THE BILLIONAIRE ALPHA'S FORBIDDEN HYBRID

EMMA'S POV

The hum of the breakroom refrigerator sounded like a chainsaw inside my skull.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, counting backward from ten. Ten, nine, eight... Usually, the numbers helped; they built a wall between me and the noise. But tonight, the wall was paper-thin. I could hear the security guard in the lobby thirty floors down tapping his pen against his desk. I could hear the janitor on the floor above dragging a mop bucket across the tile. It was too much. It was always too much.

"You okay, Em?"

I jumped so hard my knee slammed into the underside of my desk. I pulled my hands away from my face and looked up. Sarah, one of the senior analysts, was standing at the edge of my cubicle with her coat on and her purse slung over her shoulder. She looked blurry, like a camera lens that wouldn't focus.

"I'm fine," I lied. The words tasted like lemon in my mouth. "Just a migraine. The lights in here are aggressive tonight."

Sarah frowned sympathetically. "You work too much. Seriously, Blackwell Global isn't going to collapse if you go home at a normal hour. It's nearly eight o'clock. Even the sharks in legal have gone home."

She smells like dying flowers, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. And fear. Why is she afraid?

I gritted my teeth. Shut up, Artemis, I thought, directing the command at the part of my brain Dr. Aris called my "dissociative projection."

"I just need to finish this risk assessment for the merger," I told Sarah, ignoring the voice. "Mr. Blackwell wants it on his desk by morning. You know how he is about deadlines."

"I know how he is about everything," Sarah said, lowering her voice and glancing around the empty office floor. "Terrifying. I rode the elevator with him yesterday. I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees. The man doesn't blink. Anyway, get some sleep, Emma. You look... well, you look like you need it."

"Thanks, Sarah. See you tomorrow."

I watched her walk toward the elevators. The sound of her heels clicking on the linoleum echoed like gunshots. Click. Click. Click.

Hungry, Artemis hissed again. That sandwich you ate was grass. We need real food. Rare. Bloody.

"It was a turkey club," I muttered out loud, opening my desk drawer. I rattled the orange prescription bottle and shook two white pills into my palm. Antipsychotics. Low dose. They were supposed to quiet the auditory hallucinations and dull the sensory overload. Dr. Aris said I had a unique presentation of schizophrenia, high-functioning, specifically focused on animalistic delusions.

I dry-swallowed the pills and waited for the fog to roll in. I hated the pills. They made me feel like I was moving through underwater currents, slow and heavy. But they were better than the alternative. The alternative was letting Artemis take the wheel, and the last time that happened, I woke up in a park three miles away with dirt under my fingernails and a dead pigeon at my feet.

I turned back to my computer screens. The numbers on the spreadsheet were swimming. I needed to focus. Daniel Blackwell, the CEO, was not a man who accepted "mental health episodes" as an excuse for sloppy work. He was a phantom in this building, rarely seen, but always felt. He had taken over the company five years ago after his father died, and he had turned Blackwell Global into a terrifyingly efficient machine.

I had only seen him once, from a distance at the company Christmas party. He had been standing on the mezzanine, watching the crowd with a glass of whiskey in his hand. I remembered looking up at him and feeling a sudden, violent wave of nausea. Artemis had started screaming then, too. I had spent the rest of the night hiding in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.

My desk phone rang.

The shrill trill went right through my ear drums and down my spine. I gasped, grabbing the receiver before it could ring again.

"Blackwell Security, Emma Carter speaking."

"Ms. Carter."

The voice on the other end was deep, smooth, and utterly devoid of warmth. I recognized it immediately. Marcus Hale. The Chief of Operations and Daniel Blackwell's right-hand man. He was another one I tried to avoid. He always looked at me like I was a math problem he couldn't quite solve.

"Mr. Hale," I said, sitting up straighter even though he couldn't see me. "How can I help you?"

"The CEO is reviewing the acquisition files for the Merriweather account," Marcus said. "He noticed a discrepancy in the risk projection models you submitted last week. He wants to discuss them."

My stomach dropped. "I can fix it. I can re-run the numbers right now and email it-"

"No," Marcus interrupted. "He wants to discuss it in person. Now."

I glanced at the digital clock on my monitor. 8:15 PM.

"He's... he's here?" I asked stupidly.

"He lives here, Ms. Carter. Penthouse office. Come up immediately. And bring the raw data files."

