Breaking point
1367 Words
The air in the Thorne Estate’s private gym didn't just feel hot; it felt like liquid lead.
Jaxson Thorne gripped the cold steel of the pull-up bar, his knuckles white, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. To anyone looking through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, he looked like the ultimate specimen of human perfection—the billionaire’s prize, the "Golden Boy" athlete with a body carved from marble. But inside, Jax was screaming.
His bones were vibrating. It was a deep, tectonic grinding beneath his skin, as if his skeleton was trying to outgrow his flesh.
Not now, he pleaded with his own biology. Not today.
"Focus, Jaxson. Your heart rate is climbing. You’re losing your form."
The voice came over the gym’s intercom, cold and clinical. It belonged to Julian Thorne, the man who had pulled Jax out of a state-run orphanage ten years ago. Julian didn't look at Jax like a son; he looked at him like a high-yield investment. And today, the investors were watching. Behind the tinted glass of the observation gallery, three scouts from the National League sat with iPads, their faces unreadable.
"I’m fine," Jax gritted out through clenched teeth.
But he wasn't. The scent of the gym—usually just a dull mix of rubber and ozone—had suddenly exploded into a sensory nightmare. He could smell the stale coffee on the breath of the scouts thirty feet away. He could hear the hum of the electricity in the walls. And most terrifyingly, he could smell the blood rushing through Julian’s veins. It smelled like copper and arrogance. It smelled like prey.
Jax dropped from the bar, landing with a thud that seemed to vibrate through the entire building. His vision blurred, a flash of molten gold flickering across his blue irises.
"The scouts expect a demonstration of the Thorne 'intensity,' Jaxson," Julian’s voice drawled again. "Don't make me regret the millions I’ve spent on your conditioning. Again. From the top."
Jax felt a surge of white-hot rage. It was a new kind of anger—not the teenage rebellion he was used to, but something ancient. Something lawless. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his fingertips. Beneath his skin, his nails were thickening, sharpening into the Bevel—those obsidian, razor-edged talons that shouldn't exist.
"I said... I’m done," Jax growled.
The sound wasn't human. It was a low, guttural vibration that made the water in the nearby cooler ripple. The scouts in the gallery leaned forward, whispering. Julian’s silhouette stiffened.
Suddenly, the gym doors hissed open.
Jax spun around, his predatory instincts screaming at him to strike. Standing in the doorway was Kaleb. Usually, Kaleb was the one person who could calm the storm in Jax’s head, but today, Kaleb’s face was deathly pale. He was holding a tablet, his fingers trembling as he tapped through lines of encrypted code.
"Jax, we have a problem," Kaleb whispered, ignoring the intercom and the scouts. He stepped closer, his voice dropping so low it was barely a breath. "The perimeter sensors just tripped. Someone bypassed the Thorne firewall. Not a hacker—a physical breach. They’re on the estate, Jax. And they aren't here for the money."
Jax’s nostrils flared. He caught a new scent drifting through the open door. It cut through the rubber and the sweat like a silver blade. It was the scent of cold forest air, gun oil, and a sharp, clinical floral perfume.
It was the scent of a Hunter.
"Kaleb, get out of here," Jax commanded, his voice dropping an octave.
"Julian’s security is already moving to the North Gate," Kaleb said, his eyes wide as he looked at Jax’s hands. Jax’s fingers were hooked, the skin around the cuticles beginning to split. "Jax... your eyes. They’re changing. You need to hide. Now!"
"Jaxson!" Julian’s voice boomed over the speakers, no longer clinical, but sharp with warning. "Return to the center of the gym. Security is handling a minor trespasser. Stay in the light."
But Jax wasn't listening to Julian anymore. The Fever had taken hold.
He didn't walk; he blurred. He was across the gym in a heartbeat, his speed so unnatural that the scouts in the gallery stood up in shock, their iPads clattering to the floor. Jax smashed through the side exit—a heavy, reinforced steel door—leaving behind a dent in the metal shaped like a human hand.
He burst into the manicured gardens of the Thorne Estate. The sun was setting, casting long, bloody shadows across the lawn. Jax sprinted toward the treeline, his clothes feeling like a cage he needed to shred. He reached the edge of the Blackwood Ridge woods just as a figure stepped out from behind an ancient oak.
Jax skidded to a halt, the dirt kicking up under his sneakers.
It was a girl.
She wasn't wearing a designer dress or the school uniform. She was clad in charcoal-grey tactical gear, a recurve bow gripped in her hand. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and her eyes—a storm-cloud grey flecked with silver—were locked onto his.
Maya Silverton.
She didn't look afraid. She looked like she had been waiting for him her entire life.
"You move fast, Thorne," she said, her voice like velvet-covered steel. She reached back, pulling an arrow from her quiver. The tip wasn't steel. It was a dull, shimmering white. Silver. "Almost too fast for a human."
"You’re trespassing," Jax rasped, his voice fighting the growl that wanted to tear out of his throat. "The Silvertons were warned about the Thorne property lines."
"I don't care about property," Maya said, stepping closer. She raised the bow, the string creaking as she pulled it to her ear. The point of the arrow was leveled directly at Jax’s heart. "I care about the signal. The 'Rogue' frequency that’s been screaming from this mansion for weeks. My father thinks you’re just a spoiled brat with too much money. But I see you, Jaxson."
She narrowed her eyes, and for a second, Jax saw a flash of something in her gaze—not just duty, but a strange, terrifying recognition.
"You’re the one," she whispered. "The Zenith."
"Put the bow down, Maya," Jax warned. He could feel the fur beginning to sprout along his spine. The pain was unbearable. "You don't want to do this. Not tonight."
"My father says 'mercy' is just another word for 'extinction,'" Maya replied.
She released the string.
The arrow whistled through the air, a silver streak in the twilight. Any human would have been dead before they could blink. But Jax wasn't human.
In a movement that defied the laws of physics, Jax’s hand snapped up. He didn't just catch the arrow; his Bevel claws shredded the shaft into splinters before the silver could touch his palm. The kinetic force sent a shockwave through his arm, but he didn't flinch.
Maya’s eyes widened. For the first time, the Hunter looked stunned.
"My turn," Jax growled.
He launched himself at her, a shadow of muscle and fury. But as he slammed Maya into the ground, pinning her beneath him, a freak occurrence happened. A jagged piece of the silver arrow had sliced through Jax’s palm, and as he gripped Maya’s shoulder, his blood—molten and gold—smeared against a small scratch on her neck.
The world exploded in a silent, blinding flash of light.
Jax gasped, his heart slamming against his ribs. It wasn't pain. It was a connection. He could feel Maya’s heartbeat as if it were his own. He could hear her thoughts—a chaotic swirl of duty, fear, and a sudden, soul-shattering attraction.
Maya’s bow fell from her hand. She stared up at Jax, her breathing shallow, her grey eyes searching his. The silver in her irises seemed to pulse in time with his gold.
"What did you do?" she whispered, her hand trembling as she touched the spot where his blood had met hers. "What have you done to me?"
"I don't know," Jax choked out, his body finally giving in to the shift. "Run, Maya. Before I can't stop myself."
- Writer
