At some point, the phone slipped from my hand. I lay there, eyes closed, the room tilting and spinning in the afterglow. My last conscious thought was that maybe I’d wake up and it would all bea bad dream, maybe the hack would have worked, maybe I’d be the one with the last laugh after all. Maybe I’d be dead.
But even as I drifted off, I knew it wasn’t true. The blue light flickered on my closed lids, a warning beacon.
I slept, but I didn’t rest.
I woke to the sound of a growl—not a dog’s, not even a wolf’s, but something low and wet, dredged up from the pit of a nightmare. My body shot upright before my brain caught up, lungs stuttering on an inhale. Darkness packed the bedroom, so dense it ate the light from the alarm clock, turning it into a useless blur.
My heart hammered against my ribs, begging to be let out. I blinked hard, scanning the room. Nothing at the window, nothing at the door, just the stench of cheap wine and old terror crowding the air. I waited for the noise again, breath tight in my throat.
Silence. Then a whisper of movement, a scrape of cloth on carpet. The hair along my arms lifted, and my inner wolf went rigid, alert and drooling at the end of a chain.
I slid a hand under the pillow, fingers curling around the heavy flashlight I kept there. I waited. Maybe I’d imagined it. Maybe the neighbor’s mutt was at it again, or a raccoon rooting through the trash outside. I convinced myself of this for exactly two heartbeats before the darkness beside my bed moved.
It moved.
I clutched the flashlight harder, then forced myself to speak, voice thin and reedy. “Who’s there? Rocket, you okay?”
Nothing. Then, a man’s silhouette—huge, broad-shouldered, the kind of bulk that filled the doorway even without setting foot inside. He stepped forward, and as he moved, a glint of white teeth and two holes for eyes resolved out of the black. A mask: white eyes, skull grin. I recognized it instantly. I’d seen it before, in the sick little fantasy that haunted me every night since the incident on the deck.
He stood at the foot of my bed, arms relaxed, head cocked, like he was watching a lab rat try to chew through the bars.
The wolf in me yipped, confused: fight or fuck, it couldn’t decide.
He stepped closer, boots silent on the wood. I flung the flashlight; a desperate, stupid move. He caught it out of the air with one hand, twisted it until the plastic casing shattered, then tossed the pieces onto the carpet.
I tried to scream. Nothing came out but a squeak, a rabbit sound.
He leaned over me; the mask filling my vision, teeth stretched wide. He ran a gloved finger down my cheek, slow and careful, then wrapped his whole hand around my throat. He squeezed, not hard, just enough to let me know that I was his now, that he owned the next few minutes or hours or days.
His voice was dark, buzzing through the mask. “Your dog is fine. He’s in the guest room with a juicy bone. Are you frightened, little bird?”
I nodded my head.
He pressed my back into the mattress, hand tightening just a fraction. “Good,” he said. “You should be.”
He let go of my throat and ripped my shirt over my head. Then, pushed me back down. Cold air slapped my skin, and I realized with a bolt of humiliation that I’d slept naked under the shirt, nothing between me and the world but a thin layer of cotton and my own stupidity.
He looked me over, a slow inspection, and even though the mask hid his eyes, I could feel them roving up and down my body.
“Look at you,” he said, voice like rough silk. “So perfect.”
He traced a finger from the hollow of my throat to my belly button, then lower. The sensation was electric, all nerves and panic. I lay perfectly still, breathing fast, not sure if I wanted to run or pull him closer.
“Spread your legs for me, Wren.” His words were simple, but the command in them was absolute.
Chapter 4
Wrecker
She looked at me, teeth bared. “Get off me.”
“No,” I said, and meant it as I tightened my hand around her throat. “You’re not in charge here, little bird.”
She tried to move my hand, then opened her mouth to shout. I pushed her back and clamped my palm over her lips, pinning her head to the pillow. My knee came up onto the bed, my weight pressing her down.
“Shhhh,” I said, and the sound filled the room like a blade in the dark. “You’re in no position to be chirping at me, Wren. You want to keep that mouth open? I can fill it with something.” She shook her head violently. “Then keep it shut for me. Can you do that?”
She glared daggers. But she nodded, slow, and when I took my hand away, she stayed quiet.
