Chapter 2 Blood on My Hands

I woke up choking on air.

My body jerked upright as if I'd been dragged out of a nightmare, my chest burning, my heart slamming so hard it hurt. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar-cracked, yellowed, with a slow-moving fan rattling overhead.

Then the smell hit me.

Blood.

I scrambled off the bed, slipping on the cold floor. My hands were shaking as I held them up to the dim light creeping in through the window.

They were clean.

Too clean.

No claws. No black nails. No fur. Just my hands-human hands-but they felt heavier, like they remembered something I didn't want them to.

My clothes were folded neatly on the chair by the bed. They weren't the ones I wore last night. These were clean too. Fresh.

A chill ran down my spine.

I turned slowly, taking in the room. It wasn't my bedroom. It was small and plain, smelling faintly of smoke and old books. That's when I noticed the door.

It creaked open before I could reach it.

"Ethan," a familiar voice said softly.

Maya.

Relief and panic slammed into me at the same time.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her dark hair was pulled back like she'd been running her fingers through it all night. There were shadows under her eyes. She looked... scared.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice rough.

"My place," she said. "Guest room."

That made no sense. "How did I-"

"You don't remember?" Her eyes searched my face, sharp and worried.

I shook my head. "The last thing I remember is the alley."

Her jaw tightened. She stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her, locking it.

That's when I noticed the dried blood on her sleeve.

My stomach dropped.

"Maya," I whispered. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she said quickly. Too quickly. "Not mine."

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. I could hear her heartbeat-fast, uneven. The realization sent a shiver through me.

I shouldn't be able to hear that.

She noticed my stare and pulled her sleeve down, hiding the stain. "You collapsed near the park," she said. "I found you barely conscious. You were burning up. Talking nonsense."

"What kind of nonsense?" I asked.

She hesitated.

"You kept saying my name."

My throat went dry.

"And," she added quietly, "you begged me not to let you see the moon."

The fan overhead rattled louder. I swung my legs back onto the bed, suddenly afraid I might fall.

"Maya... did I hurt anyone?"

She didn't answer right away.

That terrified me more than anything.

"I don't know," she finally said. "But when I found you, there was blood on your hands."

I stared down at them again, flexing my fingers. The memory came back in flashes-golden eyes in the dark, a growl tearing out of my chest, the urge to chase.

To hunt.

I swallowed hard. "You should stay away from me."

She laughed once, sharp and humorless. "A little late for that."

She stepped closer, and I felt it immediately-that pull. Stronger than before. My pulse quickened, not from fear this time, but something deeper, hotter. Her scent wrapped around me, grounding and dangerous all at once.

"You scared me," she said, her voice softer now. "I thought I was going to lose you."

I looked up at her, really looked. Her eyes were shining, her lips pressed together like she was holding something back. I had the sudden urge to reach for her-to pull her close just to make sure she was real.

I clenched my fists instead.

"I'm not safe," I said. "Whatever happened last night-it's still in me."

"I know," she replied.

That made me freeze.

"You know what?" I asked.

Maya exhaled slowly and reached into her pocket. She pulled out something small and silver-a pendant shaped like a crescent moon, etched with symbols I didn't recognize.

"I was hoping you'd never have to see this," she said.

My skin prickled.

"Maya," I said carefully, "why do you have that?"

Her gaze locked onto mine, intense and unflinching.

"Because I knew this day would come," she said. "And because you're not the only secret in this room."

A sudden knock slammed against the front door.

Maya stiffened.

"Stay here," she whispered.

But it was too late.

From the other side of the house, a voice called out-low, commanding, and familiar.

"Ethan," my uncle said.

"We need to talk about what you are."

And somewhere deep inside me, the thing that woke under the moon stirred again.