The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie silver glow over the dense forest. Maxwell's body trembled with exhaustion as he tried to suppress the growl building in his throat. His knuckles bled, his muscles screamed in protest, but Adam's cold voice cut through the air.
"Again," Adam commanded, standing rigidly as he watched Maxwell struggle.
Maxwell's vision blurred as sweat dripped into his eyes. His claws extended involuntarily, and his canines ached as his wolf form threatened to surface. He planted his feet in the dirt and charged forward, attacking the training dummy Adam had set up. With a feral snarl, he slashed through the thick wood, splintering it into pieces.
"Not good enough!" Adam snapped. "If you can't break through that, how will you face someone like Ryland?"
Maxwell collapsed to his knees, panting heavily. His mind swirled with doubt and anger.
"Get up," Adam growled, his tone unforgiving. "Your enemies won't let you rest, and neither will I."
Maxwell clenched his fists, blood and sweat mixing as he forced himself to his feet. His vision darkened momentarily, but he pushed forward, lunging again at the next dummy. The grueling training continued until his body could no longer obey him.
Finally, Adam relented, watching as Maxwell staggered to a tree and slumped against it. "You'll thank me when you're strong enough to face your nightmares," Adam said coldly before disappearing into the shadows.
That night, Maxwell's sleep was far from peaceful.
In the dream, he was running through the same forest, but this time, it was bathed in crimson light. The trees twisted unnaturally, their branches reaching for him like claws. His breath came in ragged gasps as he heard the chilling sound of his name being called.
"Maxwell…"
He turned sharply and froze. Standing before him was his grandfather, Mr. Jones. His weathered face was pale and gaunt, his eyes hollow.
"Be careful, Maxwell," Mr. Jones whispered, his voice echoing unnaturally. "You are not ready for what's coming. The shadows… they'll consume you."
Maxwell opened his mouth to respond, but his words were drowned out by the sound of agonized screams. His heart stopped as he turned to see his parents, their faces twisted in terror, blood pooling at their feet.
"No!" Maxwell cried, trying to reach them, but his legs felt like lead.
His father's voice, filled with despair, echoed in his ears. "Save yourself, Maxwell…"
As the nightmare consumed him, a pair of glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness, and Maxwell jolted awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
Across the city, Ryland sat at his desk, the room dimly lit by a single lamp. In his hand, he held a picture of Zoelle, her piercing eyes seeming to look directly at him even from the photograph. His fingers traced the edges of the image, his mind racing.
Miss Jolie entered the room silently, her sharp eyes immediately catching the photograph in Ryland's hand. Her expression hardened, her lips curling into a sneer.
"So, this is what you've been spending your time on?" she asked, her voice laced with venom.
Ryland didn't look up. "She's… different. There's something about her."
Jolie's fury boiled over. "Different?" she hissed, snatching the picture from his hand. "She's a distraction! Nothing more. You're losing focus on what matters."
Ryland sighed, rubbing his temple. "Maxwell is dead. I don't have anything to worry about now. Mind your business."
Jolie stiffened, a flicker of something dark passing over her face. "Of course, I'll make sure of it."
Ryland didn't respond, his gaze drifting back to Zoelle's picture.
That evening, Zoelle returned home, her heart pounding with unease. The wolf's eyes still haunted her, and the sense of being watched hadn't left her. She locked her door behind her and slumped into her chair, her mind racing with questions she couldn't answer.
Maxwell's name lingered in her thoughts, his story more fragmented now than ever. She remembered the news about his family—the death of his grandfather, a man whose name carried weight even beyond the supernatural world.
Curiosity burned in her chest. If Maxwell's family had made headlines, perhaps there was more she could uncover.
She opened her laptop, typing Jones family into the search bar. Her pulse quickened as pages of results appeared—articles detailing the family's power, their alliances, and the turmoil surrounding them. Maxwell's grandfather, Mr. Jones, had been a figure of both respect and fear, his death shrouded in rumors of betrayal.
Zoelle clicked on a link and gasped as a photo filled her screen. It was a family portrait.
The image was old, the edges of the photograph slightly faded, but the faces were clear. Maxwell was near the center in a wheelchair , his piercing gaze unmistakable. Zoelle's heart twisted as she noticed that Maxwell is in a wheelchair , she was so confused since the Maxwell she met was able to walk . Around him were other family members—some unfamiliar, others vaguely recognizable. But her eyes caught on one face in particular.
Her breath caught.
It was Ryland.
Those sharp, calculating eyes stared back at her, the same eyes that had unsettled her during their brief meetings. Zoelle's hands trembled as she scrolled further, her heart racing as the truth began to emerge. Ryland was connected to Maxwell.
Her search grew frantic as she pieced together the fragments of the Jones family history. Articles hinted at alliances turned sour, rivalries that had ended in blood. One name appeared alongside Maxwell's, tied to whispers of violence: Ryland .
Zoelle's thoughts spiraled. Maxwell had told her once about a betrayal that had nearly cost him his life. His voice echoed in her memory, raw and full of pain. "My cousin tried to kill me."
The realization hit her like a lightning bolt. Ryland wasn't just connected to Maxwell; he was the cousin who had tried to murder him.
Her stomach churned as the weight of this revelation settled over her. What did Ryland want with her? Why was he circling her now, after everything he'd done to Maxwell?
The pieces didn't fit together, and Zoelle's frustration grew. She leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair as the unanswered questions swirled in her mind.
A low growl outside her window snapped her from her thoughts. Her head whipped toward the sound, her blood running cold as her eyes landed on the shadowy figure beyond the glass.
A massive black wolf stared back at her, its eyes glowing with an unnatural intensity.
Zoelle froze, fear gripping her. The wolf's gaze seemed to pierce her soul, and for a moment, she felt completely exposed. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the creature vanished into the night.
Her hands trembled as she locked the window, her heart pounding wildly. She wasn't imagining it. Something was hunting her.
Determined not to become a victim, Zoelle turned back to her laptop. The answers were out there, tangled in the web of lies and betrayals surrounding the Jones family. She had to find them—before it was too late.
But with every step she took, the shadows seemed to close in tighter, their secrets waiting to consume her.