The line clicked dead.

I sat there for a full ten seconds, the receiver still pressed to my ear. He wants to see us, Artemis purred, her tone shifting from aggressive to curious. The High One. The Dark One.

"Stop calling him that," I whispered, slamming the phone down. "He's a CEO, not a deity."

I stood up, my legs feeling shaky. I grabbed the thick binder of data I had printed earlier and smoothed down my skirt. I caught my reflection in the dark window. My caramel skin looked greyish under the fluorescent lights. My hair, usually a neat twist, was starting to frizz around my temples. I looked exhausted. I looked like a girl who was barely holding it together and well, that was the truth.

"Just a meeting," I told myself. "You go up. You explain the variance. You come down. You go home. You make pasta."

Pasta is for rabbits, Artemis sneered.

I walked to the elevators. I pressed the call button and waited. When the doors slid open, the mirrored box inside reflected me from a dozen angles. I stepped in and pressed the button for the 50th floor. The button didn't light up. I had to swipe my security badge.

The elevator shot upward. The pressure built in my ears, a distinct pop that made me wince. As the numbers climbed 30, 40, 45, the air in the small metal box seemed to change. It got heavier and denser.

When the doors opened on the 50th floor, the silence was absolute.

This wasn't like the lower floors with their buzzing lights and humming computers. The executive floor was carpeted in plush, dark wool that swallowed the sound of my footsteps. The walls were paneled in dark wood and the lighting was low, warm, and expensive.

There was no receptionist at the heavy marble desk. Just a single security guard standing by the double doors at the end of the hall. He was massive, at least six-foot-five, with a neck as thick as a tree stump. He was wearing a black suit that strained at the shoulders.

As I walked toward him, he lifted his head. He didn't look at my face but intead looked at my neck and he sniffed.

Actually sniffed.

I stopped about five feet away from him, clutching my binder against my chest like a shield. "I'm Emma Carter. Mr. Hale called me."

The guard stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. His eyes were dark, and there was a strange hostility in them. "You're the analyst?"

"Yes."

He grunted, stepping aside. "He's inside. Don't touch anything you don't have to."

"I... okay."

I reached for the handle of the double doors. My hand was trembling. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my heart rate. One, two, three.

Open it! Artemis shouted, so loud I almost flinched physically. Open it now!

Before I could touch the handle, the door was wrenched open from the inside. I jumped back, clutching my binder. Marcus Hale stepped out. He looked... rattled. His tie was slightly askew, and there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn't been there ever since I saw him in the company. I know it's weird to notice something like that but my mind does weird things. He almost ran into me.

He stopped, his dark eyes sweeping over me. He, just like the man with the trunk neck, didn't look at my face; he looked at my neck, then sniffed the air subtly. A frown creased his forehead. I'm seriously confused because i dont know what is wrong with them sniffing me because I clearly bathed today.

"You're the analyst?" he asked, his voice clipped.

"Yes, Mr. Hale. I..."

"He's waiting," Marcus interrupted, stepping aside to let me pass and he sounded eager to get away.

"Keep it brief. He's... not having a good night." With that, Marcus walked past me toward the elevators without looking back.

I was alone.

I stepped into the office and the door clicked shut behind me with a sound like a prison lock engaging.

The office was enormous, dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. To my right, a wall of glass overlooked the skyline. In the center, a massive desk made of black wood sat like a throne.

Daniel Blackwell was standing behind it.

He wasn't reading but rather was gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white. He was wearing a charcoal suit, but the jacket was gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a throat that looked tight with tension.

The moment I stepped onto the rug, the air in the room seemed to ignite. It wasn't a figure of speech. I felt a physical wave of heat hit me, like opening an oven door. My breath hitched in my throat. My skin started to prickle, a million tiny electrical shocks dancing across my arms and legs.

Artemis didn't just speak. She howled. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated joy that echoed through my head so loudly I thought my nose might start bleeding. FOUND HIM, she screamed. MINE.

I stumbled, the noise of my shoe scuffing against the floor loud in the quiet room. Daniel slowly lifted his head. His eyes met mine. They weren't brown or blue. They were grey, a swirling, stormy silver that seemed to be illuminated from the inside.

He didn't blink and neither did he smile. He stared at me with an intensity that made me feel like he was peeling the skin off my bones.

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in the floorboards beneath my feet.

