Chapter Three

Lena trudged into her apartment, exhaustion weighing her down. The events of the evening swirled in her mind, impossible to piece together into anything coherent. She barely noticed Marcus sitting on her couch until he spoke.

"Hey," he said, his tone unusually low.

She jumped, clutching the album tightly to her chest. "Marcus! What are you doing here?"

Marcus shrugged, leaning back. His smile seemed forced, and there was an edge to his voice she hadn't heard before. "You weren't answering your texts, so I figured I'd wait. Are you okay?"

Lena forced a tight smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

He glanced at the album in her hands. "What's that?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, clutching it tighter. "Just something from work."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on her longer than she liked. His demeanor felt... off. Normally, he was cheerful, lighthearted and always cracked jokes to lift her mood. But tonight, there was something about him that felt different. There was a coldness in his eyes, a tension in his posture that made her uncomfortable.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Marcus asked, standing up slowly. His movements were deliberate, almost predatory.

Lena frowned, instinctively stepping back. "Yeah, just... tired. I think I'm going to head to bed."

But Marcus didn't move to let her leave. Instead, he took a step toward her, his eyes scanning her face with an intensity she wasn't used to. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" His voice had dropped, and the sharpness of it made her uneasy.

Lena swallowed, her heart beginning to race. "I'm fine, Marcus. Really."

He didn't seem convinced. His expression darkened, and before she could react, he was standing right in front of her, his breath warm against her skin. "Lena," he said in a low, almost menacing tone. "You're hiding something from me."

She took a step back, bumping into the edge of the coffee table. Her pulse quickened. Something was terribly wrong. The friendly, laid-back Marcus she'd known for years was gone, replaced by someone she didn't recognize.

"Marcus, what's going on? Why are you acting like this?" She tried to push past him, but he blocked her way, his gaze flicking down to the album in her hands.

"That album," he murmured, his voice almost a growl. "It's not just a 'work thing,' is it? You think I don't know what's going on?"

Lena's stomach twisted. "I told you, it's nothing."

But Marcus wasn't listening. He stepped forward with a speed that took her off guard, grabbing her wrist in a vise-like grip. "No," he said, his voice low and deadly. "It's not nothing, Lena. I can feel it."

Fear surged in her chest. "Marcus, let go of me!" she cried, pulling her arm back with all her strength. But his grip only tightened, his pupils dilated with something sinister.

"Not until you tell me what's really going on," he growled.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and she could feel the shift in the air. Lena's heart raced. The man standing in front of her wasn't her best friend anymore. This wasn't Marcus.

Panic took over. She shoved him with every ounce of strength, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. He snarled and yanked her back toward him. "You think you can run from the truth, but you can't, Lena. You're mine."

"Get off me!" she screamed, struggling to free herself, but her vision blurred as Marcus's grip tightened around her throat. She gasped for air, her legs buckling beneath her. His hands were like iron, choking the life out of her. Her pulse hammered in her ears, her vision narrowing to black edges.

And then, in a desperate, frantic move, Lena raised the album and smashed it against his head with every last bit of strength she had left. It was a wild, instinctual strike, but it worked. The impact sent Marcus reeling back, his hands loosening from her throat as he staggered.

But what happened next was nothing short of terrifying.

Marcus groaned, a low, guttural sound, his body contorting as though in pain. His face twisted in agony, and for a split second, Lena thought she saw something else—something inhuman. His skin rippled like it was being pulled and twisted by an invisible force, his eyes flashing back to their normal hue as he dropped to his knees, groaning again.

"Marcus?" she whispered, panic gripping her. What was happening to him?

Before she could react further, he collapsed to the floor, unconscious, his body twitching and convulsing.

Lena stumbled back, her heart pounding hard. She didn't know what had just happened, but she didn't stick around to find out. Her legs moved of their own accord carrying her toward the door in a desperate flight.

She burst into the hallway, her breath ragged as she sprinted down the stairs. She needed to get out of there, away from Marcus, from whatever that was.

And then, as if fate had decided to intervene, she collided with someone. Strong arms gripped her, steadying her before she could fall.

"Damien," she breathed, looking up at him with wide eyes. His familiar, dark gaze locked onto hers, his expression unreadable, but there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, the alertness in his posture.

"Lena, what's wrong?" His voice was low, urgent, and his eyes flicked toward the door she had just run from.

"Marcus… he..." She couldn't finish the sentence. Words felt inadequate for what had just happened.

Damien's hand tightened around her arm. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Lena whispered, shaking her head, her mind spinning with confusion. "But I think… I think I killed him."

Damien didn't flinch. His gaze never wavered. "No, you didn't." He started pulling her toward the stairs. "Take me there."

Lena couldn't argue. Every part of her was shaking, but something about Damien's presence gave her an odd sense of comfort. She followed him up the stairs, feeling like her legs might give way at any moment. They reached her apartment, and Damien pushed the door open with force.

The room was silent, too silent. There was no sign of Marcus. No movement, no sound.

Lena's heart dropped. "But… he was right there. He was just—"

Damien's eyes scanned the room with cold precision. "He's gone," he said flatly. "And we need to leave. Now."

Lena looked at him, her voice trembling. "Where? What's happening?"

Damien took a deep breath, his eyes hardening as he turned toward her. "The Lycaon Order," he said, his voice low, controlled. "They know you're alive now."

Lena's pulse raced at the sound of those words. "What are you talking about?"

He moved closer, his hands gripping her shoulders. "They want you dead. They've been hunting you for years, and now they know you're here. You're not safe anymore."

Lena felt her legs threaten to buckle under the weight of his words. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

"I've made arrangements," he said. "It's time for you to come with me."

"Where are we going?" she whispered, barely able to find her voice.

Damien's eyes softened, though his expression remained serious. "Home."