The chilling image of Joey's eyes, sinister and intent on harm, haunted the fringes of my consciousness as I jolted awake. My heart thundered against my chest in the aftermath of terror, disbelief mingling with relief when I found myself enveloped by the familiar softness of my bed covers. Survival seemed a dubious gift; the nightmare had felt all too real. A throbbing headache reminded me of the ordeal, or had it merely been a figment of my dreams?
Disoriented, I reached for the alarm clock, its accusing red digits blaring 8:07 AM. Panic set in—not only did my head pound with the rhythm of a drumline, but work was already slipping through my fingers like sand. The thought of facing Rawson or Alarick sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling over me. With shaky hands, I grasped my phone, the screen's glow harsh against my tender eyes as I punched in the numbers to call in sick.
Before I could complete the call, an unexpected rapping at my bedroom door sliced through the morning stillness. The girls were here, along with Melissa and Coco. Their presence was both comforting and unnerving—why were they here so early? Wordlessly, I allowed them to shepherd me to the living room, where they deposited me on the couch with a care that felt maternal. The smell of coffee wafted into my nostrils, accompanied by the buttery scent of toast, yet my stomach churned in protest.
Melissa handed me a steaming mug with a steadiness that belied the concern etched into her features. Coco, usually the embodiment of energy, sat uncharacteristically still beside me, her own eyes reflecting a seriousness that matched the somber mood. Across from us, Joy perched on a barstool like a silent sentinel, her gaze locked onto the dark liquid in her cup.
I wrapped my fingers around the warmth of the coffee mug, drawing comfort from its heat. Glancing between their faces, I searched for answers, but it was Sara's unharmed presence that offered the most solace. She sat there, seemingly fine, which was enough to make me question the reality of the horror I'd witnessed.
"Must've been some dream," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, as I tried to dismiss the lingering dread. But the weight of their stares told me it was far from over. Whatever had transpired with Joey wasn't simply a bad dream fading with the morning sun—it was a palpable shadow hanging over us all.
Melissa's fingers hesitated over the rim of her cup, betraying a tremor as she set it down on the coffee table. She drew in a deep breath, meeting my gaze with a steadiness that seemed to anchor her next words. "Lina, we have to talk about what happened with Joey yesterday evening," she said, her voice careful, threading through the silence like a needle pulling a suture tight.
The room felt suddenly claustrophobic, the walls pressing in with the weight of unspoken truths. "We all know you must be shocked," Melissa continued, folding her hands in her lap as if to physically gather her thoughts. "And it's also partially my fault." A pained expression crossed her features. "For insisting on having you share the flat with us after Sara and Joy met you at university."
I blinked, the remnants of disbelief clinging to me like cobwebs. Wasn't it a dream? The question echoed inside my skull, a silent scream for normalcy. But the stark reality reflected in their faces stripped away any illusion I harbored, leaving only the cold dread of truth. Fear crept up in me once again, an icy chain winding its way around my heart.
My gaze darted around the room, half-expecting to find Joey lurking in a shadowed corner. Relief washed over me when the search yielded nothing; he was nowhere to be found. Turning back to the girls, I searched their expressions for further reassurance.
"Sara, are you okay?" The question clawed its way out of my throat, desperate and raw.
She nodded, a flicker of something unreadable passing behind her eyes. "I'm sorry we worried you." Her voice was a low murmur, but it carried an undercurrent of steel. Then, unexpectedly, her gaze shifted toward Joy, who remained silent on her barstool. The look Sara gave her was dark, accusatory, a silent indictment that hung heavy in the air between them.
And so we sat, a tableau of tension and secrets, each of us entangled in the aftermath of a night that had threatened to unravel the very fabric of our reality.
Confusion knit my brows together as I turned towards the newcomer in our group. "And what is Coco doing here?" My voice was barely above a whisper, its tremulous note betraying the turmoil within. Did she also know about Joey?
Coco stood with an air of solemnity that seemed out of place against her normally vibrant demeanor. She held herself with a quiet authority, a stark contrast to the chaos that had enveloped us.
"Wolfsville is a City founded by Wolfshifters," Melissa's words tumbled into the tense silence. "Lina Wolfsville isn't just a name; it's our heritage." Her gaze swept over us all, ensuring the gravity of her statement sank in. "We're not entirely human, Lina. And all of us,"—she gestured to the other girls—"are to some extent, wolf shifters."
The room felt suddenly colder, the reality of their words seeping into my bones. It was one thing to have nightmares of dark chases and glowing eyes, but another to be sitting in daylight among friends who claimed a lineage with beasts of legend.
"We were in panic," Sara continued, her eyes flickering with a shadow of the fear from last night. "We had to inform someone from this pack. Like the organization of shifters here, of what happened. It is a huge problem if humans discover about us."
I could feel the weight of her gaze, heavy with unspoken implications. The world had tilted on its axis, and I was desperately trying to hold onto some semblance of the life I thought I knew.
"Discover about you?" I echoed dumbly, still grappling with the enormity of the revelation. Coco nodded gravely, her eyes locking with mine. There was a story there, behind those lupine eyes—a story of survival, secrecy, and the fierce bond of a pack.