"I'm... I'm Emma," I whispered, my voice shaking so bad I could barely form the words. "The junior analyst." Daniel moved.

He rounded the desk with a fluidity that was unnatural, too smooth, too fast. He stopped three feet away from me. The smell of him, rain, cedar, and something metallic like hot iron, filled my nose, drowning out everything else.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "No," he said softly, and the word sounded like a threat.

"That's not what I asked." He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. A strange look crossed his face, hunger mixed with confusion. "You smell like a science experiment, Emma. You smell like something that shouldn't exist," he murmured, his voice rough.

I blinked, confusion washing over my fear. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. I just brought the files."

DANIEL'S POV

Twenty minutes before the girl walked through my door, I was standing under the spray of the shower in the private bathroom attached to my office.

I turned the handle all the way to the left. The water came out cold. It hit my skin with a shock that usually helped clear my head, but tonight, nothing was working. My wolf, Apollo, was pacing inside my chest. I could feel him scratching at the back of my ribcage, restless and irritated. He hated being this high up. He hated the steel and glass and the recycled air of the fiftieth floor. He wanted dirt. He wanted to run until my lungs burned and my legs gave out.

"Settle down," I muttered to the empty room.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. I dried myself aggressively, rubbing the rough cotton over my arms and chest. I looked at the mirror. My eyes were already flashing that bright, unnatural silver. I blinked hard, forcing my human mask back into place. I couldn't let the board members see me like this. They feared me enough as it was.

I walked out into the main suite, wrapping the towel around my waist. My office was massive, more of a penthouse apartment than a place of business. I had a kitchen, a bedroom, and a living area all connected to the main workspace.

Marcus was sitting on one of the leather sofas, eating a container of takeout noodles. He didn't even look up when I walked in. That was the benefit of having a Beta who had known you since you were in diapers. He wasn't impressed by the money or the power.

"You look terrible," Marcus said, stabbing a piece of beef with his plastic fork. "There is a container of spicy chicken here for you. Eat it. Your blood sugar is low, and you're growling at the furniture."

"I'm not hungry," I said, walking past him to the closet. I pulled out a fresh white shirt and a pair of charcoal trousers.

"You have to eat, Daniel. The acquisition meeting is tomorrow morning. If you go in there running on empty, you might accidentally rip someone's throat out for clicking their pen too loudly. And the legal fees for murder are astronomical."

I pulled the shirt on and started buttoning it. My fingers felt clumsy. "I just feel... off. Something is wrong with the perimeter. I can feel it."

"The perimeter is fine," Marcus said, chewing loudly. "I checked the security logs myself. No breaches. No rogue scents. You're just bored. You need a vacation. Go to the cabin. Run in the woods for a week. Kill a deer."

"I can't leave. The merger..."

"The merger will happen whether you are here staring at spreadsheets or not," Marcus interrupted. "Sit down. Eat the chicken."

I sighed and sat down opposite him. I picked up the container. The smell of the food was strong, garlic, chili oil, soy sauce. Usually, I loved this place. But tonight, the smell made my stomach turn. I put the container back down on the coffee table.

"I can't," I said. "Apollo is waiting for something. He won't let me eat."

Marcus rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to argue, but then he stopped. He tilted his head to the side. His phone buzzed on the table.

"That's the front desk," Marcus said, glancing at the screen. "Your analyst is on her way up. Emma Carter. The one with the risk assessment files."

"Send her away," I said immediately. "I don't want to see anyone."

"Too late. She's already in the elevator."

I stood up and walked to my desk. I needed to look busy. I needed to look like the CEO of Blackwell Global, not a werewolf on the verge of a breakdown. I sat down and pulled a random file toward me. I stared at the words, but they didn't make sense.

Then it hit me.

It was a scent that felt foreign.

It started faint, drifting through the ventilation system. At first, I thought it was just the rain outside. But then it grew stronger. It smelled like ozone. Like the air right before a rainfall. Beneath that, there was something sweeter. Vanilla? No, wildflowers. Night-blooming jasmine.

Apollo didn't just stand up. He slammed into the front of my mind.

MATE.

The word wasn't a thought but a roar that vibrated through my entire skeleton.

I gripped the edge of my mahogany desk. The wood creaked under my fingers. "Marcus," I choked out.

"What?" Marcus asked, standing up. "What is it? Are we under attack?"

