Chapter 3 — The Weight of Blood
Ellen Carter
Pain clawed Ellen out of unconsciousness, an unrelenting throb in her arm anchoring her to the waking world. Her breath hitched in her throat as awareness returned, and with it, a jarring cascade of sensations. The room was dim, glowing faintly with firelight that painted jagged shadows across vaulted ceilings and dark wooden walls. The air carried a heavy mix of scents—pine, leather, and something metallic. Blood, she realized. Her blood.
She inhaled sharply and tried to sit up, but the movement sent a searing pain lancing through her side, forcing her back against the soft, unfamiliar mattress. Panic rose, sharp and unyielding, as fragments of memory flared to life: the alley, the forest, the chase, and the monstrous creature with gnashing teeth. Her trembling hand rose to her forehead as if she could press the chaos back into submission.
Focus. Observe. Her journalist instincts kicked in, clawing for control. The room was sparsely but richly furnished—a blend of antique and modern design. The flickering fire cast glints of light over dark wood and polished metal. Portraits lined the walls, their subjects’ piercing eyes following her, and a heavy wooden door loomed to her left. She flexed her fingers, nails scraping against the coarse fabric of the blanket draped over her.
“You’re awake,” a deep, measured voice broke through her haze, cutting like a blade through the quiet.
Ellen’s head snapped toward the corner of the room. A man emerged from the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence filling the space with an air of command. Ice-blue eyes locked onto hers, their intensity unsettling. He moved with a predatory grace, deliberate and controlled, every step measured as though stalking unseen prey.
“What the hell do you want from me?” she demanded, her voice hoarse but edged with defiance. Her throat felt raw, her words scraping as though dragged across sandpaper.
He stepped closer, the firelight illuminating a face as sharp and chiseled as a statue’s. His dark hair was tied back, and a shadow of stubble framed his angular jaw. His expression was calm, almost impassive, but there was an undercurrent of something primal in the way he regarded her.
“I’m Drake Silverfang,” he said simply, his tone calm yet weighted with authority. “And you’re in my home.”
Her pulse spiked. “Your home? What gives you the right to drag me here? I didn’t ask for your help.”
Drake’s gaze darkened slightly, though his expression remained steady. “You were dying,” he said flatly. “If Maya hadn’t brought you here, you wouldn’t have survived the night.”
“Maya…” Ellen’s voice faltered. The name tugged at a memory—amber eyes, protective and unyielding. The woman. No, the wolf. Ellen swallowed, her throat tight. “She’s one of them,” she said. “One of you.”
“Yes,” Drake said, as if it explained everything. “And so are you now.”
The words hit her like a slap. She shook her head vehemently, a mix of disbelief and anger surging through her veins. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m not—whatever this is. I’m human.”
“You were,” Drake said, his voice unyielding but quieter now, as though softening the blow. “But the bite changed you. You’re one of us.”
Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling as if the air had thickened. Flashes of memory assaulted her again—the rogue’s bite, the burning sensation coursing through her body, the glow of her own eyes in the alley’s shadows. “No,” she said again, louder this time, her voice edged with desperation. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.”
“It’s real,” Drake said, his tone as steady as stone. “Your transformation has already begun.”
Ellen pressed her hands to her temples, her mind racing. Her senses seemed to sharpen against her will—the faint crackle of the fire, the rasp of her own breathing, even the creak of wood beneath Drake’s weight. It was overwhelming. Her body felt alien, like it didn’t belong to her anymore.
“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t my life. I’m a journalist. I investigate stories. I’m not—” She choked on the words, her hands trembling as they fell to her lap.
“You still have a choice,” Drake said, his tone softening slightly now.
Her head snapped up, hazel eyes sharp despite the chaos within her. “A choice? What choice? From where I’m sitting, it looks like my life’s been hijacked by a bunch of monsters!”
Drake’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and cold. “You’re speaking about your own kind now.”
