Chapter Two #2
There’s a sickening slide, a sensation of movement where nothing should be moving, and my breath stutters even though I don’t need it. Panic spikes as the ache sharpens, my jaw throbbing violently, and I lift a trembling hand to my mouth, afraid of what I’ll find.
My fingers brush my teeth.
And then… Oh God, they’re there.
Long, solid points resting against my lower lip, razor-sharp beneath my touch. Not imagined, not a trick of sensation, real in a way that makes my stomach twist. They’ve descended from my gums without permission, without warning, settling into place where my canines should be.
I trace them again, my chest tight with horror and awe as the truth sinks in. These aren’t teeth meant for chewing, smiling, or pretending to be human…
They’re tools.
For tearing.
For puncturing.
For drinking.
For feeding.
My hand drops away as a shudder runs through me, revulsion and hunger tangling together in a way that makes my skin crawl. The ache fades, replaced by a strange awareness—my mouth finally makes sense.
And that might be the most terrifying part of all.
“No,” I whisper, and my voice sounds strange to my own ears, more lyrical, edged with a tone I don’t recognize. “No, no, no, this isn’t… this can’t be…”
But the evidence surrounds me.
The impossible vision.
The absent heartbeat.
The goddamn fangs in my mouth.
The hunger clawing through my insides, a living thing desperate to escape.
I am not human anymore.
I am something else.
Something monstrous.
Something that died in that parking lot and woke up as a nightmare.
Something just like her.
Where is she?
Why did she leave me here?
The warehouse door stands across the space, barely visible in the gloom, but I see it with unnerving clarity, every detail of the rusted metal, the lock, the sliver of night visible through the gaps in the wood.
I need to get out. To move and find someone who can explain what the hell is happening to me, who can tell me this is temporary, fixable, hopefully reversible.
Who can tell me I’m not the monster I know I’ve become.
I stagger toward the exit, and even my stumbling carries an eerie grace, my body moving with predatory efficiency that should be impossible.
The broken glass beneath my bare feet doesn’t cut, doesn’t even register as pain, just texture against skin that’s suddenly too tough, too resilient, too something else.
My stupid sandals are gone.
When did I lose my shoes?
The thought surfaces absurdly, almost making me laugh, except laughter feels impossible when terror has its claws sunk so deep in my chest. The short skirt and crop top I went out in are still here, but they’re ruined—ripped seams, the collar stiff with dried blood, dark stains spreading across the fabric.
Dirt, maybe? Blood, probably, or the residue of whatever change consumed me in the hours I can’t remember.
I grab the handle and pull. The lock gives way with a crack, metal tearing free under my grip.
I freeze, stunned at the strength in my hands, before the door swings open and the night floods in.
Sound hits first, a pandemonium of noise that shouldn’t exist at this volume.
Traffic from blocks away roars in my ears like thunder.
Conversations drift from distant buildings, every word crystal clear as if spoken directly beside me.
A dog barks somewhere, and the sound pierces through my skull with a physical force.
Music pulses from a club I can’t see, bass reverberating through the ground beneath my feet.
Then smell.
God, the smell.
Everything floods in at once—garbage rotting in nearby dumpsters, exhaust from passing cars, rain-soaked pavement, food cooking in restaurants miles away—and, underneath it all, threading through every other scent, a ribbon of liquid heat, the unmistakable copper-sweetness of blood.
Human blood.
Living, pumping… calling.
Heartbeats echo from every direction, rhythmic drumming that resonates through the air, music written specifically for predators. And for one sickening second, I’m back at the lookout, hearing the wet crack of Jake’s neck and the exact moment a heartbeat became silence.
The hunger roars in response, a tidal wave of need that nearly drives me to my knees. My fangs throb. My throat constricts, and every muscle in my body tenses with the overwhelming urge to hunt, to find, to feed.
I stumble down the street, one hand braced against a brick wall for support I don’t actually need, my vision swimming with too much input. The city sprawls around me, alive and pulsing with life. I suddenly sense it in ways that make no logical sense.
How many people surround me right now?
Dozens? Hundreds?
Each one is a walking blood bank, warm, inviting, and delicious.
No!
I dig my fingers into the brick hard enough that it should hurt, and cracks spiderweb beneath my grip, stone crumbling like sand.
No, I’m not…
I won’t…
But the hunger doesn’t care about what I want or don’t want. It cares only about survival, about satisfaction, about the ancient instinct driving me toward the nearest source of sustenance.
A woman walks past on the opposite sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear, completely oblivious to my presence.
Her heartbeat reaches me across the distance, steady and strong, the same sound Jake’s made, right up until it didn’t, and the sound of it makes saliva flood my mouth.
I hear the blood moving through her veins, can practically taste it in the air, can imagine the warmth of it sliding down my throat.
She’s prey.
They’re all prey.
And I’m the monster that hunts them.