He grabbed her, his hand clamping around her throat like a steel trap. Her weak frame buckled under his strength as he slammed her onto the icy concrete, the impact jarring her bones and stealing her breath. Gasping, she clutched at her chest, vision swimming with bursts of light that flickered like a glitching screen.
"Why are you doing this?!" Her voice cracked, raw with panic.
She clawed at the ground, dragging herself away from him, every inch a desperate fight for survival. Her trembling hands scraped against the rough pavement, nails splitting as she tried to escape his looming shadow. But his voice cut through the night, sharp and cold, slicing her fragile hope to shreds.
"It's tradition," he said, his tone flat, devoid of humanity. He peeled off his gym shirt, revealing a physique carved like it belonged on a billboard—muscles taut, skin catching the dim glow of the streetlights in a way that felt almost unnatural.
Then, the air shifted. A sickening crack echoed as his body began to change. Bones snapped and stretched, his form twisting into something grotesque, something that didn't belong in the world she knew. His once-chiseled features warped, elongating into a nightmare that defied reality.
The thing that was once a man towered over her, its eyes black voids pulsing with hatred. Fangs gleamed where teeth should have been, sharp and hungry. Claws sprouted from its hands, each one glinting with a cruel promise of pain.
Her screams tore through the night, a raw, desperate plea that went unanswered. She knew, deep in her gut, that mercy wasn't coming.
The creature's grip tightened on her throat, cutting off her air. She thrashed, kicking and clawing with every ounce of strength she had, but it was like fighting a machine. Her limbs felt heavy, useless against the monster pinning her to the ground.
Without warning, its fangs sank into her shoulder. Pain exploded through her, a white-hot fire that burned down to her core. She screamed, the sound ragged and broken as blood poured from the wound, pooling beneath her in a warm, sticky mess.
It pulled back, its face now smeared with her blood. Those once-blue eyes glowed a sickly gold, brimming with venomous rage. Before she could process the horror, its claws ripped into her shoulder again, tearing flesh with savage precision. Agony surged through her, a wildfire that consumed every thought, every hope, leaving only pain.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the creature shifted back. He stood over her, human again, naked and smug, his grin dripping with arrogance. He wiped at the blood on his face, smearing it across his skin like war paint.
He crouched down, grabbing her hair and yanking her head up to meet his gaze. His icy blue eyes bored into hers, sending a fresh jolt of terror through her. "You really think the gods would pair me with someone like you? A weak little human?" His voice was laced with disgust, each word a blade.
She struggled, her body screaming in protest, but his knee pinned her leg, trapping her. A low, mocking laugh escaped him as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her face. She fought harder, desperation fueling her, but it was futile.
"I, Jason, Alpha of Hollow Creek," he spat. "Because you're nothing but an insult to my bloodline. I reject you as my mate, my Luna—everything."
Her mind reeled, the words hitting like a punch. Was this some twisted prank? It felt like a scene ripped from one of those over-the-top werewolf stories her friends used to binge online. But before she could process it, a searing pain exploded in her chest, sharp and suffocating. Her vision blurred, her lungs seized, and darkness swallowed her whole.
When she came to, she was sprawled across a massive bed, the kind you'd see in a luxury penthouse. Her neck throbbed, each pulse a stab of pain. Muffled voices floated through the haze, distant but urgent.
She cracked her eyes open, just enough to see two figures nearby. One —a doctor, maybe. The other was him, unmistakable even through her fog of pain. His voice was tight with something like panic, a stark contrast to his earlier cruelty.
"What's wrong with her? Her heart stopped!"
The doctor's tone was steady but grave. "Alpha," he said, bowing slightly, "I need to speak to your human mind. Please."
A guttural snarl ripped from Alder's throat. "No. Whatever you've got to say, say it to me. Now."
The doctor's voice dropped, heavy with meaning. "You bit her under a blood moon. Her body's rejecting the mark. Between that, the blood loss, and your rejection, she's barely holding on."
She stayed still, pretending to be out, every word sinking into her like lead. She had to get out. Now. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she forced herself upright, a groan slipping out as her body protested. Stumbling to the window, she shoved it open, the cold air hitting her like a slap.
Her legs gave out as she reached the grass outside, collapsing in a heap. A relentless beeping filled her ears, mingling with the agony in her chest. She coughed, clutching her ribs, each breath a struggle to keep herself together.
Through the haze, she felt arms wrap around her, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She couldn't open her eyes, couldn't fight anymore. Time blurred, and when she finally registered being carried, cradled against someone's chest, she was too far gone to care who it was. She just wanted it to end.