38_ Last of your kind

The room spun as the weight of Sabina’s words settled over me. My legs felt like jelly, and I fell onto the bed, staring blankly ahead as my mind raced with a flurry of thoughts. How could this be happening? Sabina’s mother was responsible for making werewolves almost extinct, for destroying countless lives—including my parents. And now, she had been orchestrating this twisted game, biding her time, waiting to strike.

Dylan’s voice pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. “So, your mother is responsible for nearly wiping out werewolves?” he asked Sabina, his tone cold and sharp.

Sabina nodded sadly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Dylan’s expression hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Then why would she save Katrina and the others if she was just going to wipe them out later?”

Sabina sighed, a mix of guilt and pain evident on her face. “She has a rule against hurting children,” she said. “The ten werewolves she saved were all ten years old or younger. She couldn’t harm them… not then.”

I felt my stomach churn, the pain of her revelation hitting me like a freight train. “So she waited,” I said, my voice breaking. Tears welled in my eyes as I stood up abruptly, the overwhelming grief of my parents’ death washing over me again. “She waited patiently for us to grow into adults just so she could kill us now?”

Sabina didn’t respond, but the guilt in her expression was enough of an answer.

Tears streamed down my face as anger surged within me. “How sick is that?” I yelled, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions. Every memory of my parents, every moment of loss and loneliness, came rushing back, stabbing at my heart like a thousand knives.

I turned my gaze to Sabina, my eyes narrowing as the anger overtook my grief. “You knew all of this,” I hissed, stepping toward her, “and you still came into my life. You still tried to kill me!”

Sabina’s face paled, and she took a small step back, her lips trembling. “I didn’t want to kill you,” she said quickly. “I couldn’t. That’s why I’m hiding from my mother now. She sees me as a traitor—”

“I don’t care about what’s going on between you and your mother!” I cut her off, my voice rising. “You’re just as evil as she is!”

I felt my wolf rising to the surface, feeding off my fury. My muscles tensed, and before I realized it, I was lunging toward Sabina.

“Katrina, stop!” Dylan yelled, grabbing me around the waist and holding me back. His grip was strong, but I fought against him, my rage blinding me to reason.

Sabina looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. “I didn’t have a choice!” she cried, her voice trembling.

“I don’t care!” I screamed, thrashing in Dylan’s arms. My wolf wanted vengeance, and I was struggling to keep her in check.

“Sabina, you need to leave. Now,” Dylan ordered, his voice low and threatening.

Sabina hesitated, looking between the two of us. “This is my motel room,” she stammered.

Dylan’s eyes darkened, his tone ice-cold. “Then you’d better decide if you want to leave whole or in pieces.”

Sabina swallowed hard, her face draining of all color. She didn’t wait for another word. Grabbing her things, she bolted out of the room, leaving the door swinging open behind her.

I stood there, in Dylan’s arms as the anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by exhaustion and a hollow ache in my chest. My tears continued to fall as I slumped against him, my strength completely drained.

Dylan’s arms enveloped me tightly, his warmth grounding me as I stood trembling in the aftermath of my rage. He didn’t say a word, just held me as if trying to transfer his strength to me. I buried my face in his chest, the tears flowing freely. My wolf stirred within me, restless but subdued for the moment.

After what felt like an eternity, my breathing slowed, and the storm of emotions inside me calmed to a dull ache. Dylan pulled back slightly, his hands still gripping my shoulders, and looked into my eyes. “We should head home,” he said softly, his voice steady. “Sabina can’t help us anymore.”

I nodded, too emotionally drained to argue. He kept a protective arm around me as we left the motel, and I leaned into him, feeling fragile but thankful for his presence.

The car ride home was silent except for the hum of the engine. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, Sabina’s voice echoing in my head like a haunting melody. The prophecy… the lies… her mother’s twisted plans. Every word Sabina had said replayed in my mind, each one more unsettling than the last. The knot in my stomach tightened as I thought about what this all meant—for me, for Dylan, and for the others like me.

When we got home, I dropped onto the couch, staring blankly at the coffee table. Dylan joined me, sitting close but giving me space. The silence stretched between us until I finally spoke.

“We have to find Talia,” I said, my voice firm despite the lump in my throat. “We have to end all of this.”

Dylan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We will,” he assured me, his tone resolute. “But we have to be smart about it. Sabina said she is dangerous."

"I don't care what Sabina said," I said, fuming. "If I find her, I will end her before she thinks of ending me."

"I promise you, I will find her.” Dylan assured me.

I nodded, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Before I could say anything else, a sharp knock on the door startled both of us. Dylan and I exchanged a frown, neither of us expecting visitors.

“Stay here,” Dylan said as he stood and made his way to the door.

I watched as he opened it to reveal a young man standing there. I couldn’t see him clearly, just his frame.

“I’m looking for Katrina,” he said, his voice calm yet laced with urgency.

Hearing my name, I rose from the couch and approached the door cautiously. The moment my eyes met his, a chill ran down my spine. There was something about him—something off. My wolf stirred uneasily, and then, like a flash of lightning, the prophecy slammed into my mind. I saw him clearly in my vision, the so-called fake prophecy that was now revealed to be just my future.

The same face, the same intense eyes. He was the one who said it. The one who told me the last of my kind was dying.

"Who are you?" Dylan asked the stranger.

"My identity doesn't matter right now," he said to Dylan, then turned to look at me. "The last of your kind are dying. Katrina.”

The words left his lips exactly as I remembered them in the vision. My breath hitched, and my eyes widened in shock. It was happening. The prophecy, my future, whatever it was, it was unfolding right before my eyes.