The room plunged into silence, the tension thick and suffocating. The fire crackled, throwing shadows that seemed to stretch and twist across the walls like living things. Ellen’s heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a painful reminder of her body’s betrayal.
Footsteps approached the door, and a moment later it opened. Maya entered, her movements purposeful but unhurried. Her cropped black hair framed a face marked by both strength and compassion. Her dark tactical clothing bore faint scuffs, the remnants of a recent fight. Amber eyes flicked from Ellen to Drake, taking in the scene with a calm that seemed practiced.
“How is she?” Maya asked, her voice steady but tinged with concern.
“Awake,” Drake replied curtly, though his gaze never left Ellen.
Maya crossed the room and crouched before Ellen, her expression softening. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
Ellen hesitated, her instinct to lash out tempered by the warmth in Maya’s tone. “Like I got hit by a truck,” she muttered, her voice quieter now.
Maya’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “That’s about right,” she said. “Your body’s still adjusting. The first few days are the hardest.”
Ellen’s stomach churned. “Adjusting to what?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“To being a werewolf,” Maya said, her voice gentle but firm.
The word hung in the air, heavy and impossible. Ellen stared at Maya, waiting for her to take it back, to laugh and tell her this was some twisted joke. But no such reprieve came.
“This isn’t real,” Ellen murmured, shaking her head. “It can’t be.”
“It is,” Maya said softly. “I know it’s overwhelming, but you’re not alone in this. We’ll help you.”
Ellen’s eyes narrowed, her skepticism flaring. “Help me? Why? What do you people want from me?”
Maya glanced at Drake, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. Drake stepped forward, his imposing presence once again filling the room.
“You’re not just any werewolf,” he said, his voice carefully measured. “You’re part of the Royal Line.”
Ellen blinked, her mind struggling to process the words. “The what?”
“The Royal Line,” Drake repeated. “The bloodline of the monarchy that once ruled all werewolves. Your parents were part of an effort to restore it, but they were assassinated before they could succeed.”
Her heart clenched painfully at the mention of her parents. “My parents…” she whispered, her voice cracking. “What do you know about my parents?”
Drake hesitated, and for the first time, his composure seemed to waver. A flicker of something raw—guilt, perhaps—crossed his face before it was swallowed by his usual stoicism. “Not as much as I should,” he admitted. “But their deaths weren’t random. They were targeted because of what they were trying to protect.”
Ellen’s jaw tightened, her grief colliding with her instincts as a journalist. “And what exactly were they trying to protect?”
Drake exchanged a brief glance with Maya before answering. “You,” he said simply.
The word hit her like a blow. Questions swirled in her mind, tangled and urgent. Her parents’ deaths. This so-called Royal Line. The truth of who she was and why it mattered.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “You don’t get to decide my life for me,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. “If you think I’m just going to roll over and play whatever role you’ve got planned, you’re wrong.”
Drake’s expression remained unreadable, though for a moment, something—respect?—flickered in his gaze. “No one’s asking you to,” he said. “But you’re part of this now, whether you like it or not. And if you want to survive, you’re going to need our help.”
Ellen’s mind reeled, her defiance clashing with the grim reality of her situation. She didn’t trust him—didn’t trust any of this. But she needed answers, and she’d get them. On her terms.
“Fine,” she said, her voice sharp with reluctant resolve. “But don’t think for a second that I trust you. Either of you.”
Maya’s expression softened, but Drake’s remained impassive.
“Trust is earned,” he said. “And you’ll have to earn ours as well.”
Ellen didn’t respond, her gaze drifting to the flickering fire. Her thoughts raced, each one more urgent than the last. She was trapped in a world she didn’t understand, surrounded by people she didn’t trust. But she was still Ellen Carter. And she would uncover the truth, no matter what it took.
The fire crackled softly, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on the room. And as the shadows danced across the walls, Ellen’s resolve hardened. She would survive this. She would find the answers she sought. And she would do it her way.
