The first thing Ethan Blackwell tasted was blood. His blood, specifically, which wasn't how he'd planned to start his Thursday morning. The second thing he noticed was that he was completely naked in the middle of Mason Woods, which, hey, also not part of the morning agenda.

"Perfect," he muttered, spitting copper-tang onto dead leaves. "Absolutely perfect. File this under 'conversations I don't want to have with my therapist.'"

Dawn painted the forest in watercolors, all misty purples and grays that would've been pretty if he wasn't, you know, naked. A crow watched from a nearby branch, head tilted like it was judging his life choices. Join the club, buddy.

"Don't suppose you saw how I got here?" Ethan asked it. The crow just cawed, which sounded suspiciously like laughter. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone's a critic."

The air held that peculiar October stillness, crisp enough to raise goosebumps across his exposed skin but somehow not as cold as it should be. Like his body was running hot enough to keep the autumn chill at bay. Add that to the growing list of weird shit he couldn't explain.

Right. Focus. Last night: The Dogwood Tavern, where the wooden floors were worn smooth by countless boots and the air always smelled like hops and bad decisions. Cheap beer that didn't even give him a buzz anymore (another item for the list). Sonny running his mouth at those football players because apparently his best friend had never met a bad decision he didn't want to french kiss.

"I'm just saying," Sonny had drawled, dark eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned against the bar like he owned it, "that the correlation between toxic masculinity and sexual repression is fascinating. You'd make an excellent case study, Chad."

"Come on, big boy," Chad the Jaw had sneered, looming over Sonny. "Got something to say to me?"

The memory of Sonny's perfect eyeroll was crystal clear. "Honey, I've got a dissertation's worth, but I'll use small words for you."

Ethan had stood then, all six-foot-four of him unfolding like some pissed-off origami. The bar had gone quiet enough to hear a pin drop, or in this case, a jock's testosterone-fueled bravado hitting the floor. Chad's eyes had widened as he'd craned his neck up, and up, and up.

After that? Static. White noise. Nothing but a vague sense of rage and... hunger? The memory slipped through his fingers like smoke, leaving behind only impressions: movement, power, the intoxicating scent of fear.

"Get it together, Blackwell," he growled. His voice came out rougher than intended, scaring away a squirrel. "Great. Even the wildlife thinks I'm a mess."

The birthmark on his shoulder blade itched like it was trying to crawl off his skin. It always did that lately, along with other fun new quirks like supernatural strength and healing abilities that made his dad's medical colleagues scratch their heads. Because that's totally normal for a twenty-two-year-old college student. Just like it's totally normal to wake up with no memory of the night before, tasting blood and feeling like your skin doesn't quite fit anymore.

A metallic scent caught his attention, sharp and sweet and terrifying in how good it smelled. Following it (because apparently he made terrible decisions even when sober), he found what remained of two rabbits. The sight should've made him sick. Instead, something deep in his chest hummed with satisfaction.

"Nope," he said firmly. "Absolutely not. We're not doing... whatever this is."

The trek home was an exercise in creative navigation and prayer that none of his neighbors were early risers. Mrs. Henderson would never recover from the sight, though it might earn him more of her stress-baking pies. Silver lining? Her snickerdoodles were basically therapy in cookie form.

He almost made it. Almost. But there was his mom in the kitchen, holding a glass of water and wearing that expression that meant she'd been up all night worrying. The morning light caught the silver in her hair, making her look both stronger and more fragile than he'd ever seen her.

"So," Hannah said, remarkably calm for someone whose giant adopted son was currently naked and dirt-streaked in her kitchen. "Bad night?"

Ethan laughed, the sound edged with hysteria. "You could say that. Though I'm fuzzy on the details. Literally."

"I'll call Dr. Kaplan—"

"Mom, no. The pills aren't working anymore. None of it is." He ran a hand through his hair, probably leaving dirt streaks. "Unless there's a prescription for 'waking up naked in the woods with no memory and possibly having eaten raw rabbit.'"

Her face softened. "Sweetheart..."

"Don't. Please." He couldn't handle sympathy right now. "I'm going to shower. Then maybe scream into a pillow for an hour."

"Hospital first," his father's voice cut in. Michael Blackwell stood in the doorway, looking like he'd aged ten years overnight. His medical journal was clutched in one hand like a shield. "No arguments."

"Because that worked so well the last six times?" But Ethan nodded. What else could he do? They both knew the routine by now: blood tests that came back inconclusive, scans that showed nothing unusual, specialists exchanging worried glances over his chart.

In the shower, he watched red-tinged water swirl down the drain. His reflection in the fogged mirror showed the same face as always—dark hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes that Suzy claimed were "unfairly pretty" when she traced his face with gentle fingers. But something else lurked behind them now, something hungry and wild that he couldn't name.

God, Suzy. Sweet, beautiful Suzy with her baking classes and cherry-red lips that always tasted like whatever she'd been recipe-testing that day. The girl who looked at him like he hung the moon, completely unaware that her boyfriend might be turning into something that howled at it instead.

