Chapter Twenty-Six: Carol's POV
I called out again, but still no one answered.
No Emma here, no Seraphina, no friend tied to a chair waiting for me to rescue them.
The truth was becoming clearer and clearer in my mind—I'd walked straight into a trap.
I turned around and headed back toward the door I'd entered through.
That's when four or five figures emerged from the darkness near the bleachers.
In the moonlight, their eyes gleamed, sending a chill down my spine.
I hadn't even seen their faces yet, but I already knew they were werewolves.
"Who sent you?" I kept my voice as steady as possible, though my heart was racing.
They didn't answer,they just stepped closer.
"Simon." I spoke his name—for the past eight years, that name had been my safety net, and just saying it would make others back down. "If he finds out you touched me, you know the consequences."
The one in front, broader than the others, laughed.
"You think dropping Simon's name is going to save you?" He took another step forward, and the others spread out behind him in a semicircle, blocking off every escape route.
"Simon? He doesn't give a damn about you, sweetheart. You're just his whore, the kind he gets bored of and throws away."
Their words were meant to hurt me, to make me feel worthless.
I remembered being twelve years old, sold to the casino, and that same fear came flooding back.
But I'd learned one thing from Simon over these years: showing weakness in front of wolves like these was a death sentence.
So I didn't step back, didn't look away. I met his eyes and let him know I wasn't afraid.
They didn't give me time to think, didn't give me a chance to decide whether to fight or run or try to talk my way out.
They moved together, coordinated, showing they'd planned and practiced this.
The first werewolf lunged at me, his fingernails already transformed into claws gleaming silver, aimed straight for my throat.
I dodged sideways. Marcus's training was already burned into my body—my brain hadn't even caught up, but my hands were already moving.
He charged past me, and I seized the moment to punch him hard in his exposed throat.
His cartilage crunched, my knuckles ached from the impact, but he staggered backward, clutching his neck, unable to breathe.
No time to celebrate—the second and third were already coming at me from both sides, flanking me like a hunt.
I kicked at the one on my left, landing a solid hit to his knee that made him stumble, but the one on my right broke through my defense, his claws raking across my upper arm.
My jacket tore open, and searing pain shot through my skin, my vision flashing white.
Blood welled up, hot and wet, running down my arm and dripping from my fingertips onto the gymnasium floor.
I smelled blood in the air, heavy and thick. I knew they could smell it too. It would make them bolder, more reckless, more certain that this could only end one way—in death.
There were too many of them. Though I'd taken down the one I hit in the throat, at least four were still standing. And I was already bleeding, my movements slowing, making mistakes that would have gotten me beaten in the training ring, let alone now when I was fighting for my life.
I managed to drop another one—a lucky punch to his temple that sent him crashing into the bleachers.
But that move left me exposed. Another wolf hit me from behind, slamming me to the ground with enough force that it felt like my bones would shatter.
The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I lay on the floor, vision swimming.
He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, exposing my entire neck.
In my peripheral vision, I saw his other hand's claws gleaming silver as they swung down toward me.
In that instant, I knew that thing would tear open my carotid artery before I could even scream.
And all I could think was: Simon is going to be so angry if I die like this. Because I'd broken my promise—I said I'd be careful, that I'd protect myself.
The werewolf's claws were about to fall.
Time seemed to slow down, so slow I could see every detail—the flex of his muscles, the excitement in his eyes, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a victory snarl.
Then something massive and black hit him from the side at impossible speed.
He was thrown across the room, both bodies tumbling and rolling on the floor, snarls mixing together in a chaotic din.
Leon. His wolf form was bigger and more terrifying than I'd ever seen.
He stood between me and the wolf who'd tried to kill me.
"Run!" The voice sounded like it was being forced out of his throat. "Get out of here, Carol, now!"
I couldn't move. My legs wouldn't obey.
I could only watch as he lunged at the nearest werewolf, not with confidence but with the desperation of someone who didn't care if he lived or died.
He bit down on the other wolf's shoulder, and the wolf drove his claws deep into Leon's flank, blood pouring from the wound.
