CHAPTER 4
1245 Words
“And you’re certain you want to go to this party, Claire Bennett?” Ryan Bennett asked as we sat down for dinner.
“No, I spent half an hour perfecting winged eyeliner just to stay home,” I said, setting my fork down and pointing at the makeup I’d carefully drawn on both eyes.
He rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Relax. I can handle Lucas Hayes. He’s not a threat, and I’m over him.”
Ryan Bennett leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh.
“Alright… if you’re sure.”
I stood, carried my empty plate to the sink, and absently ruffled his thick dark hair as I passed.
“Don’t worry.”
Ryan Bennett had inherited Mom Bennett’s looks—brown curls and warm hazel eyes, a near perfect copy of her.
Me? I got Dad Bennett’s genetics.
My hair was a dull blonde, my skin pale, and my eyes a plain blue. And of course, I didn’t get the tall, strong build either. I was small, short, and entirely unremarkable.
Biology really was unfair.
An hour later, Ava Mitchell and Sophie Carter were waiting in our cramped hallway. I had spilled tomato on my top and was rushing to change while Ava Mitchell impatiently tapped her foot.
“Ready!” I called, sprinting down the stairs with my only pair of shoes in my hands.
They were old, battered Converse I’d had forever.
Ryan Bennett and I had serious money issues. We worked at a café five shifts a week, and Mom Bennett’s occasional cheques barely covered essentials. New shoes were definitely not an option.
“Looking good, ladies,” I said as I slipped them on.
“Thanks, but we need to go—we’re already pushing fashionably late,” Ava Mitchell said, rushing us out the door.
Outside, Ryan Bennett stood holding what looked like a vodka bottle.
“Ryan Bennett…” I groaned. “Please don’t get wasted tonight.”
“Relax, Mom Bennett,” he said, twisting the cap off. “I’m not drinking it straight.”
He took a swig, grimaced, then offered it to Ava Mitchell and Sophie Carter.
They giggled, took a sip, and immediately recoiled at the burn.
“No pressure, Claire Bennett,” Ryan Bennett said, holding it toward me.
I stared at it, thinking about Lucas Hayes and Noah Sinclair and how I was going to survive the night without losing my temper.
“Just a little,” I said, taking it.
It was disgusting and strong, but the more we drank, the less Ryan Bennett would cause trouble with it.
I took a sip and passed it back, leaving it three-quarters full.
“Be careful with that,” I warned.
By the time the music from the party was audible, the bottle was nearly empty and we were all giggling uncontrollably. I hadn’t felt that light in a long time as I walked between my friends, Ryan Bennett on one side and Sophie Carter on the other.
“Okay,” I said as we reached the door, “I’m tipsy and I don’t miss him at all. That’s good, right?”
They agreed.
“Before we go in—Ryan Bennett, we have a 7 a.m. shift. Try not to be hungover.”
“It’s cute how little faith you have in me, Claire Bennett,” he said, pinching my cheeks. “Now stop stressing and have fun.”
We went inside, joining the crowded house filled with teenagers, music, dancing, and noise.
It was a good night… until I saw Lucas Hayes. I had avoided him all evening until I noticed him leaning in a doorway, watching me.
His expression was heavy with guilt, jaw clenched as he looked away.
For a moment, I almost felt bad.
Then I remembered: he’s an ass, and I’m over him.
I turned away and kept dancing with Ava Mitchell and Sophie Carter, who were shouting along to “Party in the USA.”
During the chorus, someone tapped my shoulder.
“What do you want?” I snapped, turning to find Lucas Hayes.
“Come outside. I need to talk,” he said.
“No.”
“Claire Bennett, please,” he said. “Just a few minutes.”
I sighed and folded my arms. “Thirty seconds.”
I followed him outside where the noise faded slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For pressuring you. I miss you. Can we try again?”
I bit my lip.
“No, Lucas Hayes. Not a chance.”
“Why? We were happy.”
“We were. But we want different things now.”
He exhaled sharply, staring ahead.
“Claire Bennett—”
“It’s over,” I said. “Goodbye, Lucas Hayes.”
The smell of alcohol and the sight of couples around me suddenly made me feel sick.
I walked away, through the gate, into the cooler air.
I needed the forest. I needed to shift. I needed to run.
As I moved down the street, I ran straight into Noah Sinclair.
“Noah Sinclair, you are the last thing I need,” I hissed.
He smirked. “Someone’s cranky.”
His friends laughed.
“f**k you.”
“Don’t you want this?” he said, holding up a shiny envelope.
I stopped.
“Give it to me,” I said.
“Sure.”
As I reached for it, he pulled it away, laughing.
“I never gave you that ride home,” he said, circling me.
“If you think I’m getting in your car—”
“Not now,” he cut in. “Monday after school.”
“Fine.”
He handed it over.
As I grabbed it, he leaned in close.
“Don’t break it.”
He moved toward my cheek, and I slapped him hard before he could finish.
He didn’t react.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” I muttered before walking off.
I found a narrow path leading into the woods.
That was my first mistake.
Walking into the forest alone at night was never smart—especially with so many werewolf territories nearby.
I lived in British Columbia, surrounded by packs hidden across forests and mountains, rarely seen by humans. Silverridge had borders everywhere. I didn’t care about packs anymore. I lived as a human now.
Still angry, I kept walking until I was far enough from town.
Then I stripped, tied my clothes, and shifted. It was better than breaking down.
Running as a wolf cleared my head. The anger faded.
Hours later, I shifted back, exhausted. My clothes were damp and uncomfortable, and the night already felt sour.
I leaned against a tree, catching my breath, then checked my phone.
No service.
1%.
One bar—
0%.
Dead.
I looked around. The forest felt wrong. Too dark. Too unfamiliar.
I wasn’t in Silverridge anymore.
Other pack scents filled the air, layered and strange. One direction pulled at me more than the rest, tempting me forward.
I followed it until I reached an invisible border. My wolf resisted immediately. Something powerful was on the other side.
I should have left. I knew that. I should’ve gone home.
But I didn’t.
I traced the edge, touching trees, studying the darkness beyond. Everything was still.
My wolf begged me to turn back.
But I didn’t listen anymore.
So I stepped forward.
- Writer