His phone buzzed on the counter with her message: "Missed you last night. Mom's making lasagna tonight. Come over?"

The invitation was so normal it hurt. She deserved better than a boyfriend who might be losing his mind. Or worse.

"Miss you too," he typed back. "But raincheck? Not feeling great."

Three dots appeared immediately: "You've been saying that a lot lately. Everything okay? I miss waking up next to you."

That last part hit like a punch to the gut. He missed it too—the way she curled into him in her sleep, how her hair always smelled like vanilla and possibility, the soft sounds she made when he kissed her neck. But that was before. Before he started waking up with blood in his mouth and gaps in his memory.

"Just stressed about finals," he lied. "Talk later?"

"Sure," she replied, but he could feel the doubt through the screen. "Love you."

He stared at those two words until the screen went dark. "Love you too," he whispered to no one. "Sorry I'm turning into something that might eat you."

His phone buzzed again. Sonny this time: "Dude, where'd you go last night? Those meatheads practically pissed themselves when you did that thing with your face."

"What thing with my face?"

"You know, that scary thing. Very hot, btw. Totally worked. But then you booked it out of there like your ass was on fire. You okay?"

Ethan's stomach lurched. "Define okay."

"That's a no. Coming over. Bringing donuts and gossip about Chad the Jaw's tiny... ego. Also, did you know you growled at him? Like, actually growled?"

"Sonny, don't—"

"Too late, already in my car. Also, fair warning: pretty sure Suzy's worried about you. She cornered me after Bio asking if you're seeing someone else. Girl's got it bad, E. And you've got it bad for her, which makes this whole avoiding-her thing extra stupid."

Ethan laughed despite himself. If only she knew. The truth was so much worse than cheating. At least he was pretty sure it was worse. Kind of hard to compare relationship drama to possibly being a monster.

True to his word, Sonny showed up twenty minutes later with a box of donuts and enough attitude to power a small city. He took one look at Ethan's face and whistled low.

"Damn, you look like shit warmed over. Hot shit, but still shit."

"Thanks. Your support means everything to me."

"That's what I'm here for." Sonny flopped onto Ethan's bed like he owned it, which was their relationship in a nutshell. The familiar scent of his cologne—something expensive and pretentious—filled the air. "So, want to talk about how you went full Incredible Hulk on Chad last night? Minus the green skin, though the eyes were definitely doing something weird."

Ethan's heart skipped. "Weird how?"

"Like..." Sonny waved a chocolate-glazed donut expressively. "Glowy? But sexy-glowy, not radioactive-glowy. The whole package was very intense. Pretty sure Chad's questioning some things about himself now."

"Great. That's... great." Ethan sat heavily in his desk chair. "Any other observations about my apparent transformation into a supernatural being?"

Sonny snorted. "Please. You've always been supernatural. The rest of us mere mortals have just been waiting for you to catch up." He paused, expression turning serious. "But for real, E. What's going on with you lately? And don't say nothing, because I've known you since freshman year and this—" he gestured at all of Ethan "—is not nothing."

"I don't know," Ethan admitted. It felt good to say it out loud, even as his skin prickled with that now-familiar restless energy. "I really don't. Everything's just... wrong. Like I'm turning into something else, but I don't know what."

"Hmm." Sonny studied him thoughtfully, licking chocolate from his fingers in a way that would have been distracting if Ethan wasn't currently having an existential crisis. "Well, whatever it is, it's making you even hotter, which I didn't think was possible. So there's that."

"Sonny."

"What? I'm being supportive! Also, objective. You've got this whole dangerous-but-beautiful thing going on now. Very Anne Rice."

"I'm not a vampire."

"Didn't say you were. Though that would explain why you've been bailing on Suzy's dinner invites. Her mom's garlic bread is legendary."

The mention of Suzy sent a fresh wave of guilt through him. "I should call her."

"You should tell her the truth," Sonny corrected. "Or at least some version of it that doesn't involve you maybe eating people."

"I don't eat people!"

"The night is young." Sonny's phone buzzed. "Speaking of your better half, guess who just texted me asking if you're free for coffee?"

Ethan's heart did something complicated in his chest. "Tell her I'm busy."

"Yeah, no. I'm not enabling your broody supernatural crisis anymore." Sonny typed rapidly. "I just told her you're at my place and would love to see her later. You're welcome."

"I hate you."

"You love me. Now go put on a shirt that shows off those abs you definitely didn't have last week, and try not to sprout fangs when she kisses you."

The birthmark itched again, a constant reminder that something inside him was changing. The carefully constructed walls between his normal life and whatever he was becoming were paper-thin now. Soon they'd tear completely.

And the thing that terrified him most? Part of him couldn't wait. Part of him yearned for whatever wild thing lived in his blood, even as the rest of him desperately clung to normalcy—to Suzy's sweet kisses and his mother's worried eyes and Sonny's unflagging loyalty.

His phone lit up with Suzy's text: "Be there in 10. We need to talk."

Yeah. They really, really did.