Chapter 3 Mona
There's a strange feeling in my gut, tugging me forward.
I've given up trying to understand all the things my body does, but this is new.
And the familiar itchy feeling, the restlessness beneath my skin, grows louder the closer I get to my apartment.
I pull out my phone to distract myself while I walk, dodging groups of people partying all over the streets of New York.
I open the text chain with my dad. The last message from him was three weeks ago, making sure I've been keeping up with my medication. Always the same robotic check-in, like I'm some task on his to-do list.
It was nice—weird, but nice—that he texted me tonight. He's never reached out on a holiday before. I shoot him a quick text and let him know I'm heading home, then stare at the screen. Waiting for three typing dots to appear. They don't.
When I get home, the building is blissfully quiet.
I live in a large complex, and they don't allow parties.
Dad's the one who found this place for me.
It's an old folks' dream home, with a huge elevator, quiet halls and offsite management.
It's not the Ritz, and we don't have a doorman, but for me, it's perfect.
Dad's never hugged me or called me on my birthday, but he shows up like clockwork to take me to the pharmacy. He pays my rent, schedules my doctor's appointments, even pays my cell phone bill.
But every time I attempt independence—trying to find a cheaper apartment, finance a used car, apply for student loans, or hell, get my own health insurance—suddenly I'm ten years old again and he's screaming in my face, throwing his temper around like I'm a misbehaving child.
It doesn't make sense how he can care so much yet so little. He exerts control over my life in a way most women my age should be shrugging off.
But I take whatever attention he gives me. Even the bad. I cling to it because I have no one else.
Tonight, the residents are quiet, despite the holiday. There's no noise, no small get-togethers behind the closed doors. I hit the elevator button and make my way up to the eighth floor, the top of the building.
There's another slight tug in my gut, that restless feeling beneath my skin still crawling like ants, but I do my best to ignore it as I stick the key in the lock and enter my dark apartment. The door slams shut behind me.
I register the silence and take a relaxed, audible breath at being home before a shadow detaches from the darkness. I barely have time to scream before my back hits the wall, so hard my teeth clack together.
The figure pins me and I cry out, but a heavy hand slaps over my mouth, the other wraps around my throat, squeezing slightly. Just enough pressure to make black spots bloom at the edges of my vision. His hand constricts, steel fingers digging into my windpipe, cutting off my shrieks.
My heart beats out of my chest in panic, and I try to lift my knee to kick out, pounding my fists into his shoulders, but I have the physical strength of a preteen with mono, and the man holding me is a beast.
I recognize the rich, earthy scent of rain before he lets go of my throat, then reaches out to flick on the kitchen light. The weak bulb barely illuminates the room, casting long shadows across my small apartment, but it's bright enough to see him.
Beneath the brutal scar, his dark forest green eyes lock with mine as his lips curl.
"You're not going to scream."
I'm shaking, and I think I might pee my pants. I should scream. But my neighbors will probably just bang on the wall and tell me to be quiet before anyone calls the cops.
If the cops even came. A noise complaint on New Year's Eve?
I am so fucked.
All these thoughts race through my mind as my entire body trembles in his hold, his palm still trapping my mouth shut. I don't know if I shake my head yes or no, but he must get some idea that I'm too terrified to do anything because he releases me.
His arms reach out and he cages me against the wall, just like he did at the party. My mouth opens, but I can't form the questions: Why are you here? What do you want?
My vision blurs as hot tears form in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks.
And this man—this complete fucking stranger, this walking ad for testosterone who looks like he's auditioning for the villain in a dark romance—tilts his head with predatory focus.
His face is so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin; I can practically taste his citrusy scent.
My breath hitches and I freeze in place.
I stop struggling, and time stops.
He leans in, eyes fixed on my lips, and just when I think he's about to kiss me, which I am definitely not leaning into, his tongue darts out and he drags it across my face, licking my tears.
He licks the fucking tears off my face.
What the hell is wrong with me? I should be disgusted. Horrified. I am, I think. But his scent is still calming me. That same sensation of safety I felt earlier, caged in by his powerful form, is just as comforting, and that makes me want to scream.
"What do you want? Take anything. Take whatever you want. Please, please just… let me go," I frantically stutter.
His warm tongue licks the tears that track down my cheeks on the opposite side, and then he emits a low hum. It almost sounds like he's… purring?
I suck in a sharp breath and try to slow my breathing before I hyperventilate. The wall against my back is firm. He's warm, close, but not pressing into me. I'm okay. I'm going to get out of this. I'm going to be okay.
