he sun was already going down when Blake stepped through the front door. His hoodie was damp with sweat, his breathing heavy from the run through the preserve. His skin still burned where Thorne's voice had hit him hardest. But what burned worse was the silence.
His dad looked up from the couch, beer already in hand.
"Where the hell you been?" he barked.
Blake didn't answer. He walked past him, heading toward the hallway.
"I asked you a question," his dad said louder, standing.
"I don't owe you anything," Blake muttered.
"What'd you say to me?"
Blake didn't turn around. "You heard me."
The can hit him in the shoulder. Cold beer exploded across his back. He stopped.
"Acting all high and mighty now?" his dad growled. "You think you're some kind of badass? Disappearing for days, sneaking around like a damn criminal?"
Blake turned slowly. "I'm trying to protect you."
His dad scoffed. "From what? Yourself?"
Blake stepped closer. "You wouldn't understand."
The fist came without warning. Cracked against Blake's jaw. He staggered back, grabbed the table to stay upright. Pain flared—and something else.
The sound of his dad's heartbeat. Loud. Fast. Angry.
Blake's breathing slowed. His vision sharpened. Everything grew clearer. Brighter.
His dad swung again.
Blake caught his wrist mid-air.
Their eyes locked. Blake's fingers tightened.
And that's when it happened.
His eyes glowed gold.
A low growl rumbled from deep in his throat.
Behind his dad, a mirror. Blake caught a glimpse of himself.
Golden eyes. Sharpened teeth. Claws.
He recoiled, horrified, stumbling back. His claws scraped the wall.
"What the hell—what the hell are you?!" his dad shouted.
Blake backed away, shaking. "I didn't mean to—"
"You're a monster," his dad hissed. "Your eyes—your hands! Get out of my house!"
"Dad—"
"Get out! Don't come back! You hear me?! Don't you ever come back!"
Blake didn't wait to hear more.
He ran.
The preserve swallowed him.
Night had fallen completely. The moon was nearly full, glowing low behind the trees.
Blake screamed into the woods. "Thorne! Where are you?! Come out!"
His voice echoed.
"I need you to fix this!" he yelled. "Turn me back! I almost killed my dad! He saw me—my eyes—my claws!"
Nothing.
Then—
Thorne stepped from the shadows like he'd been there the whole time. Calm. Still. Watching.
"I warned you," he said.
"Fix it!" Blake shouted. "Take it back! I don't want this!"
"You think this is a curse?" Thorne said coldly. "This is power. This is who you were meant to be."
"My dad saw me! He knows! You have to do something!"
Thorne's eyes glowed red. "Then kill him."
Blake froze. "What?"
"If he knows what you are, he's a threat. He'll expose you. Hunters will come. You'll burn down everyone you care about just to stay hidden."
Blake's voice shook. "I don't care if he hates me. I'm not going to kill him."
"Then I will," Thorne said. "And I'll enjoy it."
Blake snapped.
He lunged.
They collided hard, fists flying. Blake fought like he'd never fought before, instincts taking over. Every movement felt faster, harder, more precise. But Thorne wasn't even trying. He parried easily, dodged with effortless grace.
"You're still holding back," Thorne said.
"I'll kill you!" Blake roared.
His body changed mid-swing.
Fangs. Claws. His face shifted.
He snarled—no longer just Blake. Something else. Something more.
Thorne smiled.
Pop.
His claws came out.
One brutal swipe.
Slash. Across Blake's chest. Blood sprayed the leaves.
Then Thorne brought down a heavy elbow to Blake's neck.
Darkness.
When Blake woke, the moon was higher.
His chest burned, still bleeding. The wound was healing, but slowly.
He staggered to his feet, pain in every step.
He ran.
Branches whipped past him. His vision blurred. The wound throbbed. He didn't care.
His house came into view.
Then—
Police lights.
Blue and red flashing against the night.
Squad cars lined the street. Yellow tape across the yard.
Blake stopped in the shadows, heart pounding.
Something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.