Desmond's body ached from another brutal training session. Elias didn't hold back, and that was exactly what he needed.
He sat at his desk later that night, running a hand through his hair. His mind wasn't on training, though. It was on them.
The werewolves.
One had saved him. But why?
He had been looking into them for days now—reading between the lines of Forks' history, the old Quileute legends. The deeper he dug, the more uneasy he felt.
The stories didn't just paint them as protectors.
Some of them were monsters, too.
Elias' Warning
A knock on the window startled him.
Desmond turned sharply, already reaching for the knife he kept on his desk. But then he saw Elias standing outside, arms crossed.
With a sigh, he got up and opened it. "Ever heard of using the front door?"
Elias smirked. "Yeah, but this is more fun."
Desmond didn't laugh. "What do you want?"
Elias stepped inside, his face turning serious. "You've been asking around."
Desmond leaned against the desk. "And?"
Elias sighed. "You think just because a werewolf saved you, they're the good guys?"
Desmond frowned. "Aren't they?"
Elias shook his head. "It's not that simple."
He walked over to the window, staring into the darkness.
"They're not like vampires, sure. They don't hunt humans. But that doesn't mean they won't kill you if you cross them."
Desmond tensed. "So what are you saying?"
Elias turned to him, eyes unreadable. "I'm saying don't go looking for them like they're your new best friends. They saved you for their own reasons. Doesn't mean they won't tear your throat out if they decide you're a problem."
Desmond swallowed.
Elias wasn't the type to exaggerate.
So why did it feel like he was holding something back?