Good morning, Mrs. Ayra. I am watching you. Now more than before.
I suggest you drop this case. It's unhealthy for you and won't bring you any good.
Stop being stubborn, and listen for once.
The letter was written in elegant cursive, ink pressed carefully into a beautifully rusted sheet of recycled paper. The smell of old ink mixed with faint metal tang of the rusted edges. Eco-friendly. My stomach twisted at the thought.
Was it Zyren?
Did he do it?
Did he know the killer?
Or was I being stalked?
The questions hit me all at once, like jagged glass under my skin. I wiped the cold sweat from my chest, trying to calm my shaking hands. My heart still raced from another nightmare.
This time I was running. Through darkness that seemed endless, my legs pounding, breaths ragged. And then—
That mark.
That familiar warmth that spread like fire across my skin, drowning the fear until nothing else mattered. Strong arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, pulling me away from the terror. I could feel the protective pressure, the heat of him grounding me—and then I woke up.
The light from the building across the street snapped off instantly, plunging my room into shadow. My jaw clenched.
The little fucker.
He was definitely watching me. Probably getting off on it too. Weird freak.
I had already promised myself I would confront him next time. Assuming my knees didn't betray me like last time.
Beep.
My phone buzzed.
Jaden.
Family dinner. 7 PM. Don't be late.
Short. Demanding. Very him.
My studio apartment was on the opposite side of the city, meaning three trains and a bus to reach my aunt's manor. Absolutely not.
Send Bob. Please. Or I'm afraid I won't make it to the last-minute soirée.
I'm outside.
Of course he was. My phone immediately started ringing.
"Hey! You jerk. Give me a minute!"
I packed toiletries, makeup, and a few dramatic outfits to match Aunt Lia's beloved gothic aesthetic. The soft rustle of fabric and clink of brushes against the vanity filled the room. A cold breeze slipped in as I lifted my shirt to change.
My mark ignited instantly. A sharp, consuming heat spreading under my skin, forcing me to wince. Goosebumps prickled over my arms. I shut the window almost instinctively.
Because I knew.
I knew why.
And the worst part?
I liked it.
I always wondered if he felt it too , if whatever he triggered in me echoed back into him. The burn. The pull. The hunger for more. It was a trance, a dangerous and thrilling kind of addiction.
"Hello?!" Jaden's voice broke through the haze.
"You're always disappearing," he said. "Like your thoughts swallow you whole."
"Sorry. I'm just tired."
"No," he replied flatly. "You need to get laid."
"What?!" I burst out laughing. My ribs ached from the sudden laughter, my throat dry and shaky.
He wasn't wrong. I just didn't expect him to say it out loud.
"After dinner, we're sneaking out to the club."
I smiled, imagining Aunt Lia's crisp British accent slicing through the manor when she inevitably found out.
"Isn't your mom home?"
"Nope. She left for the UK."
Jaden's mother had divorced after her husband discovered her affair with an Englishman. She now split her time between countries, though recently she'd been around more. The family whispers were already circulating. Karma, I thought with a smirk.
"So what's this dinner about?" I asked as we pulled into the manor's massive driveway.
Jaden didn't answer immediately. Instead, he handed me two thick files dated just weeks after my parents' deaths. I flipped one open slowly, the smell of old paper and dust filling my nose.
"Oh," I murmured.
"I am definitely getting laid tonight," I added under my breath.
I headed straight for the office Aunt Lia had built for us; once a punishment room, now a research space.
My years here had been monk-like. Weeks of silence. Hours of isolation. Solitary confinement but curated. Books, soft lighting, plush throws. Time to think. Time to face yourself.
The first time I ended up there, I had smashed an imported china vase bought by Mr. Darcy—the man Aunt Lia had risked her marriage for. The sound of porcelain breaking still echoed in my mind, punctuated by Aunt Lia's furious stare. That time, it hadn't been curated. Just me. Myself. And a warm, suffocatingly quiet room.
Now, the manor had transformed. Black. Grey. Shadows stretching over every surface, sleek lines swallowing corners like they were alive. Almost like a sex cabin. Without the equipment. Jaden was still a freak, though.
I spread the files across the desk, turning the room into a crime board scene: papers scattered, highlighters uncapped, tape sticking to my fingers, post-its clinging to every surface. The smell of paper, ink, and the faint metallic tang of the desk combined into an oddly intoxicating perfume.
Cult accusations.
A familiar mark was found on both bodies. Different from mine—colder, sharper, a warning. Mine felt protective, almost like it had a pulse of its own.
Newspapers speculated I had been kidnapped. Initiated. Killed. They didn't know I had escaped to the manor.
But something wasn't right.
It felt like all the information as scandalous and gruesome as it was had been carefully cross-checked and approved before release.
Hours passed. I scribbled notes, highlighted passages, and taped photos onto cardboard boards, my pulse matching the frantic rhythm of the discoveries. Then I found it.
An ancient wolf pack.
Possible involvement.
Mutants. Men and women with heightened instincts, structured hierarchically. Alpha. Beta. Omega. Alphas at the top. Omegas at the bottom. Alphas marked women, claiming them as their Luna. The queen of the pack.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Reading this felt like staring into a mirror I wasn't ready for. The thought of Zyren as an Alpha, as a werewolf, sent chills crawling down my spine. He isn't that cool, I thought, trying to calm the rapid pulse of my thoughts.
I closed the laptop, eyes dry and burning from the screen's glare.
"Queen," Jaden said behind me, holding up a short black sparkly dress. "This is for you."
"Oh no. I don't think I can—"
He shushed me with a grin and dragged me toward the bathroom.