HELP FANFIC CONTINUE SUPPORTING ME ON PANTREON"
patreon.com/souls3636
A few seconds passed before the door creaked open, and there she was—Samantha, her head down, her eyes puffy and red from crying. She didn't look at me right away, her voice shaking as she spoke. "Are you serious, Clark? Do you think I'm some kind of idiot? When you were with her, you were laughing at me, weren't you?"
I took a step forward, my heart clenching at the sight of his pain. "You know me, Sam. Do you really think I would do this to you? That I would make fun of you with someone else?"
Her voice cracked, fragile and sharp. "I don't know you anymore… Just get out of here. I never want to see you again."
"No," I replied softly, my voice firm. "What I said is true." Ignoring her protest, I walked through the door and into her room, the air heavy with unspoken words.
"Hey!" she exclaimed, her tone sharp. "I didn't give you permission to come in!"
"Sit on the bed, Sam," I asked calmly but decisively.
She hesitated, her shoulders tense, then closed the door with a muffled sound. Slowly, she sank onto the edge of the bed, her face down, a curtain of hair hiding her expression. I grabbed a chair and sat across from her, the space between us vibrating with uncertainty.
"Where do I start?" I muttered, almost to myself. "Let's start with the basics, then. Samantha, this world… it's not what you think. There are werewolves, vampires, witches… creatures that live in the shadows of everything we know."
She lifted her head, her skeptical gaze fixed on mine, her brows furrowed in disbelief. I didn't blame her—even to me, sometimes, it sounded absurd.
"You won't believe it, I know," I said, with a slight smile. "Then here's proof." I whispered a low incantation, and her hair began to lift, floating as if dancing in an invisible breeze.
She gave a startled little cry, her hands flying to her head. "What is this, Clark?!" She jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror, staring open-mouthed at her reflection, her dark locks hanging in the air. "This… this can't be real," she whispered, turning to me, shock written all over her face.
I offered a gentle smile. "Do you believe me now?"
Her expression changed, confusion fighting with something deeper. "Maybe…but that doesn't explain anything, Clark. You hooked up with Tory—my greatest enemy. How am I supposed to accept that?"
I took a deep breath, bracing myself. "I told you, Sam, I'm not fully human. I'm a werewolf."
Her eyes widened, a mixture of shock and fear shining in them. "A werewolf?" she whispered, taking a step back. Then, more quietly, almost pleadingly, she added, "Tell me everything about yourself, Clark. Please."
And I did. I unfolded my life story—how my parents were taken from me, how I stumbled into the world of magic and became a warlock, how the wolf found me too. I made up a small lie, saying that I was a full-blooded werewolf, not a changed one, and how that fate had trapped me for nearly two years. Her eyes never left mine as the words flowed, painting a picture of a life stranger than she could have imagined.
"How is this possible?" she asked when I finished, her voice soft with wonder. "All this stuff going on out there… how come almost no one knows about it?"
"Most vampires are intelligent," I explained. "They hide in plain sight, and if a human sees their true nature, they don't leave him alive to tell about it. It is the same with others—the secret keeps the balance."
She was silent for a moment, then her gaze hardened. "Clark, even with all this, you still haven't told me why. Why Tory? I don't understand."
I leaned forward, my voice lower. "You won't understand, not completely. But some werewolves—not all—have something called Imprinting."
"Imprinting?" she repeated, tilting her head. "What is it?"
"It's… something supernatural," I said, searching for the right words. "It's when a part of your soul finds its other half—someone destined to be your mate. Your life, your senses, your very being… everything turns to that person. It's not something you choose, Sam. It just happens."
Her eyes widened, a memory crossing her face. "Wait. I remember you saying you only came back to L.A. because of her."
I nodded slowly. "It's true. I didn't understand it at first—not until I became a werewolf. Over time, I realized what it meant."
She stared at me, tears welling up again. "So… you don't even like me? Was I just a game to you, Clark? Were you playing with me this whole time?" Her voice broke, and a sob escaped her as she buried her face in her hands.
"No," I said quickly, reaching out to take her hand. "Sam, I like you. I've never toyed with your feelings—not for a second. You're too important to me." I squeezed her hand gently. "I told you, only half of me—the wolf part—is connected to her. The rest…is still mine. Still human. Still here."
She sniffed, wiping away tears as she looked at me. "I… I think I understand," she murmured. Then, after a pause, she added, "Please, Clark, go away. I need to think about all of this."
"Okay," I said softly. I leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Take as long as you need. You have my number—if you need me, I'll be there in a heartbeat. Bye, Sam."
She didn't answer, her face filled with thoughts and silent sadness as I turned to leave. I walked into the night, my mind a tangled mess. On the way home, I stopped at a small grocery store near my building and bought two bottles of wine. I had no energy for anything else—just the weight of the day and an urgent need to drown it.
"Wow, what a day," I muttered to myself as I opened the first bottle. "I need this to forget… I hope Sam doesn't hate me. I hope…"
The wine went down his throat harshly, but it couldn't wash away the heavy echo of her silence.