Roxanne

They say you never forget the moment your life changes forever.

For me, it was the scent of burning wood mixed with blood.

I was only ten, but I remember everything like it’s carved into my bones. The way the night air felt too cold for summer, the flicker of flames dancing against the dark sky, and the screams—God, the screams still echo in my head. My mother’s voice, sharp with terror, my father’s desperate roars, and my little brother’s cries fading too fast.

I was hiding in the closet, just like my mom told me to. "Don’t make a sound, Roxanne," she whispered, her fingers trembling as she tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, stay quiet."

I did.

I stayed quiet when the door crashed open.

I stayed quiet when the snarling started.

I stayed quiet when the blood splattered across the floor, creeping like dark vines toward the closet where I hid.

But I’ll never forget the sound—the wet, tearing sound of teeth sinking into flesh. The growls weren’t like anything human. They were low, guttural, monstrous. I peeked through the slats of the closet door, just for a second. Long enough to see claws where hands should’ve been, glowing eyes like molten gold, and blood dripping from sharp, curved fangs.

That night, I learned one thing: monsters are real.

And they destroyed my family.

I survived, but I didn’t live. Not really.

I existed, fueled by one thing—rage.

I remember a fire had started and the fire spread fast. The heat licked at the wooden beams, smoke curling toward the ceiling like a living thing. My lungs burned with every breath, but I didn't move. I didn't make a sound.

Through the slats of the closet door, I saw my father fight. He wasn't a weak man-he was strong, the kind of strong that made me believe nothing could ever hurt us. But against them, even he didn't stand a chance.

His silver knife flashed in the firelight as he slashed at the monster closest to him. The blade cut deep, carving into its side, but the creature didn't even flinch. It let out a low, guttural laugh, something almost human but twisted with something darker. Then, faster than I could blink, it lunged.

The next few seconds burned into my memory like a brand.

The sound of ribs cracking. The way my father's body jerked as claws ripped through him. The strangled, wet gasp he made before his legs gave out beneath him.

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, choking on a sob.

My mother screamed his name. She tried to run to him, but another one of them grabbed her, yanking her back by the hair. She fought-kicking, clawing, even biting-but she was no match.

And my little brother-God, my little brother.

He was only six. Too young to understand what was happening. He just stood there, barefoot on the wooden floor, his wide brown eyes filled with confusion and fear.

"Mommy?" his small voice wavered.

She tried to reach for him. "Run, Caleb! Run!"

He didn't.

He never got the chance.

A clawed hand struck out, too fast to stop. Caleb let out a small, surprised sound as the blow knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, his little body crumpling like a broken doll.

Something inside me cracked.

I wanted to scream. To throw open the closet door. To tear them apart with my bare hands. But I was frozen-paralyzed by fear, by the overwhelming helplessness clawing at my chest.

Then I heard the worst sound of all.

Laughter.

Low. Cruel.

The monsters were laughing.

Like it was all a game.

Something inside me snapped.

My fingers curled into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms. My heart pounded like war drums in my ears. I wanted to move, to fight, to do something.

But I was ten. And I was too weak to stop it.

I stayed there, in that closet, while my family was slaughtered.

And when it was over-when the last scream had faded, when the fire had swallowed what was left of my home-l finally forced myself to move.

The closet door creaked open.

The bodies lay motionless, bathed in firelight. Blood stained the wooden floor, seeping into the cracks.

I stepped out on shaky legs, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Then I saw it.

A silver knife. My father's knife.

I dropped to my knees and grabbed it, the metal still warm from his grip. The weight of it felt unnatural in my hands, too heavy for a child.

But I wasn't a child anymore.

I clenched my fingers around the handle, my nails digging into the worn leather.

And in that moment, I made a vow.

A whispered promise to the dead.

"I will kill them all."

The flames roared higher, swallowing my home in an inferno of smoke and ash.

I didn't look back.

I walked into the night, the knife gripped tight in my hand, and swore I would never stop until every single one of them was dead.

Present Day

The cold wind cut through the alleyway, sharp as a blade.

I crouched low behind a dumpster, my breath steady, my grip firm on the silver dagger in my hand.

The werewolf was close. I could hear the slow, measured footsteps echoing against the brick walls. Smell the damp musk of fur and blood.

A rookie hunter would've rushed in blind.

I wasn't a rookie.

I waited.

The werewolf moved into the light. He was big-bigger than most-but that didn't scare me. I'd killed bigger.

He turned his head slightly, sniffing the air. His sharp, golden eyes narrowed.

He knew I was here.

Good.

I stepped into view. "Looking for someone?"

His lips curled into a sneer. "A little late for a girl like you to be out alone, isn't it?"

I twirled the dagger in my fingers. "Funny. I was about to say the same to you."

His smirk faltered. "You should walk away."

I lunged.

Fast. Precise.

The silver blade sliced across his chest before he could react. He roared in pain, staggering back, clutching the wound as blackened blood seeped through his shirt.

I didn't give him time to recover.

A kick to the ribs. A sharp twist of the blade. Another cut-this one deep, aimed straight for his throat.

But he was fast.

He dodged, barely missing my strike. Then he lunged.

I hit the ground hard, my breath knocked out of me. His claws slashed down, missing my face by inches as I rolled away.

Damn it.

I sprang to my feet just as he did the same.

We circled each other, both waiting for an opening.

"You're good," he admitted, breathing hard.

I didn't respond. I was already moving.

One feint. A second. Then I drove the dagger deep into his side.

He let out a strangled gasp, his body jerking as the silver burned through him.

I leaned in close. "You should've walked away."

With one last twist of the blade, he crumpled to the ground.

Silence.

Then, a slow clap echoed through the alley.

I spun around, dagger raised.

A man stood at the entrance, half-hidden in the shadows.

Tall. Lean.

Dangerous.

His dark eyes gleamed in the dim light, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

"Impressive," he said, his voice smooth as silk.

I didn't lower my weapon. "Who the hell are you?"

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with something that looked almost like

amusement.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Before I could respond, he turned and disappeared into the night.

I stared after him, every instinct screaming that this wasn't over.

Not even close.

And I was right.

Because that night, everything changed.

Forever.