The Price of Fire 2
DRAKE
I should’ve died in that secret laboratory.
The air I breathe now feels borrowed thin, foreign. Every inhale scrapes against the inside of my ribs like shattered glass. I can still taste the metal, the disinfectant. My body doesn’t feel like mine. It’s a patchwork of bruises, stitches, scars. The skin on my forearms bears faint purple tracks where they inserted needles daily, without mercy.
But the real damage isn’t on the surface.
It’s buried in my mind.
If I close my eyes, I’m back there.
Stripped. Shackled. Surrounded by white coats and blinking machines. Cold steel biting into my back. The flicker of fluorescent lights above, always humming. Always watching. I can still hear the click of her heels echoing in the corridor. Can still smell the faint perfume jasmine and rot.
Tessa.
God, her name still stings.
It started at a bookstore.
I’d just shifted back from a run my limbs still humming with that post-shift ache and wandered inside, trying to feel something normal. She bumped into me near the classics section. Dropped a worn copy of Wuthering Heights. I picked it up. Her hand brushed mine.
“Dark and brooding,” she teased, nodding to the book. “You look the type.”
I smiled. Like a fool.
We had coffee that same day. A week later, I was at her apartment. A month after that, I was falling asleep with her heartbeat in my ears.
She was warm, sharp, witty. And I stupid, reckless started to forget who I was. A werewolf among humans. A threat to be feared. But with her, I pretended I could be soft.
For three months, I didn’t shift. Not once. Even under the full moon. I told myself I was in control. I told myself love was stronger than instinct.
Because I want to be human just for her.
And then came the dinner invitation.
Her parents wanted to meet me. She wore a silk navy dress that night. Said I looked handsome in charcoal. Said they’d love me.
I remember standing at their doorstep with a bottle of wine in hand. The door opened and everything went black.
I woke up in a cell. No windows. No clocks. Just walls that oozed silence and pain.
They came in pairs. Never alone. They wore masks, gloves, and always had a clipboard. I stopped screaming after the first week. My voice was gone anyway. I stopped shifting, not because I wanted to but because I couldn’t. They were killing my wolf. One vial at a time.
And then... she came.
Tessa stood at the edge of the cell like she’d stepped out of a dream except in this one, the dream bled.
She wore a crimson dress. Same jasmine perfume. Her lips were painted to match her dress, and when she smiled, I saw the devil underneath.
“You looked so pretty asleep,” she said, voice like syrup. “I wanted to see how long you’d last before you broke.”
I growled or tried to. My throat was raw. My wrists were chained. My pride gone.
She tilted her head, mock concern furrowing her brow. “You told me what you were. Did you really think I wouldn’t tell Daddy?”
Her laugh sharp, brittle cut through me.
“I never loved you, Drake,” she whispered, stepping closer. Her breath hit my cheek like frost. “You’re just a science project with a pretty face.”
Then she leaned in, close enough for me to see my reflection in her eyes haunted, hollow.
“You’ll enjoy it here.”
And she left.
No goodbye. No guilt.
Now I lie in a hospital bed, my body stitched together by threads of luck and vengeance.
I should be grateful. I’m free.
But there’s no relief. Only silence. And rage.
Because she didn’t just betray me.
She taught me something.
Humans aren’t curious.
They’re cruel.
And me? I’m done pretending to be anything like them.
Let my wolf heal.
Let my strength return.
And when it does, I’ll find her. I’ll find them all.
And I’ll show them exactly what they created.
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking the time to read this story. Your support means the world to me. Every comment, like, and message keeps me inspired to keep writing. I hope this journey touched your heart in some way and there’s so much more to come.