A Life in Hiding
The scent of blood filled the air so much that it was thick and suffocating. Several screams echoed in the distance, and they were all familiar voices, the ones of people I loved. My legs refused to move as I stood frozen in the center of the carnage. The dead bodies of the family were littered on the ground, and their lifeless eyes stared back at me in accusation and condemnation.
“Dad! Mom! Sera!” I called out their names one after the other, but none of them responded.
My entire world of the sixteen-year-old me came rumbling as the realization dawned on me. They had been brutally murdered beyond recognition. Their bodies were filled with claw marks and holes.
Before I could register the scene, a low growl rumbled behind me. I turned slowly, my heart pounding against my ribs. His eyes were golden and bright. It carried a ruthless and predator-like look that scared the life out of me as it locked with mine. I was standing right in front of the monster that destroyed my family.
“Run, little wolf,” he whispered, his voice was smooth as silk, but it carried a spice of wickedness.
I tried to listen to him. I really did try to run, but the second I turned, a sharp pain shot through me as a set of claws sliced into my back. I gasped and tumbled forward, my hands slipping on the blood-soaked ground. The world spun, and right then…
I woke up.
Gasping, I sat upright with a bolting speed. I was thickly drenched in sweat. My hands trembled as I clutched the thin blanket that had draped down my body. My heart was slamming hard against my chest with every breath I took.
The nightmare never changed. It was the same every single night. The same scene, the same fear that wrapped around me like a noose, choking up my breath.
I exhaled sharply and ran a hand through my damp hair, forcing my pulse to slow down.
It was just a dream.
But it wasn’t. It was a memory, one that has refused to fade no matter how many years had passed. I was now twenty, but I couldn’t escape its clutches no matter how hard I tried.
The small clock on my nightstand glowed at 3:47 a.m.; it was too early to be awake and too late to go back to sleep. With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pressed my bare feet against the cold wooden floor. My apartment was a tiny, one-bedroom space above the bookstore where I worked. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, and I cherished it a lot.
And more importantly, it was safe.
For the last four years, I’d been running from pack lands, from rogues, from anyone who might recognize my scent. I had spent the first two years wandering from town to town, barely staying long enough to settle. At some point, the exhaustion caught up to me. When I stumbled into this small human town nestled between mountains, I knew it was far enough from werewolf territories to keep me hidden and safe.
So, I did something I never thought I would do. I stayed here.
I built a routine, a life around an entirely new environment and style. I became Aria Laurent, the quiet girl who worked at the bookstore and always had her nose buried in a novel. The girl who never stayed out late or attended any social events. I blended in till I almost faded. I smiled when required, spoke only when necessary, and kept my head down.
I had no friends, no ties. Just the way I wanted it and how it should be.
Suppressing my wolf side was the hardest part. I struggled so hard with it before I could master it. Every instinct inside me rebelled against it. The urge to run through the woods, to shift and feel the earth beneath my paws as I bask in the moonlight, to stretch my senses beyond the fragile limitations of my human form, all gnawed at me every day.
However, shifting meant I would be putting my entire life at risk. If even one wolf caught my scent, my cover would be blown without any delay. So I buried that part of me, locked her away so deep that sometimes I wondered if I was more human than wolf now.
I grabbed the glass of water from my nightstand and took a slow sip; my hands were still trembling slightly from the remnants of my nightmare. I needed to get out of my head, so I stood to my feet, walked over to the small window above my bed, and peered outside. The town was still quiet at this hour.
I shook my head and turned away from the window. I headed to the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face. I wanted the chill to wake me up into reality so I could stay focused. My reflection in the mirror was pale and drawn. My eyes were surrounded with huge dark circles as my long black hair clung to my damp skin.
I could barely recognize myself anymore. I was like a wandering ghost.
With a sigh, I dried my face and pulled on a hoodie before heading downstairs. If I wasn’t going back to sleep, I might as well get some work done. The bookstore was my sanctuary and abode. The scent of paper and ink was comforting because I lived my life around it; it made me forget my worries for a while.
I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, flipping on the dim overhead lights. Books were lined on every shelf, stacked neatly, and each one was holding a world far safer than my own.
Grabbing a box of new arrivals, I set to work, unpacking and shelving them. The routine was comforting, and it kept me sane.
Minutes turned into hours, and before I knew it, dawn crept through the windows, and the store was painted in its golden light.
“Finally,” my heart leaped for joy
The bell above the door jingled as my boss, Mrs. Porter, shuffled inside.
“You’re here early again,” she noted, raising a brow.
I forced a small smile. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to put my time to good use.”
She eyed me for a moment before sighing. “You work too much, dear. You should take some time for yourself. You need a lot of rest, you look like a haunting ghost right now,”
“I like working.”
She shook her head but didn’t push further. That was another reason I liked Mrs. Porter. She doesn’t pry, and she didn’t lie about her last statement. I was looking terrible.
I finished shelving the last book and stretched. “I’ll go grab some coffee before we open.”
