The first ray of dawn was burning scorching light and not a gentle kiss upon a being. Scourging light struck the beast's powerful form, rending it with a new agony rather than that blissful fury belonging to the metamorphosis. The reversion was a violent, deconstructive process, like a film of biological horror being projected in reverse. Bones that had stretched and thickened with excruciating grinding snaps now fractured and shrank. Muscles that had bulged with inhuman strength were now withered and burning, leaving him weak and trembling. Coarse black fur disappeared into his skin, an agonizing sensation akin to a million needles being plucked from his flesh. Flayed, disassembled, and shoved back into the mismatched shell of a man, he writhed on the filthy asphalt of the alley, a most wretched sight. Muzzle fracturing back into human shape, his jaw took its turn on the crumbling ground. When dwelt upon, the world then seemed to fade away, and Damien Voss lay gasping, recoiled into the fetal position. He was left cold, bruised, and with exquisite, humanly painful sensation.
Now memories were flooding in. They were not hazy or dreamlike. They flooded with perfect clarity; vivid, high-definition. He remembered the exhilarating power as his limbs carried him across rooftops, the city a blur of lights beneath him. He remembered the smell of fear from strangers on the street, a scent that had disgusted the man but electrified the beast. He remembered the satisfying crunch of metal when he smashed the car alarm. Then came the most vivid and damning memory of all: the door. The memory came back: the door of the wood under his claws, the dizzying scent of her fear and life, only a few inches away. He remembered the low, possessive growl that had emanated from his own chest, a pure animal sound of longing. What haunted him the most was the internal conflict: the beast's savage need to get through the door clashing with the final, desperate shred of humanity pleading to protect her. Her voice -- a trembling whisper of his name -- had been what saved her from him. It landed like a killer punch to the gut. He had not controlled the monster. He had merely passed in the passenger seat while horrified to witness the destruction that had just ended on her doorstep.
Pulling himself into a sitting position, he found his body was bruised with a deep fatigue that went beyond muscles. He stared down at his painfully raw hands, caked with dirt. The hands that had clawed at her door. Waves of self-loathing washed over him, strong enough to choke him. He was everything he hated: a creature of chaos, a slave to instinct, a man with absolutely no control over himself. He had become the monster his father had always warned him about-the monster that manifested the curse of his bloodline. The familiar purr of an engine rent the early morning silence. A black sedan swept into the mouth of the alley, from which Elias emerged, his face carefully impassive, showing not the slightest surprise to find his billionaire employer naked and battered in an empty alley. He approached with a duffel bag. "Sir," he said, his voice low and discreet. He flicked his eyes away respectfully while handing Damien a bottle of water and laying out a set of clothes-a black sweatshirt and pants. "There were... numerous reports of unusual seismic and predatory activity throughout the borough last night," he calmly stated while Damien dressed, his movements stiff and painful. "The damage is considerable, but I have already put containment protocols into action. Financial settlements and a cover story involving a gas main explosion are already being arranged."
Damien gulped three quick swallows of water; it did nothing to quell the fire of shame burning deep in his gut. Containment protocols. Financial settlements. The physical destruction that he could cover with his wealth, yet his soul could never be saved for what he did. Nevertheless, he could never erase the scream left in the heart of Selena. "Take me home," Damien rasped, his voice raw. The ride back to his penthouse was shrouded in uncomfortable silence. The city awakening to life under morning rush; unaware of the horror that had stalked its streets mere hours ago. But Damien saw it everywhere. The fear on the face of a pedestrian who glanced nervously into a dark alley. The new board-up on a storefront window where glass had been smashed. He was the cancer of this city. Back in the sanitized silence of his apartment, he stood under a scalding shower, scrubbing at his skin as if he could wash away the filth of the beast, the memory of the fur and claws. But the curse was in his blood, the guilt was branded in his soul. He felt with chilling clarity that this was far from over. Selena Cross was not the kind of woman who would be scared away. She won't take claw marks on her door as mere warnings; she will consider them a clue. A truth hunter, and he had just handed her the greatest truth of her life. The predator was no longer in their sick little game. The prey was cornered and exposed. Just as he thought that, his phone began buzzing on the marble countertop. He stared at it; a cold chill sunk into his heart. The screen lit up with her name. Selena Cross. She had found him. It was time. With grim finality, he dried his hands, picked up the phone, and swiped to answer. His voice broke: exhausted and a whisper. "Selena."