Blake didn't sleep the night after running from Mr. Thorne.
He lay in bed with his eyes open, every muscle in his body tense, like his skin was waiting for something to crawl out from under it. The shadows in his room seemed to move when he wasn't looking, and every creak in the house made him sit up straight. When the sun finally rose, he was already dressed and pacing.
The bite mark on his side had faded into faint lines, like a memory his skin wasn't ready to let go of. But the real wound wasn't visible. It pulsed deep in his chest, a pressure that grew by the hour.
He didn't talk to his dad. Didn't eat. Just slipped out the door and kept walking. He didn't even know where he was going—he just needed to move.
He stuck to back alleys and side streets, avoiding people, avoiding noise. Every car that passed made him flinch. Every barking dog made his pulse spike.
And always, in the corners of his vision, he felt it.
Someone watching him.
He looked over his shoulder a dozen times. No one was there. But the feeling never left.
By noon, the sun was high and hot. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, but his skin was cold.
He stopped at a gas station to buy a bottle of water, but as he reached into his pocket, the clerk suddenly looked up.
"Hey! You alright, kid?"
Blake froze. "What?"
"You're bleeding."
Blake looked down.
His fingernails had dug into the palm of his hand so hard, he'd broken the skin. Blood dripped in small, dark dots onto the tile floor.
He dropped the bottle and left without a word.
That night, the dreams came.
He was in the woods. Running. But he wasn't afraid.
He was chasing something.
The trees blurred past, his lungs filled with cold air that didn't burn. His legs moved without effort. His body felt right.
Then—
He pounced. Something warm, soft, breathing.
His teeth sank into it. The taste of blood hit his tongue like fire.
Blake jolted awake, gasping.
His sheets were twisted, soaked with sweat. His hands were clenched. His canines felt longer.
He stumbled to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror.
Pale. Wild-eyed. A cut on his lip. He touched his teeth—normal. But for a second, he could've sworn…
He splashed cold water on his face. Again. Again. Until his reflection calmed.
This isn't real, he told himself.
But it was. And deep down, he knew it.
The next evening, Blake couldn't take the silence anymore.
He went back to the preserve. Back to the place it started.
The trees welcomed him like old ghosts, and the deeper he went, the more the noise of the town faded away. He passed the claw marks in the tree and stopped.
They were still there. Raw. Deep. Unnatural.
He reached out and touched the bark.
That's when he heard it.
A branch snap. Soft. Deliberate.
Blake turned slowly.
Nothing.
Another snap. Closer.
His heartbeat picked up. He took a step back.
And then he saw him.
Mr. Thorne.
Standing between the trees, arms at his sides, face expressionless. No smile this time.
"You can't run forever, Blake," he said.
Blake didn't move. "Why are you following me?"
Thorne stepped forward, not breaking eye contact. "Because you're mine. You were marked the moment I bit you."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Doesn't matter. The moon doesn't wait for permission. It pulls. It calls. You've felt it."
Blake clenched his fists. "Stay away from me."
"You're afraid," Thorne said, stepping closer. "Not of me. Of what's waking up inside you."
Blake's breathing quickened. "I'm not like you."
Thorne's eyes flashed red.
"Yes, you are."
Suddenly, he was right in front of Blake. Too fast. Too close. He didn't touch him—just stood there, staring down at him.
Blake's instincts screamed. Every muscle in his body told him to run. But something deeper wanted to stand and fight.
"You think you can resist it," Thorne whispered. "But when the next full moon rises, you'll either be a wolf... or a corpse."
Blake's voice shook. "Why me?"
"Because I saw the fight in you. The rage. The fire. You've always been a wolf. I just made it real."
Blake's jaw clenched. "I'm not part of your pack."
"You'll come to me," Thorne said. "They always do."
Blake turned and ran.
This time, Thorne didn't follow.
But the woods felt colder now.
And the moon was rising.