I woke up with a jolt, my heart racing as if I'd run a marathon. The events of last night crashed over me like a tidal wave. Damien. The wolf. The transformation. It wasn't a dream.
Sunlight streamed through my curtains, a stark contrast to the moonlit chaos of just hours ago. I rubbed my eyes, half-expecting to find fur on my hands. Nothing. Just my normal, trembling fingers.
My phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. Twelve missed calls from Damien. Three from James. What did my self-defense instructor have to do with any of this?
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. The air felt different somehow, charged with an energy I couldn't explain. Was this how the world felt when you knew monsters were real?
The phone buzzed again. Damien.
"Isabella?" His voice was rough, urgent. "Are you okay? I need to see you. To explain."
I wanted to laugh. Explain? How do you explain turning into a wolf?
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice steadier than I felt. "Where are you?"
"The old oak at the edge of Willow Park. Please, Isabella. It's important."
I hesitated, memories of gleaming fangs and yellow eyes flashing through my mind. But beneath the fear, curiosity burned. I needed answers.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
The park was eerily quiet when I arrived, the usual joggers and dog-walkers conspicuously absent. Damien stood beneath the massive oak, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes darting nervously.
He looked so... normal. It was hard to reconcile this man with the creature I'd seen last night.
"You came," he said, relief evident in his voice. "I wasn't sure you would."
"I almost didn't," I admitted, keeping a careful distance between us. "Start talking, Damien. What are you?"
He flinched at my tone but nodded. "I'm a werewolf. Born, not bitten. There aren't many of us left."
The words hung in the air, impossible yet undeniable. I'd seen it with my own eyes.
"How long have you been like this?" I asked, trying to process the information.
"All my life. But I've learned to control it, mostly. Last night..." He trailed off, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I never wanted to drag you into this world."
A twig snapped behind me, and I whirled around, heart pounding. James emerged from the trees, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by a grim determination.
"I see you two have some catching up to do," he said, his eyes never leaving Damien.
"James? What are you doing here?" I asked, confusion turning to suspicion. "Wait, do you know about...?"
He nodded slowly. "I know a lot of things, Isabella. Including what you can do."
I took a step back, suddenly feeling trapped between them. "What I can do? What are you talking about?"
Damien moved closer, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "You don't know, do you? Last night, when you touched me... I've never felt anything like it. You calmed the wolf, Isabella. That's not supposed to be possible."
My mind reeled. First werewolves, and now this? "I don't understand. I'm just... me."
James shook his head. "You're much more than that. You're a Sentinel, Isabella. An ancient bloodline, almost as rare as born werewolves. You can sense our kind, influence us. It's why you've been getting stronger, why you could help Damien last night."
The world tilted on its axis. I stumbled, and Damien caught my arm. The moment he touched me, a jolt of electricity passed between us. I gasped, images flashing before my eyes – moonlit forests, a pack running together, a sense of belonging so intense it brought tears to my eyes.
I jerked away, breathing hard. "What was that?"
Damien looked as shocked as I felt. "You saw something?"
Before I could answer, a howl pierced the air – long, mournful, and much too close. James tensed, scanning the treeline.
"We need to go," he said urgently. "Now. It's not safe here."
"Why? What's going on?" I demanded, even as Damien gently pushed me towards the park exit.
"Hunters," Damien growled, his eyes flashing yellow for a moment. "They must have followed my scent from last night."
My blood ran cold. "Hunters? As in...?"
"As in people who want us dead," James confirmed grimly. "And now that you've been seen with us, they'll want you too."
We broke into a run, the sound of snapping branches and muffled voices spurring us on. My newly enhanced strength surged through me, letting me keep pace with the two men.
We burst out of the park onto a quiet street. James's car sat idling at the curb, engine running.
"Get in," he ordered, sliding into the driver's seat. Damien all but pushed me into the back before jumping in beside me.
As James peeled away from the curb, I caught a glimpse of shadowy figures emerging from the park. One raised something to his shoulder – a gun?
"Duck!" Damien yelled, pushing my head down just as the rear window exploded in a shower of glass.
The car swerved wildly as James accelerated, tires screeching in protest. I stayed low, heart pounding in my ears.
"Are you hit?" Damien asked frantically, his hands roaming over my shoulders, checking for injuries.
"I'm okay," I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. "Where are we going?"
James's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "Somewhere safe. A place where we can explain everything."
"Everything?" I echoed weakly.
Damien's hand found mine, squeezing gently. The contact sent another shock through me, but I didn't pull away this time.
"Everything," he promised. "No more secrets."
As the car sped through town, my old life receding in the rearview mirror, a horrible thought struck me.
"Wait," I said, sitting up straight. "My apartment. All my things..."
James met my eyes in the mirror, his expression grim. "I'm sorry, Isabella. But you can't go back there. Not now, maybe not ever. As of this moment, your old life is over."
The finality in his voice sent a chill down my spine. What had I gotten myself into? And more importantly – what was I becoming?
As if in answer, I felt a strange tingling in my fingertips. I looked down, my eyes widening in shock. My nails were lengthening, sharpening to points before my very eyes.
"Damien," I whispered, horror and fascination warring in my voice. "What's happening to me?"