Chapter 2 What Are You?
The other guy had pulled out his phone, the camera briefly flashing. Grace's heart skipped.
"Delete that," she said quickly.
He grinned. "Don't be shy. C'mon, give us a smile."
"I said delete it!" She yelled, now frowning.
"Or what?" Dylan murmured, closing the gap between them. His tone had shifted, still lazy, but darker now. "You gonna tell your rich fiancé?"
Her pulse instantly spiked. "How do you—"
"Small town, sweetheart. Word gets around. Poor little Grace getting her golden ticket." His smirk deepened. "Guess you finally found a way out, huh?"
The laughter that followed was loud, cruel. Grace's hands shook. She reached for the door, but he moved first, slamming his palm against it. She flinched.
"Aw, don't look scared." His friend was still recording. "We're just having fun."
"Stop."
"Or maybe you're too good for a little fun?" Dylan leaned in, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You came here dressed like that like you didn’t know what to expect?" His right hand squeezed her ass and she abruptly retreated a few steps.
Still, Grace wasn’t scared.
She knew she couldn’t fight them but she was mad. She wanted to make them hurt.
The other boy laughed again, camera still pointed at her. Grace's blood turned to fire. She could hear her own breathing now, echoing through her skull.
"Delete it," she whispered.
They didn't.
"You're shaking." Dylan said, feigning concern. He slowly reached out to touch her arm when the lights began to flicker.
"I said—” Grace’s fists clenched and the air began to turn cold. The floor tilted and her eyes half rolled in fury. "—give it BACK!"
The mirror behind them cracked. Wind exploded through the room though the windows were shut. The phone flew out of the other boy's hand and shattered against the wall. Dylan stumbled back, the necklace slipping through his fingers.
"What the—"
The word cut off when the floor trembled. Bottles rattled off the counter. Grace couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop it.
Her anger wasn't hers anymore—her mind wasn’t hers.
The two boys crashed into the marble sink, shouting, terrified now. Glass sprayed like rain at their impact and the bulbs popped.
She lifted her hand towards them, ready to administer the final blow.
And then—
The door slammed open.
Someone moved too fast to see.
A body hit her like a wall, knocking her backwards. Grace broke through the door with a gasp, chest heaving, curls sticking to her damp skin. The collision had returned her senses.
She blinked through the haze—at the man now straightening slowly, eyes burning gold.
Enzo.
Only—he didn't look human.
His shoulders shifted unnaturally as he rolled them back into place, a low growl rumbling from his throat. The glow in his eyes faded, but the sharp curve of his claws didn't.
He looked at her—really looked—and for the first time that night, Grace forgot how to breathe.
One of the boys whimpered. The other didn’t move. But both were bleeding.
"You," Enzo glared. “What are you?”