” And still, there we were, breaking the rule like the reckless teenagers we were. Cherrie had parked beneath these ancient, towering trees, the kind that felt like they’d been around forever, silently watching everything happen.

The glow from the streetlights barely pierced the thin mist hanging low over the ground, like a soft, steady breath. It carried with it a weird, old smell, like something forgotten long ago. It felt like the park itself didn’t want us there, whispering some ancient warning beneath its fake calm exterior.

The heavy silence of night was the kind that presses against your ears, like a whisper that lingers without ever really saying anything. All you could hear was the persistent chirping of crickets, setting an uneasy soundtrack, and the occasional slow croak of frogs hidden somewhere near the lake.

But there was something else...

Howling.

Not loud, not close, but strange. Almost hypnotic. The sound drifted in from afar, moving through the darkness in soft, eerie waves. And there was something about the tone of it that stirred my entire body.

Goosebumps prickled across my skin, like invisible fingers brushing over my arms, my neck, my back. I tried to be logical, to tell myself they were just animals in the distance. But my instincts were screaming otherwise. This was something else. Something unknown, wild, maybe even dangerous, hiding in the deep dark.

And suddenly, I realized there was something familiar about the sensation. Like those howls weren’t just frightening, they were calling to me somehow, pulling me toward something. Toward a place where, strangely enough, it felt like I belonged. Like someone whispering my name from far away, gently insisting: it’s time to come home.

“Cherrie, we should leave,” I said quietly. “The sign says—”

“Oh, June, relax,” she cut me off, flashing that grin that always danced at the corner of her mouth. She closed the convertible roof, like that would help, then tore open a bag of chips. The empty bag went flying out the window a second later.

“Cherrie, seriously? You know there are trash cans at the entrance. It’s really not that hard to be a decent human.”

“Don’t start. It’s just one bag. The animals will eat it.” She laughed and turned the radio knob, flipping through stations trying to find something that wasn’t jazz or gospel.

That was Cherrie’s problem. She’d always lived like the world was one giant playground made just for her. Like that kid who jumps off a swing headfirst because they’re convinced someone will catch them before they hit the ground. She’d cross busy streets without looking, wearing that confident smile, completely sure cars would stop by magic or something. And the worst part? Most of the time, it worked.

Me? I was the total opposite. I was the “better safe than sorry” girl. The one who waited patiently for the walk sign, looking both ways twice, sometimes three times, just to cross the street with her heart in her throat, even when no cars were around. I was fully aware of how dangerous the world could be, even when it didn’t look like it.

She was just about to shift into reverse when a loud, sudden thud hit her window, making both of us jump in our seats, our hearts racing like they were trying to escape our chests.

“s**t, it’s the cops,” I whispered, almost breathless, my heart leaping into my throat. A million worst-case scenarios rushed through my head in that split second. “Cherrie, we’re so screwed. The sign said no entry after dark!”

“Chill, June. Let me handle it,” she said, tugging her neckline lower like that might erase all our teenage sins. I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the panic crawling up my spine. My hands were already going cold.

Then came another knock, sharp, commanding, and a man’s voice from outside boomed, “Police. Roll down your window.”

I froze, my body reacting in ways I didn’t even know it could. It wasn’t just the shock of being caught, it was something in his voice. Deep. Rough. But with an unsettling intimacy. It had a strange edge, like it had crawled into my skin. It made something inside me tremble, like an echo of something ancient. Something forgotten. The kind of voice that could show up in a nightmare, or a dangerously good fantasy.

For a second, everything else vanished. And all I could think was: Who, or what, has a voice like that? And with that thought came a weird tightness in my chest, a mix of fear and fascination that I couldn’t explain.

Cherrie smiled and lowered the window. “Good evening, officer. Is something wrong?”

He stepped closer. Tall. Broad shoulders beneath a dark uniform. His face half shadowed by his cap. And devilishly handsome. But not in a nice-boy kind of way. The dangerous kind, sharp like a blade in a dark room. The kind you know can cut you, and still, you’re drawn to it. His features were sharply defined, almost sculpted. And the tension in his jaw said either he was holding something back, or he was about to lose control.

“I saw you throw trash out the window. That’s a violation. And you’re in the park after closing. That’s another.”

“That wasn’t my trash!” Cherrie blurted. “I mean, I didn’t mean to throw it, I just...” She was nervous. That never happened. I blinked. Confused.

“Just grab the trash and apologize, Cherrie,” I murmured, trying to stay calm. I looked at the officer and added, “Sorry, sir. We’re leaving now.”

He stared at me. Not rushed. Not irritated. Curious.

“You... I’ve never seen you before. That’s odd.” He tilted his head slightly, like trying to pull something out of memory. “I’ve seen your friend around, always with some guy or another, but you…”

He paused for a long moment, eyes locked on mine like he was trying to look past my skin.

“There’s something different about you.”

“Probably because I don’t spend my evenings strolling through town with half the senior class,” I said with a small smirk. “But hey, I’ll take ‘different.’ I think.”

He frowned, like trying to place a scent he couldn’t quite recall. His eyes narrowed, studying my face, and for a second, I swore, he almost growled.

Cherrie huffed. “Okay, officer, stop flirting with my friend. She’s not even eighteen yet, okay?”

She crossed her arms, pouting and flopping back in her seat like she did when she lost an argument with her parents. I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop the flush rising to my cheeks. It wasn’t even what the cop had said, it was how Cherrie said it, like she was trying to protect me from something I hadn’t realized I needed protection from.

I stole another glance at his face, trying to figure out what he really wanted. There was something off in the way he looked at me, not exactly threatening, but not comforting either. Like he was trying to read something inside me I didn’t even know existed.

Then his head tilted again, weird, sharp, like he heard something no one else could.

My heart stuttered.

It was like my body knew before I did.

Something. Wasn’t. Right.

Then I noticed his eyes.

For a second, just one heartbeat, I could’ve sworn they were glowing. Not figuratively. Literally glowing. Like a red light, warm and alive, had flickered to life inside them. I was so stunned I completely froze, unable to react, especially when a second eyelid slid across his eyes, fast and smooth, like something out of a reptile documentary.

The air vanished from my lungs, and in its place came a horrifying truth, forming itself with terrifying clarity in my mind:

The officer standing in front of us, wearing a uniform, speaking with authority, wasn’t human.

At least… not completely.