Work felt almost the same as always. I sat at my station, repairing another inverter board, just like I had a hundred times before. My hands moved on autopilot, soldering resistors and swapping out capacitors, but my mind was elsewhere.
It was strange—my life had changed so much, yet somehow not at all. I was still just a factory technician fixing machine components. Only now, I was a werewolf.
I thought back to the night I was attacked. I'd fired a shotgun point-blank into that creature's chest. Back then, I thought I killed it. Now I knew the truth—that kind of wound was barely an inconvenience to a werewolf. That was terrifying.
And then there was the full moon. Even without seeing it, I'd be forced to transform. I hadn't lost control yet, but I couldn't take that risk in public. I'd have to make sure I was always home when it happened.
Worse than that, there was the news. Some lunatic—or maybe a whole group—was capturing werewolves and vampires, starving them until they were half-mad, and then releasing them. Thinking about it still made my stomach turn. A week ago, I didn't even know werewolves were real. Now I was one, and I was stuck in the middle of this mess. Everything had escalated so fast, I could barely process it.
That night, I was walking home after grabbing dinner with Selene near her clinic when I saw it. A white van screeched to a stop ahead of me, and two men jumped out. They grabbed a young man off the sidewalk, jabbing a syringe into his neck before trying to drag him into the back.
My blood ran cold. Not again.
I sprinted toward them, shifting my appearance mid-run into my late English teacher—the same face I'd used when I rescued the baby from the burning house. Better to keep suspicion off Daniel Cole.
By the time I reached them, the victim was half-unconscious. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the back doors of the van and tore them clean off their hinges.
The two men turned toward me, guns raised. They didn't even get the chance to fire. I lunged, catching each by the throat, and slammed them onto the asphalt. Both went limp instantly—unconscious but alive.
I looked down at the fainted kid and realized what he was. His scent was unmistakable. Werewolf. Just like me.
Pulling out my phone, I called Selene.
"Got a problem," I said. "Two men tried to kidnap a werewolf. I've got them tied up, and I'm bringing them in. Get Damien."
Her voice sharpened. "Bring them to the clinic. I'll prepare."
I shoved the two unconscious men into the back of their own van, tied their hands with whatever I could find, and drove straight to Selene's place.
By the time I arrived, Selene was waiting with Damien Holt. She rushed the young werewolf inside, checking him over with calm efficiency. "He's sedated," she muttered. "But he'll recover."
Damien stepped forward, his presence heavy. He glanced at the tied-up men, then at me. "Good work," he said simply. "But don't get comfortable. These two are just henchmen. Whoever's behind this—they're still out there."
Selene finished treating the boy and handed him over to Damien's care. The pack leader guided the shaken youth outside, his voice low and steady. I stayed behind, watching from the doorway, a knot tightening in my chest.
I wanted to believe this nightmare was over, that tonight was just a fluke. But Damien's words echoed in my head. These men are pawns. The real enemy is still out there.
I walked home with that thought gnawing at me, the weight of too many questions pressing down harder than ever.