Chapter 159
Samantha's POV
I should have felt guilty. I did feel guilty—a twisting knot in my chest that said this was wrong, that Lucas and I hadn't officially broken up, that I was crossing a line. But underneath the guilt was something else: the intoxicating feeling of being wanted, of mattering to someone.
The sound of a key in the lock shattered the moment.
My head whipped toward the door. No. He wouldn't—
But the door slammed open before I could finish the thought, and Lucas stumbled inside like a man possessed.
Everything about him was wrong.
His hair stuck to his forehead in sweat-soaked strands despite the February cold. His t-shirt clung to his chest, dark with moisture. His skin looked feverish, almost glowing with an unhealthy redness I'd never seen before. And his eyes—
Oh god, his eyes.
In the shadowy apartment, they caught the light and reflected it back in a way that shouldn't be possible. A golden shimmer, like cat's eyes in headlights, but brighter. More intense.
I shot to my feet, my hand flying to my throat. "Lucas, this isn't—this isn't what you think—"
The words died as his gaze locked onto where Caleb's hand still rested on mine.
"Not what I think?" His voice came out low and distorted, carrying a resonance that made the windows rattle. The sound didn't seem fully human—like something was speaking through him. "Then what is it, Samantha?"
His hands trembled at his sides. No—not trembled. Shook with barely contained violence. And his fingernails... were they always that long? That sharp?
Terror locked my muscles. This wasn't my Lucas. This wasn't the sweet, conflicted boy who'd saved me from bullies, who'd paid for this apartment so I wouldn't have to deal with my roommate.
This was something else.
Caleb rose with infuriating calm, a smile playing at his lips. "Looks like I picked a bad time to visit. Should I give you two some privacy?"
The casual tone was gasoline on fire.
Lucas's roar shook the pictures on the walls.
I watched in frozen horror as his pupils dilated and contracted rapidly, flashing between their normal brown and that impossible gold. When he spoke, I could see his teeth—wrong, too sharp, too long, catching the light like knives.
"Privacy?" Lucas's laugh was more snarl than sound. "You bring him into the apartment I'm paying for, and you want to talk about privacy?"
"Brother, you look like you're about to have a seizure." Caleb's voice dripped with mock concern, but his eyes glinted with something predatory. "Maybe you should sit down. Take your medication. Or did you forget your pills again?"
Medication? What was Caleb talking about?
Lucas's whole body convulsed. The temperature in the room spiked—I could feel waves of heat rolling off him from six feet away. His shirt began to tear at the seams, fabric straining against muscles that seemed to be expanding.
I took a step toward him, hand outstretched. "Lucas, please, just calm—"
Caleb's arm shot out, blocking me. His grip on my shoulder was firm but gentle. "Don't," he said quietly, his earlier amusement gone. "Stay back. He's dangerous right now."
"Dangerous?" Lucas's head snapped toward Caleb, and I saw veins bulging in his neck, pulsing with what looked like liquid fire beneath the skin. "You think I'm dangerous? You come into my home, put your hands on my—"
He didn't finish. Couldn't finish.
Because something inside him broke.
Lucas launched himself at Caleb with inhuman speed—one second standing by the door, the next colliding with Caleb in a blur of motion my eyes couldn't track. The coffee table exploded under their combined weight, Thai food containers flying, glass shattering.
I screamed and pressed myself against the wall.
But the scream stuck in my throat as Lucas's body began to change.
His shirt ripped completely, falling away in tatters. Underneath, his back muscles rippled and bulged in ways that defied anatomy, bones shifting beneath the skin like something was trying to claw its way out from inside.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
His face elongated, jawbone cracking and reforming with sounds that made my stomach lurch. His nose and mouth pushed forward, merging into something that was definitely not human. Teeth—no, fangs—erupted from gums that bled and healed in the same instant.
Dark brown fur erupted across his skin like fast-forwarded footage of mold growing, spreading from his spine outward in a wave of impossible transformation.
His screams turned to howls.
His hands—oh god, his hands—twisted into something between human fingers and animal paws, nails extending into curved black claws that could gut me with a single swipe.
And then Lucas was gone.
In his place crouched an enormous wolf—bigger than any wolf I'd seen in nature documentaries, bigger than seemed possible. Its eyes burned pure molten gold as it fixed on Caleb with murder in its gaze.
The sound it made wasn't just a growl. It was rage given voice, a promise of violence that resonated in my bones.
Werewolf. Werewolf. This isn't real. Werewolves aren't real. This isn't—
My back hit the wall, legs giving out. I slid down, unable to look away, unable to process what my eyes were telling my brain.
The wolf—Lucas—lunged at Caleb with terrifying speed.
Then the front door exploded inward.
"EVERYONE STOP. NOW."
The command hit like a physical force. The wolf-that-was-Lucas hesitated mid-lunge, though fury still radiated from every line of its massive body.
I turned my head—moving felt like swimming through honey—and saw Jackson Wilson standing in the doorway.
His eyes glowed the same impossible gold.
No. No no no no.
"Interesting timing, Wilson." Caleb's voice cut through my spiraling panic. He was bleeding from his lip, but he was smiling. Looking almost triumphant as he glanced from the massive wolf to me, still crumpled against the wall. "Looks like your discretion isn't what it used to be."
He turned to face me directly, and something in his expression made my skin crawl. "I'm sorry you had to see this, Samantha. But since you already have..." He spread his hands in a gesture that was almost apologetic. "Might as well show you everything."
Caleb's transformation was nothing like Lucas's violent explosion.
His clothes slid off smoothly, as if he'd planned for this—which, some distant part of my mind noted, he probably had. Gray fur rippled across his skin in controlled waves. His body reformed with terrible grace, bones sliding into new configurations without the agonizing cracks that had accompanied Lucas's change.
Seconds later, a second wolf stood in my apartment.
Larger than Lucas. Sleeker. Its gray coat perfectly groomed, its posture radiating cold calculation rather than wild rage.
Two werewolves in my living room.
Jackson, still human but with those wrong golden eyes, positioned himself between them. His voice carried weight that made the air itself feel heavier. "Stand down. Both of you."
But the wolves circled each other, Lucas's brown coat bristling, Caleb's gray form moving with predatory confidence.
My vision blurred. The room tilted.
Werewolves. Lucas is a werewolf. Caleb is a werewolf. Is Jackson—?
Movement from the balcony. Ellie. When did she show up?
Is everyone a monster except me?
The thought came out as a whimper. My ears filled with cotton, sounds becoming distant and distorted. The two wolves' snarls, Jackson's commands, Ellie's voice saying something urgent—it all melted together into white noise.
My last coherent thought before darkness swallowed me: Lucas isn't human. None of them are human. What else isn't real?
The floor rushed up to meet me.
Or maybe I fell.