"Get out," I said. My voice sounded wrecked. "Get out of the office. Now."

"Daniel, talk to me. What's happening?"

"I said get out!" I roared, my control snapping.

Marcus didn't argue. He knew that tone. He grabbed his jacket and bolted for the side exit that led to the private stairwell. The door clicked shut behind him just as the main elevator chimed in the hallway.

I couldn't breathe. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it would crack them. I stood up, then sat back down. I couldn't stand when she walked in. If I was standing, I would run to her. I would grab her. I would claim her right there on the rug.

Mine, Apollo snarled. She is here. She is finally here.

The heavy oak doors opened.

And there she was.

She was small. That was my first thought. She was small, and she looked terrified. She was clutching a black binder to her chest like it could save her from me. Her skin was a rich, warm caramel color that made my hands itch to touch it. Her hair was pulled back, but a few curls had escaped, framing a face that I knew I would be looking at for the rest of my life.

But as she stepped into the room, the scent changed.

The wildflowers were there. The ozone was there. But underneath it, wrapped around the sweetness, was something else. Something sharp, metallic and chemical.

She smelled like a laboratory.

She smelled like the thing my father had spent twenty years trying to wipe off the face of the earth.

Apollo faltered. Wrong, he whined. Mate. But... wrong.

She dropped the binder, as it hit the floor with a loud thud. She looked at me, and I saw her eyes. They were brown, but for a split second, I saw a flash of violet in the irises.

She wasn't human.

But she wasn't a wolf either.

She was a Hybrid.

The realization hit me harder than the mate bond. Hybrids were illegal. They were considered abominations by the Council. There was a kill-on-sight order for any creature carrying mixed DNA. If the Council found out she existed, they wouldn't just kill her. They would torture her to find out where she came from.

And she was my mate.

I had to get her out of here. I had to get her away from me before I lost control and marked her. If I marked her, her scent would change. Every wolf in the city would know she belonged to the Alpha. And then they would look closer. They would smell the metal in her blood.

I stood up because I..I couldn't help it. I walked around the desk. I needed to scare her. I needed to make her run away from me so fast she never looked back. It was the only way to keep her safe.

I stopped three feet away from her. I could see the pulse jumping in her throat. She was terrified. Good. Fear would make her run.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice was a low growl.

"I'm... I'm Emma," she whispered. Her voice shook. "The junior analyst."

I took a step closer. I leaned down, invading her space. I let my eyes flash silver. I wanted her to see the monster.

"No," I said softly. "That's not what I asked."

I inhaled deeply, letting her see me smell her. I saw her shiver. "You smell like a science experiment, Emma. You smell like something that shouldn't exist."

She blinked, confusion washing over her fear. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. I just brought the files."

"Do you know what we do to things that don't belong, Emma?" I asked, my voice dripping with a cruelty I didn't feel. I forced myself to reach out. I grabbed her chin, my fingers digging into her skin just hard enough to be uncomfortable. Her skin was burning hot.

Mate, Apollo cried out. Don't hurt her. Protect her.

I am protecting her, I told him.

"We destroy them," I whispered. I let go of her face and shoved her backward. Not hard enough to knock her over, but hard enough to make her stumble. "Get out of my office. Leave the files. If I see you on this floor again, I'll have security throw you out the window."

She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing. Tears welled up in her eyes. The sight of them felt like a knife in my gut.

"Go!" I shouted.

She turned and ran. She scrambled for the door, fumbling with the handle before throwing it open and disappearing into the hallway.

I waited until I heard the elevator doors close. Then I collapsed back against my desk. I put my head in my hands. The scent of her was everywhere. It was on the carpet. It was in the air. It was on my fingers where I had touched her.

The side door opened. Marcus walked back in. He looked at me, then he looked at the empty hallway. He sniffed the air. His face went pale.

"Daniel," Marcus said, his voice very quiet. "That wasn't a human."

"I know," I said, not looking up.

"And she wasn't just a wolf," Marcus continued, walking closer. "I smelled the metal. Daniel... that was a Hybrid."

I looked up at him. "She's my mate, Marcus."

Marcus froze. He stared at me for a long, silent minute. Then he walked over to the window and looked out at the city.

"If the Council finds out the Alpha of the Blackwell Pack is mated to a Hybrid abomination," Marcus said, turning back to me, "they won't just kill her. They'll declare war on us. We have to kill her, Daniel. Before anyone else smells her."

