Chapter 6
870words
I waited on the porch at dawn, sleep impossible after last night's encounter. Those golden eyes at the forest edge, the silver markings appearing on my skin, the howl that seemed to call to something inside me—all of it felt like stepping into one of my own novels.
When Kieran appeared at the edge of the property, I noticed his exhaustion immediately. Somehow, I could hear his heartbeat from yards away.
"You look terrible," I said.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"Rough night."
I stepped aside to let him enter, watching how he paused at the threshold—this house had once belonged to a man who hunted his kind.
"Coffee?" I offered, moving toward the kitchen, needing something normal to ground me.
"Please."
I focused on measuring grounds and heating water, my hands only slightly trembling. The writer in me was already forming questions, categorizing observations, looking for patterns.
"So," I said, sliding a mug toward him, "werewolves are real."
"Yes."
"And you're one of them."
"Yes."
"And my mother was..."
He took a deep breath. "Half-werewolf. She came here to escape that life, met your father, who was a hunter. They fell in love despite everything."
I gripped my mug tighter. "What happened to her?"
"My uncle Thomas lost control during a full moon. Your mother tried to stop him from attacking a camping family. He killed her before anyone could intervene."
Something flashed through me—rage, grief, understanding—and I felt my eyes grow hot. In the window's reflection, I caught a glimpse of golden light where my green irises should be.
"Your uncle killed my mother?" My voice sounded strange, deeper.
"Yes. And my father killed him for it." Kieran's gaze remained steady. "The Shaw pack has a code. We protect humans, not harm them."
"Is that why you left? Eighteen years ago?"
"Partly. After what happened, hunters were coming. But I also left to protect you."
"From what?"
"From me." The raw honesty in his voice made me look up. "I was sixteen, just beginning to transform. I couldn't control it then. And I was drawn to you in ways I didn't understand. Your scent, your energy—because of your bloodline."
I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the silver lines that had spread overnight. "These markings... what's happening to me?"
He gently took my arm, his touch making the markings glow. "You're part werewolf, El. Not enough to fully transform, but enough to have certain traits. Being near me is triggering them to manifest."
"You mean you're activating something in my DNA?"
"Yes. The full moon accelerates it."
I pulled away, needing space. "This is insane. I write fiction about this stuff." My voice rose with panic. "This isn't supposed to be real. I'm not supposed to be—" I couldn't even say the word.
"El—"
"No!" I backed away, knocking over a chair. "I'm a writer. I observe. I create. I don't become the monster in the story!"
"You're not a monster," he said quietly.
"Then what am I?" I demanded, holding up my arms where the silver markings pulsed. "What is this happening to me?"
"Maybe that's why you write what you write," he suggested gently. "Some part of you always knew."
I thought about my novels—all featuring protagonists with hidden powers, characters discovering they weren't who they thought they were. Had I been unconsciously writing my own story all along?
I sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. "I can't be this. I have a life, a career. I can't be running through forests howling at the moon."
"That's not what this means," Kieran said, kneeling before me. "You're still you, El. Just... more."
I looked at him, this man who had carried this secret his entire life. "How do you do it? Live with this?"
"One day at a time," he answered honestly. "It gets easier."
"And if I don't want it? If I want to go back to being just human?"
Pain flashed across his features. "It doesn't work that way. This is your bloodline. It's always been part of you, whether you knew it or not."
I closed my eyes, trying to process everything. When I opened them, I made a decision. "Show me," I interrupted. "Not the full transformation—I saw enough last night. Show me the in-between. The man and the wolf."
Slowly, he closed his eyes. I watched, fascinated, as subtle changes rippled across his features—canines lengthened, fingernails thickened into claws, his spine shifted. When he opened his eyes, they glowed amber.
I stepped closer, studying him. "Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore," he answered, voice deeper. "Not when I control it."
My fingers traced the sharpened angle of his jaw, then touched his extended canines. He caught my wrist, careful of his claws.
"Don't," he warned. "My control isn't perfect."
"What if I don't want your control?" I pulled up my sleeve, showing how the silver markings had spread. "What's happening to me, Kieran? And don't tell me it's too dangerous. I've spent my life writing about people facing the impossible. Now it's my turn."
His amber eyes searched mine. "You always were braver than you knew."
"Not brave," I corrected. "Just tired of running from my own story."
