The bonfire crackled, spitting embers into the salty night air like a thousand angry fireflies. Music pulsed from speakers half-buried in the sand, a heavy bassline thrumming through the soles of my feet. It was the kind of perfect, shimmering California night that felt ripped from a movie scene. For me, it was supposed to be the most perfect night of my life.
Five years. I had given Julian Blackwood five years. I’d loved him since we were practically kids, navigated his moods, celebrated his triumphs, and held him through his failures. Tonight was our anniversary, and he’d promised me a surprise at this party, a huge beach blowout with his whole pack of silver-spoon friends. I knew what it was. I’d found the velvet box hidden in his sock drawer last week. My heart had been doing a frantic, fluttering dance ever since.
“Seen Julian?” I asked one of his buddies, a guy named Leo whose smirk was a permanent fixture on his face.
He gestured vaguely with his beer bottle towards the dunes, away from the main bonfire. “Saw him heading that way with some blonde. Looked serious.” He winked. “Guess the wild boy is finally getting tamed.”
My stomach tightened, but I forced a smile. He was probably just finding a quiet place to propose. The thought sent a fresh wave of giddy anticipation through me. I squeezed through the dancing crowd, the sand cool between my toes, and headed for the darkness of the dunes. The roar of the party faded, replaced by the gentle crash of waves.
That’s when I saw them.
He wasn’t proposing. He was pressed against the side of a dune, his hands buried in the blonde’s hair. Her back was to me, but I could see his face, his eyes closed in pleasure, his mouth locked with hers. His hands were roaming, sliding down her back, gripping her waist with a possessive force he hadn’t shown me in years.
The world tilted. The sound of the ocean, the distant music, my own breathing—it all dissolved into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. The velvet box in his sock drawer felt like a cruel joke.
I must have made a sound, a choked gasp, because his eyes snapped open. They widened, not with guilt, but with annoyance. He didn’t jump away. He just slowly, lazily, detached himself from the girl, who turned around with a smug, triumphant smile.
I knew her. Tiffany. A girl from his circle who always looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.
“Claire,” Julian said, his voice flat. He ran a hand through his perfectly messy hair. “What are you doing back here?”
“What am I doing?” My voice was a raw whisper. “What the hell are you doing, Julian?”
“Look, it’s not what it looks like,” he said, the classic, pathetic excuse falling from his lips.
Tiffany laughed, a tinkling, malicious sound. “Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like, sweetie. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Tears were blurring my vision, hot and shameful. “Five years, Julian. Tonight was our anniversary.”
He sighed, a deep, put-upon sound, as if I were the one inconveniencing him. “Let’s be realistic, Claire. We’re from different worlds. You can't seriously expect someone like me to be tied down to someone like you forever. It was fun, but… come on. You knew what this was.”
His words hit me harder than a physical blow. Different worlds. He said it with such casual cruelty. The past five years, a thing he considered a fleeting bit of fun.
Something inside me snapped. The heartbreak curdled into white-hot rage.
I stepped forward, right into the space between them. My voice, when it came out, was no longer a whisper. It was cold and clear, ringing with a finality that startled even me.
“You’re right,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I finally know exactly what this was.” I turned my gaze on Tiffany. “And you can have him.”
I turned my back on them and walked away, not back to the party, but away from the lights, away from the music, away from the life I had just lost. I didn’t run. I walked with my head held high, each step a declaration.
We were done.
*
The adrenaline wore off about ten blocks from the beach, leaving behind a hollow, cavernous ache in my chest. The tears I’d refused to shed in front of him came freely now, silent streams tracking down my cold cheeks. The quiet residential street was lined with sleeping houses, their windows dark eyes staring blankly at my pathetic retreat.
A twig snapped in the overgrown bushes of a nearby park.
I froze, wiping my eyes. It was probably just a raccoon. But a primal shiver of fear traced its way down my spine. The air suddenly felt heavy, charged with a predatory stillness. A low growl rumbled from the shadows, deeper and more menacing than any dog I’d ever heard.
My blood ran cold. I smelled it before I saw it—the scent of wet fur, decay, and something else… something metallic and hungry. Two points of yellow light gleamed in the darkness. Eyes.
It stepped out from behind a hedge, and a scream died in my throat. It was shaped like a wolf, but impossibly large, its shoulders as high as my waist. Its fur was matted and patchy, its lips pulled back in a snarl to reveal yellowed, dagger-like fangs. Saliva dripped onto the pavement. This wasn’t one of Julian’s kind. This was something feral. A rogue.
My mind went blank with terror. I stumbled backward, my legs refusing to run. The creature stalked forward, its movements a low, deliberate crouch. It was going to kill me. Right here, on this quiet suburban street, my life was going to end.
It lunged.
A blur of motion exploded from the darkness to my right. A shape of pure night, impossibly fast, slammed into the rogue wolf with the force of a freight train. It was another wolf, but this one was different. It was enormous, larger still, its fur the color of polished obsidian, its movements filled with a terrifying, lethal grace.
There was a sickening sound of tearing flesh and a choked-off yelp. It was over in seconds. The black wolf stood over the mangled body of my attacker, its chest heaving, not a single scratch on its perfect coat.
It turned its head, and its eyes, the color of molten gold, locked onto mine. Fear, sharp and absolute, seized me. I was saved from one monster only to be cornered by another.
But then, it did something impossible. The air around it seemed to shimmer. There was a horrific sound of bones cracking and re-shaping. The massive, bestial form began to contract, to shift. Fur receded into pale skin, the snout flattened, the powerful legs elongated into human limbs.
In the space of five heartbeats, the giant wolf was gone. In its place stood a man.
He was tall, dressed in dark, expensive clothing that was somehow immaculate. His black hair was swept back from a face that was all harsh, beautiful angles. And his eyes… they were the same molten gold.
I knew him. I’d seen him at family dinners, standing silently in the background, his presence a thundercloud of quiet authority.
Damien Blackwood. Julian’s older brother. The Alpha of the pack.
He took a step towards me, his expression unreadable, his power a palpable force in the air. I tried to speak, to thank him, to ask what was happening, but my throat was closed with terror.
He stopped just before me, looking down at my tear-stained, terrified face. His voice was a low, cold rumble that vibrated through my very bones, leaving no room for argument, no hope for escape.
“You saw something you shouldn’t have,” he said, his golden eyes pinning me in place. He reached out, his grip closing around my arm, strong and inescapable. “From now on, your life is mine.”