I stood up slowly. I let the silver take over my eyes completely. I let my claws extend, sharp points tearing through the expensive fabric of the chair.

"If you touch her," I said, my voice vibrating with the full power of the Alpha command, "I will rip your head off and mount it on the wall. Do you understand me?"

EMMA POV

The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the sight of the heavy oak doors and the man behind them.

The moment the seal broke, I collapsed.

I didn't faint like I thought I would; instead, my legs just stopped working. I slid down the mirrored wall until I hit the floor, clutching my chest. It felt like someone had reached inside my ribcage and severed a cord that I hadn't known existed until thirty seconds ago. It was a physical ache, a hollow, gnawing hunger that started in my stomach and radiated out to my fingertips.

GO BACK! Artemis screamed.

It wasn't a whisper this time. It was a command that rattled my teeth.

He pushed us away. He rejected us. BITE HIM. Make him bleed. Make him submit.

"Shut up," I gasped, digging my fingers into my scalp. "Please, just shut up. I'm having a panic attack. That's all this is. Just a panic attack."

Liar, Artemis hissed. You felt the heat. You felt the bond. He is our Alpha. And he kicked us out.

The elevator plummeted toward the lobby. My ears popped, and the nausea rolled over me in a violent wave. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to picture my therapist's office. I tried to picture the calming blue painting on her wall. Count the brushstrokes, Emma. Count the brushstrokes.

But all I could see were those grey eyes.

Silver, Artemis corrected.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened to the lobby. I scrambled to my feet, using the handrail to pull myself up. I had to get out of this building. I had to get away from the smell of him. It was stuck in my nose, that mix of rain and iron. It was driving me crazy.

I walked past the security desk. The night guard, a man named Henderson who usually gave me a nod, didn't look up from his monitors. But as I passed him, I saw his posture stiffen. He sniffed the air, just like the guard upstairs had.

I pushed through the revolving doors and spilled out onto the sidewalk.

It was raining heavily. The city sounded like static, tires hissing on wet pavement, distant sirens, the low rumble of the subway beneath the grate. The cold water soaked through my blouse instantly, plastering the fabric to my skin, but I didn't feel cold. I felt feverish. My skin was burning hot, steaming in the cool night air.

I started walking toward the subway station, my heels clicking unevenly on the concrete.

"Okay," I muttered to myself, hugging my arms around my chest. "Okay, Emma. You're going home. You're going to take a double dose of the Quetiapine. You're going to sleep for twelve hours. And tomorrow, you're going to call HR and request a transfer to the agonizingly boring auditing department in the basement."

Coward, Artemis spat. We should go back up there and tear his throat out for disrespecting us.

"I am not tearing anyone's throat out!" I said, too loudly.

A woman walking her dog glanced at me nervously and crossed the street.

I kept walking, turning down the narrow alleyway that cut through to the subway entrance. It was a shortcut I took every day. Usually, it was safe. But tonight, I felt like the darkness was heavier than ever.

My neck prickled, and the hairs on my arms stood straight up.

Behind us, there is a predator. Artemis whispered.

I stopped. I didn't want to turn around. I told myself it was just paranoia. It was just the "delusion" acting up because I was stressed.

"Hey, sweetheart."

The voice was wet and raspy, like gravel grinding together.

I turned around slowly.

A man was standing at the mouth of the alley. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt that was stained with grease, and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets. He didn't look like a typical mugger. He wasn't looking at my purse. He was looking at me. He started sniffing the air, just like how Marcus and the guard did, his upper lip curling back to reveal teeth that looked too yellow and too sharp.

"I don't have any cash," I said, my voice trembling. "Take the phone. It's an old model anyway."

I reached into my pocket to pull out my cell, but the man laughed. It was a low, mocking sound.

"I don't want your phone," he said, taking a step closer. He stepped into a puddle, but he didn't seem to notice the water soaking his sneakers. "You smell expensive. You smell like a payout. And that is what I do for a living, hunting predators".

"What?" I took a step back. "I'm an analyst. I make forty grand a year."

"Not you," he said, tilting his head. "Your blood. The Boss has a bounty out for anything that smells like the old labs or chemicals. And you... god, you reek of it. Metallic, wrong but strong."

Before I could even process what he was saying, he lunged at me.

