A figure materialized from thin air just as the knives slammed into the wall and fell with a loud clatter to the floor. Isla stumbled backwards, her heart hammering. Her breath caught in her throat and every instinct in her screamed danger. The intruder was a woman, if she could even be called that. Her eyes glowed with yellow, feline-like pupils. She had no eyebrows, and her lips were a glossy pitch-black, stretched into an eerie, unsettling smile.
"Who are you?" Isla whispered, her voice barely audible.
The woman didn't answer at first. She tilted her head, her creepy smile deepening. That smile was everything but warm. It was the kind that sent goosebumps spreading across Isla's skin.
"Did I startle you? I apologize," the woman said, her voice an unnatural baritone. It was low and distorted like a man's.
"You haven't answered my question," Isla shot back, masking the tremble in her limbs with anger.
"Mora," the strange peesonality said. "That's my name. I bring a message."
A message? Isla's gaze dropped to the knives now lying on the floor. Those were knives that had been thrown directly at her. What kind of messenger arrived with weapons drawn?
"You must return the property to its rightful owner," Mora continued, lifting a clawed hand to point directly at Isla's chest. "If you don't, it will corrode your mind. It will destroy everything."
Isla frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"You're not strong enough to be its vessel. Others will hunt you for it. Return it while you still have the chance."
Then, with an effortless motion, Mora extended her hands. The knives rose from the ground and flew into her grip as though they were being pulled by an unseen force. The moment her fingers closed around them, she vanished. And if Isla didn't know better, she would have believed that she had been hallucinating.
Isla was left staring at the space where she'd stood, her breathing ragged and her thoughts spiraling.
Isla was indeed a werewolf, a creature regarded as a supernatural. But never in her life had she encountered such a mysterious personality before. It left her at a loss of what to do. It didn't help that her message had been vague as well.
A knock startled her out of her thoughts. She turned sharply towards the door, tension tightening in her gut.
Releasing a shaky breath, she opened it.
A man stood there. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His ash-blonde hair was tapered low and neatly styled. His sharp blue eyes were cold and unreadable. He was striking in the kind of way that made Isla forget how to breathe for a moment, but it was the grim set of his jaw that kept her guarded.
"Can I help you?" she asked, gripping the towel tightly around her body.
"Come downstairs for dinner," he said, his voice raspy and indifferent.
"And you are?" she asked, frowning.
"Gael. The pack's Gamma," he replied, already turning to walk away. She noticed the fresh bandages wrapped around his right forearm and felt a strange twinge of concern.
Once she was fully dressed, Isla descended the stairs. The sight that met her made her pause. They were all seated at the long table, waiting...for her.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. The weight of their attention was suffocating.
As she made her way towards an empty seat beside Maia, the blue-eyed Gamma from earlier cleared his throat.
"Not there, ma'am," Gael said flatly.
Biting the inside of her cheek, Isla shifted course and sat next to Dominic.
She could feel him watching her, his gaze sizzling like heat that was pressed against her skin. He didn't speak, but the air between them was heavy with unspoken words. And it made her more than just uneasy.
"Let's begin," Dominic said, his voice deep and commanding. The room stirred with movement.
A few Omegas shuffled into the dining room to serve the meal. Their heads were lowered in respect. They moved quickly and quietly, and they bowed before retreating.
Now that Isla took a good look, everyone around the table was beautiful. Too beautiful. It felt as though she was sitting among predators.
"The food won't eat itself," Dominic murmured beside her, and she forced out a tight smile, picking up her utensils.
After the meal, she left the dining room, eager to escape. The day had drained her in ways she couldn't explain. She just wanted to be alone, far from Dominic's gaze and whatever danger still lingered in the corners of this place.
"You don't have to make it so obvious that you can't stand me," came his voice, sudden and close behind her.
She cursed under her breath. So much for escaping unnoticed.
"Don't you have better things to do?" she said, keeping her eyes forward.
"I know we agreed that this marriage was for convenience. But I—"
She stopped and spun around with fire in her eyes, cutting him off. "I already made myself clear, didn't I?"
"If you change your mind… my room's the last one down the hall," he said.
Her glare sharpened. "Stop. Don't you dare act like this is normal. You're not going to seduce me into your bed again, Dominic. Whatever this is, it started with lies."
He blinked, his expression softening. And for a moment, something cracked through his cold exterior. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't have to be so harsh, Lily."
Isla froze, every muscle in her body stiffening.
Lily.
Only one person had ever called her that. And he was gone, dead.
Her throat tightened, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
"Don't call me that again," she said flatly. The pain in Dominic's eyes was instant. He looked… wounded.
She frowned. "Are you alright?"
He nodded, looking away.
"You know your way to your room, don't you?" he muttered, ending the conversation.
She turned and walked away. She didn't look back until she heard the sound of coughing behind her.
Dominic was doubled over.
Her breath caught as she saw the blood streaking his palm when he straightened. Panic twisted in her gut. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
And it was only getting worse.
She tried to shake it off once she was back in her room. But it lingered.
...
Isla awoke later at night to an uncomfortable feeling, a pressure on her chest. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed at her temples and got out of bed.
In that moment, her eyesight waned and all of a sudden, she slipped into what seemed to be a trance. She could see blood trails on the floor and she could smell Dominic's scent.
The trance ended as quickly as it began.
For a moment, she pondered what it meant. But then she recalled that Dominic had looked unwell earlier.
She tried to dismiss it. But the guilt gnawed at her. She couldn't ignore it any longer.
So, she left her room and headed straight for his, hoping she wouldn't regret this.
By the time she reached his door, she was trembling. "Dominic?" she called out, but there was no answer.
She hesitated for a moment, then she pushed the door open.
The blood was real.
It stained the floor, leading to the bathroom door.
Her heart pounded hard. She clenched her fists, trying to convince herself to leave, but what if he was dying?
So she took the courage and knocked. "Dominic?"
Still she got no response.
"I'm coming in," she whispered and opened the bathroom door.
He lay slumped in the bathtub, motionless. The water was streaked with red and his lips were stained with blood. His skin looked too pale and too lifeless.
Isla rushed to him, pulling up her sleeves as she dropped to her knees beside the tub. "Dominic!"
His eyes snapped open. They were crimson and unfocused.
"Can you hear me? Can you recognize me?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"Mine," he growled, seizing her wrist.
"You're hurting me," she whispered, her heart racing as she struggled to her feet.
His eyes turned pitch black and at this point, immense power radiated off him.
Before she could react, his other arm wrapped around her waist. She fell forward into the tub, water splashing around them as her body crashed into his.
"L-let me go," she stammered, trapped in his grip, drenched and breathless.
"Just a minute," he murmured.
"W-what…?"
"Just let me hold you for a minute," he said again, his voice softer this time.
And for one terrifying, fragile moment, Isla let him.