I key in the code Hex gave me, mechanisms disengaging with a series of heavy clicks that echo through the corridor. The spelled lock releases last, Hex’s magic unwinding from the frame in a ripple that prickles along my skin, copper and heat biting at the back of my throat. The door swings open on hinges that don’t make a sound despite the weight they’re moving.
Charlie’s on the far side of the room, pressed into the corner with her back against concrete and her eyes too wide, too red, too feral to belong to the woman who stumbled into a diner looking for a friendly face. She’s wearing the same clothes from last night, blood-stained and torn, the fabric hanging off her body in ways that emphasize how much the transition has changed her physically.
Faster. Stronger. Deadlier.
Terrified.
She sees me and her lips pull back, fangs descending in a flash of instinct that has nothing to do with aggression and everything to do with the hunger that’s been eating her alive for hours, however long she’s been down here fighting herself while my brothers debated her fate upstairs.
“Stay back.” Her voice breaks around the words, human speech wrestling with vocal cords that want to produce something closer to a hiss, a growl, the warning sounds predators make when cornered. “I can’t… you smell like… God, why do you smell so good?”
The question hits different than it should, bypassing my brain entirely and landing somewhere in my chest that doesn’t have defenses against that particular combination of desperation and need. She’s not talking about cologne. She’s talking about blood. About the way lycan blood calls to vampires differently than human blood does, carrying power they can taste, strength theycrave, a high they’ll chase into dangerous territory if given half a chance.
I don’t move closer.
Not yet.
“You’re not going to,” I say.
She blinks. “What?”
“Attack me. Whatever your instincts are saying right now, they’re lying to you. You’ve been fighting this for hours, and you haven’t lost yet.” I keep my voice level. “You’re not going to lose right now either.”
Something shifts in her face. Not quite belief, but the hunger backs down half a step, as if being told she’s stronger is almost enough to make her act like she is.
“You sound very sure about that,” she says, her voice rough.
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because you haven’t moved… Charlotte.” I keep my voice low, letting the lycan rumble thread through the syllables, the tone my wolf uses to calm my pack, to soothe aggression, to communicate safety without requiring words to carry the full weight. “I’m not here to hurt you. But you can’t stay in this room. The club can’t protect you here, not long term, and you can’t learn control locked in a basement with nothing but your hunger for company.” I cross the room slowly and lower myself to sit against the wall beside her. Not close enough to crowd but close enough to be real.
She looks down at me, startled. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting with you. You’ve been down here for hours.”
Her jaw works, but she doesn’t tell me to move. After a moment, she slides down the wall too, until we’re both on the floor, shoulders a foot apart.
“I killed four people,” she says, low.
“I know.”
“And you’re sitting on the floor of a basement with me anyway?”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us says anything else for a while.
She shakes her head, the movement too sharp, too fast, vampire reflexes making human gestures look wrong. “You should kill me. Whatever your president said, whatever he wants you to do, you should end this. I killed her. I killed that woman, Trudy, in the diner, and three more people along the way… I can’t—” Her voice cracks, tears mixing with the red that hasn’t left her eyes since she turned. “I can’t be this. I can’tbea monster!”
I don’t answer her for a long moment because the truth is more complicated than whatever she needs to hear right now. Shedidkill those people. “I know.” Those are facts that don’t unmake themselves because she’s sorry. I’m not going to lie to her about that, not even kindly.
But I’m also not going to let her stay on that floor.
“I’m not going to tell you you’re not what you think you are,” I say finally. “Not yet. You get to work that out for yourself, and you haven’t had time. But I’ll tell you what I know. Monsters don’t beg for help, Charlotte. You did.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
