The Wolf In His Bones

Chapter 6

The hallway is silent. Too silent. And silence, I’ve learned, is mercy in this place — it means nobody is watching. Nobody is expecting me to move.

Perfect.

Matteo had left fifteen minutes ago, saying Damien needed him “downstairs.” My heart hadn’t stopped racing since. Damien… the memory of his eyes shifting, that inhuman growl vibrating through the walls—no. I can’t stay here. Not another second.

I test the door.

Unlocked.

A stupid, reckless laugh bubbles in my throat. Matteo must’ve forgotten. Bless his soft, distracted soul.

I peek into the hallway again. Empty.

This is it.

My entire body is trembling, but I force my feet to move. Left. Right. Quiet. I stay close to the walls, listening for the slightest movement. Every shadow feels alive. Every light flicker reminds me of Damien’s eyes glowing like molten gold.

I reach a staircase and descend slowly, each step echoing too loudly. My breath gets stuck halfway down when I hear voices — but they’re behind a closed door. If I move fast, I can get through the back exit. Matteo had pointed it out earlier without meaning to.

I slip through another hallway and finally see the metal door at the end. Salvation. Freedom. My lungs fill with hope I didn’t know I still had.

I run.

Not fast, not loud — just enough to feel air in my face again. My fingers touch the cold metal door handle—

A voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Lila.”

My whole body freezes.

Damien.

He’s standing behind me, framed by the shadow of the corridor. His posture is too still, too controlled. His eyes aren’t glowing this time — they’re darker, colder, like he shut the light inside them off.

I don’t turn around.

“Move,” he orders, his voice low and dangerous.

I grab the door handle.

I don’t know where courage comes from, but I speak.

“No.”

The silence that follows feels alive and hungry.

Then—

A gun clicks.

My stomach drops. I turn slowly, and there he is holding a gun like it’s an extension of his hand. No hesitation. No emotion.

“You’re not authorized to leave.”

“Authorized?” My voice cracks. “You kidnapped me—”

“And you’re still alive. That’s authorization enough.”

Something is wrong with him. His breathing is uneven again, his jaw tight, his fingers trembling the smallest bit. Like he’s fighting something. Like earlier.

“Damien—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracks like a whip. “Don’t say my name like you know me.”

His eyes flicker. Gold flashes beneath the darkness. He blinks hard, like he’s trying to drown it.

“I have given you opportunities to cooperate,” he says, stepping closer. “And you spit in my face.”

“I’m not your prisoner,” I whisper. “I’m not your enemy.”

He stops just two steps away. Too close.

His chest rises and falls sharply, like his body is at war with itself.

“You don’t get to decide what you are to me,” he murmurs.

My heart slams painfully. His fingers tighten around the gun. There’s something heartbreaking in his expression but then it disappears.

I push the door behind me.

It opens.

Just a little.

Just enough.

His eyes widen.

“Lila, don’t.”

I run.

I burst through the back door, cold air slapping my face. I sprint into the open space behind the building — a courtyard, a loading area, whatever it is, it smells like gasoline and dust. Freedom is right there. Only meters away.

I make it three steps.

Three.

A gunshot splits the night.

A burning pain explodes in my leg.

I scream before collapsing, gravel scraping my palms. The world blurs as blood spreads warm and fast down my thigh. Not deadly… but deep. Sharp. Violent.

Footsteps. Slow. Heavy.

Damien.

He approaches like a storm in human form, gripping the gun, chest heaving, eyes blazing gold now — not flickering. Shining. Uncontrolled.

His voice is raw when he speaks.

“I told you not to run.”

I try to crawl away, but he grabs my wrist, flipping me onto my back. His hands shake — not with anger, but with something terrifyingly close to panic.

“You weren’t supposed to make me do that,” he whispers.

But the worst part?

The gold in his eyes… it’s spreading.

Not just his irises.

Under his skin.

Like cracks of light. Like something inside is breaking out.

He shuts his eyes tight, breathing harder, gripping his own chest like he’s in pain.

“Damien?” My voice trembles. “What’s happening to you?”

His eyes snap open.

And they are not human.

Not even close.

He leans over me, and his voice comes out like a growl torn between two worlds:

“Run again… and it won’t be your leg next time.”

He lifts me effortlessly — too effortlessly. His hands burn with heat against my skin.

And then—

He smells my blood.

Freezes.

His entire body shudders like he’s losing control.

He whispers one chilling sentence as darkness pulls at the edges of my vision:

“Don’t make me become the monster you think I am.”

Everything fades.