Mated to the Wolf I Should Fear

My breath slips away. Each breath tears at my lungs, as if something invisible were cutting it off before it reaches me.

Then I open my eyes, sweat clings to me like a second skin, and I can't get my heart rate under control.

Since I turned twenty-two, these recurring nightmares have tormented me every full moon night.

My father, who has been too reserved since my mother disappeared from our lives, gives me a crooked laugh every time I try to explain to him the coincidence between my night terrors and the lunar calendar.

He says I'm exaggerating. That it's stress.

I deny the cracked sky, where the black moon is embedded like a motionless eye in the middle of the night.

From the shadows emerges a jagged grimace on a blurred face, a face that seems to take root in pointed ears that lengthen, that merge into a savage snout... Until it becomes a beast that should not exist, a presence that makes me shudder even before I understand it.

So I'm signing up right away, but just thinking about it gives me the creeps.

I shake my head and force myself to stand up.

Today there's no room for fear.

Today I start my first day of work at the renowned company Meridian Motors, dedicated to the sale of luxury cars.

I gather my blonde hair into a perfect bun and put on my platinum blue skirt, which reaches my knees. The white shirt is immaculate.

Today I represent the Bennett name, and making it shine after I graduate from college is the most exciting thing in my life right now.

I go downstairs and only find a blurry address on a note stuck to the refrigerator door, but it'll be enough.

Outside, the day dawns sunny. Perfect. Exactly as I had imagined.

I walk toward the avenue to catch a taxi, but the sun suddenly disappears. The sky turns gray, and a fresh scent of rain tickles my nose.

The first drops fall without warning, soaking my hair, staining my shirt.

Then I see it.

A black car, luxurious, extravagant. A Ferrari, I'd venture to guess. It slows down right in front of me and, for a second, I think it's going to stop.

Perhaps hitchhiking is a better idea than a taxi.

I move toward the street and then it accelerates.

The wheel sinks into the puddle and muddy water flies straight toward me, ruining my immaculate skirt.

"You damn idiot! Are you blind or what?" I yell furiously, trying to see the imbecile hidden behind the closed window.

But the window rolls down slowly. Cheeky.

A long arm emerges first. The sleeve of the black suit fits snugly, revealing a small but impossible-to-ignore tattoo: a Roman numeral five, etched on the wrist.

The man gives me the middle finger.

"What the hell...?" I curse, crossing my arms as I survey the mess that's now my clothes.

The car starts and disappears.

A taxi pulls up just then. The driver looks me up and down, rolls his eyes at my appearance, and doesn't say a word when I get in.

I sink into the seat, after a moment, I give him the address from the wet note inside the bag.

I roll my eyes and mentally condemn the idiot in the Ferrari.

Nothing can fix this. The towel I'm carrying only makes the stains worse. With my hair disheveled and my cheeks burning with rage, I get out of the car in front of a huge, beautiful building.

A kind man welcomes me and points me in the right direction.

The elevator is as refined as the exterior architecture. Upon exiting, a long corridor opens up before me.

A group of people listen attentively to Mr. Pierce, the manager, who gives the morning briefing.

Everyone is watching me with eyes that judge even my soul. I straighten as casually as I can, so subtle that it seems as if I've been there for hours.

"All right. Now I'd like to introduce Mr. Blackwood, the deputy general manager. His father, the owner of the company, will join us later," Malcolm Pierce announced, holding my gaze.

The hallway falls silent. A tall man with black hair appears. His dark shirt is taut over his muscles; his pale skin contrasts with the harshness of his features.

There's something about him that's too intense. The light seems to follow him, reflecting a supernatural force.

Every gesture, every breath, suggests contained danger.

"Good morning," he says. "Welcome to the newcomers. This afternoon Malcolm Pierce will inform you about the upcoming finance meeting."

His voice is deep—too deep. It vibrates in my chest.

My father warned me that I'd be working directly with the assistant manager. I'd be handling his sales. So I have to wait. But then he approaches.

My pulse quickens. My palms turn clammy. Under his sleeve, the Roman numeral five tattoo appears again.

The same five. It can't be.

"Oh... If it isn't Mr. Bennett's daughter," he says. "Elara, isn't it?"