Evelyn
The howl still echoed in my chest as Lucian turned sharply, his eyes flashing gold in the dying light. I'd never seen anyone move that fast — or stop so still.
My voice was barely a whisper. "That wasn't you."
"No," he said, jaw tight. "It's him."
The rogue.
Lucian scanned the horizon like a soldier expecting an ambush. The change in him was terrifying — not just the glow of his eyes or how he tensed like a beast coiled to strike, but something deeper. Primal. Like he wasn't fully… Lucian anymore.
"I need to get you home," he muttered. "Now."
But I didn't move. "Tell me what you are."
He flinched. His lips parted, but no words came out.
"Say it," I whispered.
He looked at me — truly looked — and I saw a flicker of fear. Not for himself. For me.
Then, finally: "A werewolf."
The word didn't feel real in my ears.
But somehow, I didn't laugh. I didn't scream. Because something inside me had known all along. I'd seen the shift under his skin. The glow in the dark. The growl that shook the air when I was in danger.
He wasn't lying. He never had been.
And that terrified me more than anything.
⸻
We walked fast, not talking. Not touching. But I could feel him buzzing beside me — like he was holding himself together with threads.
The woods were darker now. The sun had disappeared behind the hills, and the forest began to breathe differently. Sharper. Harsher. Like we didn't belong here anymore.
Suddenly, Lucian stopped.
His breath hitched. He turned toward the trees — fast, alert.
I saw the moment it happened: the smell. He went rigid. His nostrils flared. His pupils blew wide.
"What is it?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"Lucian?"
Then he groaned — low, guttural — and staggered back a step, gripping his head like it hurt to exist in his own skin.
"I can't—" he gasped. "You need to go. Now."
I didn't move. "What's wrong?"
He dropped to his knees.
Bones cracked under his jacket. His spine arched like he was being pulled backward by invisible strings.
He was shifting.
Right in front of me.
His fingers curled like claws as he slammed his hands into the ground, panting. His back rose in uneven jerks. His breathing sounded inhuman — like growls caught between ribs.
"Lucian!" I rushed forward. "Stop! Fight it!"
His head snapped up — and his eyes were no longer his.
Not gold. Not brown. Just black.
A low snarl escaped his throat.
"Please…" I whispered, falling to my knees in front of him. "It's me. Evelyn."
He flinched at my voice. The growl stuttered in his throat. His hands trembled — claws still halfway out, but not advancing.
"You know me," I whispered. "You're not going to hurt me."
For a moment, everything stopped.
His eyes shifted — just for a heartbeat — back to gold.
Then, slowly, his body relaxed. The claws retracted. The bones cracked again as he fought the shift down, bit by bit, like every second of control cost him a piece of himself.
He collapsed on his side, gasping.
I touched his cheek. It was burning.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "You shouldn't have seen that."
"But I did."
"And you didn't run."
I held his gaze. "Should I have?"
He let out a broken laugh that sounded more like a sob.
Before he could say more, his phone buzzed. He grabbed it.
His face went pale.
"What?" I asked, standing up.
He read the message aloud: "Body found behind the library. Male. Mauled. Unidentified attack marks."
My heart stopped. "That's at school."
Lucian looked up at me, his voice cold and shaking. "It's the rogue. He didn't just leave a warning this time. He's made his first kill."
Lucian
We raced toward the edge of the woods, staying just out of sight, just beyond the streets. I stayed half-shifted, every sense on alert. The rogue was still close — I could feel him in my bones.
He'd crossed a line now. First deer. Now a boy.
A human.
The town would never cover this up like the others. Not this time.
Evelyn's face was pale as moonlight when we finally saw the red-and-blue flash of sirens down the hill.
She spoke without looking at me. "Do you think it's someone I know?"
I hesitated. "I don't know."
But I had a horrible feeling we were both thinking the same thing.
⸻
It was later that night, in a whisper-filled group chat, that the name finally dropped.
Mark.
Mark Dawson. Seventeen. No enemies. No drama. Just a quiet boy who worked part-time in the library after hours and occasionally helped people with research.
Evelyn's classmate. Her friend.
She stared at her phone in silence. Her hands shook.
"I just saw him two days ago," she whispered. "He told me he'd help me look into the old Blackthorn fire. He was going to send me the records."
My heart sank.
The rogue hadn't just attacked randomly.
He'd killed on purpose. Someone connected to Evelyn. Someone who knew too much.
This wasn't a warning anymore.
It was a challenge.
And I knew what he was saying, loud and clear:
She's mine now.
Evelyn
That night, I didn't sleep.
I couldn't.
Mark's face haunted me. His smile, that stupid way he always tripped over words when talking to girls. I kept thinking — maybe if I hadn't gotten him involved, maybe if I hadn't asked him for help—
"Stop blaming yourself," Lucian said, sitting beside me on my front porch.
"I got him killed," I whispered. "He was helping me."
"You didn't do this. The rogue did."
"But he's doing it because of me, isn't he?"
Lucian didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
I looked at him. The boy who wasn't just a boy. Who nearly became a beast in front of me. Who could still lose control.
And yet, I wasn't afraid.
I was already too far in.
"Lucian," I said softly, "If I'm the reason this is happening… then I need to know everything. About you. About him. All of it."
He looked at me — really looked — and for the first time, didn't hesitate.
"Okay."