"We're only here for the human," another wolf circled Leon, his tone unhurried. "This doesn't concern you, beta. Step aside and we'll pretend we never saw you."
Leon didn't respond. He lunged again, his jaws clamping down on the wolf's throat.
The wolf struggled desperately, his claws scraping harsh sounds against the floor, but Leon held on, shaking his head violently and slamming the wolf to the ground. The wolf twitched twice and went still.
But the remaining wolves didn't give him a chance. They attacked together from all directions.
Leon swept one aside with his claws, then spun and bit into another's shoulder. I heard bone cracking.
But as soon as he fought one off, someone leaped onto his back from behind, claws digging deep into his hind leg.
He stumbled, shook off the wolf on his back, but immediately two more attacked at once.
He was bigger than them, stronger, but there were too many.
I watched them drag him down, force him into the corner by the equipment room.
He desperately drove his claws through one wolf's stomach, then tore open another's arm with his teeth.
But for every one he took down, a new one attacked. His movements grew slower, blood flowing from multiple wounds. I could smell the blood getting stronger, mixed with the wolves' musk and the scent of old rubber.
My arm was still bleeding, and every movement tore at the wound, making me gasp in pain.
But I couldn't stop. Leon was right there, caught up in the fight, blood already soaking through his flank.
Just then, I heard a dull thud behind me.
I spun around to see the wolf I'd stabbed in the throat earlier standing behind Leon, his silver claws punching straight through Leon's chest.
Leon's eyes found mine across the distance. In them I saw surprise, pain, but no fear, and no blame.
He collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. He was dead.
I couldn't help but scream. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and charged at the wolves.
This man had spent four years always preparing everything I needed before I even knew I needed it, never looking down on me for being human, and now he was dead because he chose to protect me instead of saving himself.
That was all I could think.
I never reached them. The wolf's claws pierced through my ribs and into my heart. My body flew backward, my back slamming hard onto the floor.
My shirt was soaked through, and the floor beneath me was wet with blood.
My vision was darkening, the edges turning black, leaving only the acoustic holes and water stains on the ceiling above. They just sat there, quiet and indifferent, not caring at all that I was lying beneath them slowly dying.
I had never been this angry.
Why was I human? Why couldn't I protect myself or the people who cared about me?
If I'd been stronger, if I'd been the werewolf I was supposed to be, Leon would still be alive.
It was my fault. I was too weak. Seraphina and Belinda had been right all along—there was something wrong with me, I was useless, I couldn't do anything right.
Just as I was about to lose consciousness, something stirred in the darkness. Something large and heavy, not like me. Like there was another person inside my body who'd been sleeping and was now waking up. I could feel it in my bones, in my veins, in my failing heartbeat.
I knew it was my wolf. The part of myself I should have had years ago.
"Carol." That voice resonated both in my head and outside it, like it was coming from my own body but also from somewhere far away. "Answer me. Fight. Transform."
I wanted to respond to her, but I didn't even have the strength to make a sound.
My body was shutting down, organs failing one by one, blood loss and shock claiming my life.
All I could do was lie there, listening to that voice grow fainter and fainter. Darkness surged in from all sides, cold and heavy and endless.
Just then, the gymnasium doors burst open. The sound yanked my fading consciousness back.
Through blurred vision, I saw someone stride in. The moment he entered, the entire room's atmosphere seemed to change—those wolves who'd been so aggressive moments ago all froze in place.
It was Maurice St. Claire.
Behind him were Paul and Hilda, one on each side, moving fast and ruthless.
Maurice didn't speak, didn't even make any threatening gestures—he just stood there, like someone accustomed to being obeyed, waiting for others to realize how badly they'd screwed up.
In that moment I understood that whatever Maurice St. Claire was—vampire, professor, monster wearing a human face—he was also power incarnate, the kind of existence that even werewolves feared.
My vision plunged into darkness, a place with no pain, no fear, no consciousness to record what happened next.
I only vaguely sensed that something had changed.
If I survived this night, everything would be different.