I chant this in my head, over and over again.
He closes his eyes, like he's savoring the taste of me.
"Are you a wolf?" I blurt.
His eyes crack open. "Are you?"
Obviously not, but I say nothing. He takes a step back, scratching thick, calloused, scarred fingers across his knife-sharp jaw. There's a wolf silhouette tattooed on his hand. Letters on each finger I can't make out. The tattoos disappear beneath his sleeve.
"I wasn't expecting you," he says absently, almost to himself.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you either," I snap. "So, uh, maybe, you know, we can just forget this whole thing. I'll pretend you didn't follow me home—"
Then I pause. "You didn't follow me home. Wait. How did you know where I live? How did you find me?"
Panic rises up again. My racing heart doesn't match the dizzying slowness of my brain trying to connect all the dots, finally noticing all the pieces that don't fit. He was here before me. I've never seen this man before in my life. Not before that party.
Calm as ever, he doesn't react to or answer any of my questions. Still just stares at me in contemplation, like I'm a puzzle he's trying to figure out.
"What do you want with me?"
"What's wrong with you?" he asks instead of answering. "Your scent is… off. Wrong."
My scent?
I knew it. He has to be a wolf. He shakes his head and takes a step back, looks me up and down and breathes me in, then comes to some kind of decision.
"I'm sorry for this, pet. I'm not known for my apologies, but for this… I truly am sorry. But it must be done."
"What must be done? What are you talking about?"
Adrenaline surges in time with my panic, and I stare at this beautiful, dark, dangerous man who just broke into my house, who's apologizing for whatever terrible thing comes next. My mouth goes dry. I'm shaking so hard, I can't believe I'm still upright.
I should be screaming. But I'm frozen. Fight, flight, or freeze, I could have predicted exactly what my body would do in this situation.
Only when he lunges for me do I finally scream.
But my voice is cut off when his teeth sink into my neck. The pain is sharp, and I suck in breaths, panting, gasping for air, gurgling protests. He releases and bites again on the other side of my neck, ripping open my flesh. At first, it stings.
The sharp, the burn, the sting, the amalgam of sensations erupt almost in slow motion so I can feel every layer of pain. My fingers curl into his shoulders to push him off, but it's like gripping concrete. I try to buck and kick, but he effortlessly pins me against the wall.
I feel the blood draining from my body. Its warmth trickles down my neck below my collar, and I'm trembling, scared to fucking death, but he stole my voice. I can't scream.
He lowers me to the ground, tears off my jacket, exposing my lanky arms which uselessly beat against him. Make it stop, I try to yell. Stop! You're killing me!
He bites, and it's agony, but the blood loss is worse because I'm getting woozy, and my consciousness is slipping.
I can no longer lift my arms and fight back. My voice is lost, hot tears track down my cheeks, mixing with the fine mist of blood pooling, cooling beneath me.
I stiffen, as much as I can, when he pulls off my pants. Then he bites my legs. The pain is still there, but it's numbing. I'm losing feeling.
"Why?" I whisper, staring at the ceiling, at the yellowing water stain that I keep meaning to tell the landlord about. "Why?" I ask again. It's gargled, raspy. But I know he can hear me.
My body is on fire. Lifeblood drains out of me. Death rises. My racing heart weakens with each pulse. A panicked beat, steadily decreasing in strength.
I'm going to die here, in my apartment. My dad won't reach out until it's time to bring my meds. How long will I lie here, rotting, all alone? Will anyone come for me? Remember to check on me?
I want to sob, but there's nothing left.
When he crawls over me—this man, whose name I don't even know, who still smells like rain, the scent calming me in my final moments—I see a flash of regret. It's small, but it's there. His mouth and chin are covered in blood. My blood. Coppery, citrusy, blending together.
He brushes a stray curl off my forehead. I try to ask why again, but I can't even whisper. I mouth the word, why. He watches me try to speak.
He takes a deep inhale. Emotions pass over his face, ones I'd not have guessed he was capable of feeling. This man is snuffing out my life without a reason. I've never done anything to anybody. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die.
I don't want to die alone.
I feel oddly betrayed by this stranger.
But the panic won't return. I still feel calm. My body is shutting down. My mind is hazy.
"Leave town when you wake," he whispers. "Go north. Do not stay here. My brother will take care of you."
He leans in and takes a deep inhale. Then licks my cheeks again, tasting my tears.
And then he's gone.