He moved faster than any human should be able to move. One second he was ten feet away, and the next he was right in front of me. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging into my flesh like iron claws. His breath smelled like rotting meat.

"Let's see what color you bleed," he growled.

Panic exploded in my chest. But it wasn't the freezing, paralyzing panic I was used to. It was hot like a furnace, red-hot rage.

KILL HIM! Artemis shrieked.

My body moved without my permission. I didn't think about it and I certainly didn't plan it. My right hand shot up and slammed into the center of his chest. I just wanted to push him away. I just wanted breathing room.

There was a sickening crack, the sound of ribs snapping.

The man didn't just stumble back and flew to God knows where.

He was lifted off his feet as if he had been hit by a truck. He sailed through the air, traveling ten, maybe fifteen feet, before he slammed into the brick wall of the adjacent building. He hit the bricks with a wet thud and slid down to the pavement, groaning.

I stared at my hand.

It looked normal. My manicured fingernails, my small palm, my wrist that looked so fragile.

"What..." I whispered.

The man on the ground coughed, spitting up blood. He looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. "What the hell are you?" he wheezed. "That's not... that's not human strength. Of fucking course.."

I didn't wait to answer.

I turned and ran.

I sprinted toward the subway station but didn't stop there. Instead, I shot right past it, covering the six blocks to my apartment building without getting tired. My lungs didn't burn; my legs moved with a mechanical, terrifying efficiency. I was a blur, running even faster than the cars on the street.

I burst into the lobby of my building, startling the elderly doorman, Mr. Henderson.

"Miss Carter?" he asked, standing up. "Is everything alright? You're soaking wet."

"I'm fine!" I yelled over my shoulder, not waiting for the elevator. I took the stairs. I lived on the fourth floor. I took the steps three at a time, leaping up the flights like... like an animal.

I fumbled with my keys at my door, scratching the paint around the lock before I finally managed to jam the key in. I threw the door open, stumbled inside, and slammed it shut. I locked the deadbolt. I locked the chain. I dragged a heavy wooden chair from the kitchen table and wedged it under the handle.

Only then did I let myself breathe.

My apartment was quiet. It smelled like the lemon cleaner I used and the drying lavender I kept in a vase. It was normal and I was safe.

But I wasn't.

My stomach lurched violently. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom and fell to my knees in front of the toilet and retched. Nothing came up but bile and water, but my body kept trying to purge itself, trying to get rid of the adrenaline, the fear, the smell of the man in the alley.

I dry-heaved until my throat was raw. I sat back on my heels, shaking uncontrollably and reached up and turned on the cold water tap, splashing my face. I grabbed a towel and scrubbed my skin, trying to wipe away the feeling of the man's hands on my shoulders.

"It was adrenaline," I whispered to the empty bathroom. "Hysterical strength. Mothers lift cars off their babies. That's what happened. He surprised me, and I panicked."

You broke his ribcage, Artemis said. Her voice was calm now. smug. It felt good. The bone snapping. It felt right.

"Stop it!" I screamed, gripping the edge of the sink. "I am not a monster! I am Emma Carter! I pay my taxes and I watch cooking shows and I am normal!"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Open your eyes, Emma. Look at yourself. You're fine."

I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror.

The scream died in my throat.

The face looking back at me was mine, but it wasn't. My skin was flushed with a feverish heat. My lips were swollen. But it was my eyes.

My dark, chocolate-brown eyes were gone.

In their place were irises the color of a bruised sunset. A vivid, glowing violet. They weren't just purple; they were luminous, shining with an internal light that cast a faint glow on the bathroom tiles. The pupils were slits. Vertical, predatory slits that pulsed with my heartbeat.

I leaned closer to the glass, my breath fogging the surface. I touched my cheek. The reflection touched its cheek.

"No," I whimpered. "No, this isn't real. This is the hallucination. I'm in bed. I'm asleep. I'm dreaming."

I reached for the bottle of pills on the counter, my hands shaking so hard I knocked a bottle of perfume into the sink. It shattered, the smell of expensive flowers mixing with the smell of my own fear.

Put the pills down, Artemis said. They won't fix this. You can't cure what you are.

"What am I?" I whispered to the violet eyes in the mirror. "What is happening to me?"

Artemis laughed, a dark, rolling sound in the back of my head.

You're finally waking up, Emma. And so is everyone else.