Chapter 7

Elowë's POV

I was still covering my mouth, trying not to throw up, trying to figure out what the hell he'd just done—who the fuck feeds someone blood during a kiss, what kind of psycho—

Then my head exploded.

Not literally. But it felt like it. Like someone had taken a crowbar to a door that had been rusted shut and just ripped it open. Light poured in. No, not light. Images. Memories.

They came in pieces. Jagged, sharp pieces that cut through my skull.

Forest. Dark forest. Trees so thick the moonlight barely got through. Branches scratching my face. My feet slipping on wet leaves. The smell of earth and rot and something else, something metallic that made my stomach turn.

And eyes.

Red eyes in the darkness.

I pressed my hands to my temples. The pressure didn't help. The images kept coming, faster now, like someone was flipping through a book too fast for me to read but I could still see the pictures.

Fur. Black fur. Claws that looked too long, too sharp. A shape that wasn't quite human anymore, stretched out wrong, joints bending in ways that shouldn't be possible.

Running. I was running. Shera was next to me, her hand gripping mine so hard it hurt. We were both running and something was behind us. Something that breathed too loud, that moved too fast.

My head was killing me. Each image felt like broken glass scraping against the inside of my skull.

I looked up.

He was still standing there. The man. Just watching me. Not moving. Not saying anything.

My voice came out hoarse. Shaking.

"I remember."

His expression didn't change. He just tilted his head slightly. Like he was waiting for me to keep talking.

"The forest. I remember. I saw you. You were there." My breathing was getting faster. I could feel my heart pounding. "You were in the forest. You... you turned into a wolf."

Still nothing. He didn't deny it. Didn't confirm it either. Just kept looking at me with those amber eyes.

I tried to piece it together. The fragments were still scattered in my head but I could feel them starting to connect.

"You chased us. Me and Shera. You turned into a wolf and you chased us—"

"Is that so? When you saw me," he said, his voice calm, almost casual, "was there someone with you?"

The way he said it. It wasn't really a question. It was like he was helping me remember. Guiding me toward something.

Was there?

I tried to think. Tried to pull up the memory of that moment, the one with the red eyes.

Another image slammed into me.

Shera. Sitting on the ground. Her face twisted in pain. Her ankle at a wrong angle.

"Go," she'd said. "Go to the rescue station. I'll hide here. I'll be fine. Just go."

The words came out before I could stop them.

"Shera. Shera hurt her ankle. She told me to go to the rescue station—"

I stopped. Looked at him.

Oh god. Shera.

"Is she here?" My voice cracked. "Did they bring her here too? Is she in this club?"

He looked at me for a moment. Then he shrugged, like it didn't really matter.

"I heard there was only one new girl tonight."

One new girl. Me. Just me.

So Shera was still out there. Still safe.

Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "Though your friend might not be safe either."

My brain was working overtime now. Trying to fit the pieces together. Trying to make sense of what I remembered.

"So we were hiking," I said, talking fast now, like if I said it out loud it would make more sense. "And we saw you. In the forest. You were changing into a wolf. And you chased us. And Shera hurt her ankle so I ran to the rescue station and then... then the guy there, the worker, he drugged me. He knocked me out."

I looked up at him. Waiting for him to tell me I was right. That I'd figured it out.

Instead he said, very calmly, "Not a werewolf."

I blinked. "What?"

His voice took on an edge. Not angry exactly, but definitely annoyed. Like I'd just insulted him.

"I'm not a werewolf. Werewolves are filthy creatures. Please don't compare me to them."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

My brain tried to adjust. Failed.

"Then... the guy at the rescue station. Was he a werewolf?"

"An Ash-bringer," Cassian said. "And one who works with werewolves."

I just stared at him. I had no idea what that meant.

He must have seen it on my face because he kept talking, his tone casual, like he was explaining something obvious.

"They handle cleanup. When humans see things they shouldn't. Most of them have normal jobs. Janitors. Security guards. Rescue station workers, maybe." He paused. "Some of them are police officers."

My blood went cold.

Police officers.

The cleaners on the street. The cops who'd driven past. The security guard at the hospital.

"You're saying..." I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't make myself say it out loud.

But I was thinking it. I was thinking that all those people, all those normal people I'd seen every day, some of them weren't people at all. Some of them were... what? Monsters? Things pretending to be human?

My head was too full. Too much information. Too many pieces that didn't fit together.

I took a breath. Forced myself to focus.

One question. Just ask one question.

"Then what are you?"

He looked at me. His eyes were steady. Calm. Like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

"My name is Cassian Asgard," he said. "I'm a vampire."

A vampire.

Right.

Sure.

A vampire.

Right. Sure. Just as good as a werewolf. A fucking vampire.

My brain started pulling up everything I'd ever heard. Fangs. Blood. They fed on humans. Drank blood to survive. Immortal. Unkillable.

And I was locked in a room with one.

I looked at his mouth. Tried to see if there were fangs. Couldn't tell from this distance.

Then my hand went to my throat. Instinctive. Protective. Because that's where they bit, right? That's where they drank.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

My heart was hammering now. Actually hammering. Because I was standing three feet away from something that fed on human blood and I was human and there was blood in my veins and oh god oh god oh god—

I couldn't stay in this room. I couldn't be here. Not with him. Not with something that probably looked at me and saw food.

I didn't think. I just moved.

I stood up fast, so fast my head spun. Shoved him. Hard. With both hands against his chest.

He stepped back. Just one step. His expression shifted. Surprise, maybe. Like he hadn't expected me to actually touch him.

I didn't wait. I turned and ran.

Three steps to the door. My hand shot out. Grabbed the handle. Cold metal against my palm.

I pushed down.

And then I couldn't move.

Not like my legs gave out. Not like I was tired. I just... stopped. Froze. Like someone had hit pause on my entire body.

My ankles. My wrists. Something was holding them. Squeezing. Not tight enough to hurt but tight enough that I couldn't pull away.

I looked down.

My shadow.

My own shadow on the floor. It was moving. Rising up. Peeling itself off the ground like it was made of something solid, something real.

It wrapped around my ankles. My wrists. Climbed up my arms like hands, like fingers made of darkness.

I tried to scream.

The shadow covered my mouth.