The room is bright when I wake up and I think for a moment that I've found myself in some kind of afterlife.

But then I blink and the room comes into view.

It's a small room. Sparse. There's no furniture other than the creaky bed I'm lying in and a wardrobe.

It hits me then—where the hell am I?

Panic shoots through my chest, sending my pulse skyrocketing. This is it. Bianca has finally caught me. Except—I hear a gasp.

"She's awake!" a voice shouts.

I turn. A woman stands next to me with brown skin and long, black hair. She's so tiny I think she's a kid for a second, until I get a clear look at her.

"Blake!" she hollers. "She's awake!"

I groan. All this yelling is driving a hammer through my already aching head. I try to sit up, and a dull pain stabs through my chest.

Suddenly, the events of last night come back to me—the man with the knife, the white wolf, and then... then... the wolf turned into—

I must be remembering wrong. Delusion, from blood loss.

It must be, because—wasn't I stabbed in the chest? I should be dead. I look down. I've been changed into a loose t-shirt. Tugging on the collar, I glance down to find a thick, angry-red scar on my chest.

I twist slightly, testing the pain. It stings, but nothing worse than a dull, faded ache. I don't even see any stitches. How did I recover from that? How long have I been asleep?

"I heard you the first time," a familiar voice says. I look up as a man enters the room.

I almost don't recognize him without his hood, but those bright blue eyes settle on me and I freeze. Ice runs through my blood.

The man from the diner.

He looks the same, with his high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut through a mountain, but now I can see him more clearly. Even better, I can see his dark hair, brushed in waves on his head. I want to run my fingers through them.

But there's something strange here. If I squint my eyes, I can almost see a string connected to his chest. It's transparent and almost shimmers a pale silver. I follow the glittering line, only to find the other end buried into my own chest.

I blink up at him. He doesn't even seem fazed by it.

I blink again, hard, expecting the line to vanish, but it doesn't.

I feel like I'm going insane.

"What are you doing here?" I croak. My voice snags in my dry throat and I burst into a fit of coughs.

"Leyla, get her some water," the man snaps. He doesn't even look at me, his cold gaze settled upon Leyla instead.

Instantly, the woman is by my side again, shoving a cup of water into my hands.

"Who are you?" I snap, ignoring the water. I keep my eyes on the man. Here, in the daylight, I can still feel that tug—that urge to move closer, to reach up and touch him—but it's weaker now. I can resist it more easily.

It's a strange feeling. Sure, I've seen some hot guys in the past. I've had my fair share of crushes. But with him—it's almost subconscious. Even in my most boy-obsessed years, I never felt this way.

Is he really that attractive that I feel naturally compelled to touch him? My eyes rake over his thick arms, clad in a tight long-sleeve, and his sculpted chest. I swallow drily. Okay, maybe he is.

He presses a hand to his forehead and inhales deeply. "Just drink your water."

"How am I supposed to know it's not—not poisoned or something?" I ask, eyeing the water suspiciously.

The man rolls his eyes. "If we wanted you dead, we would have left you in that forest."

His words surprise me. Is this really the same man who offered me pancakes? Who let me use his phone in that dingy diner?

"Blake!" the woman—Leyla—exclaims.

I turn the name over in my mind. Blake.

Blake meets her eye. They have some sort of nonverbal conversation which I guess Leyla wins, because Blake's whole body sags.

He snaps his head to me and mutters, "Will you drink the water, please? You've been asleep for some time."

I almost laugh at the immense effort his words appear to take. I bring the cup to my lips and instant relief washes over me as I sip the water. I run my tongue over my lips, surprised to find them chapped and dry.

I'm about to have another sip, when his words hit me.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask, expecting the worst. My chest is healed and scarred. It must have been a long time.

He opens his mouth to respond, when someone else bursts into the room behind him.

This man has pale skin and orange, fiery hair. He stands almost as tall as Blake, his eyes frantically darting from Blake, to Leyla, to me.

"How is she?" he puffs out.

Blake turns to him, his face turning stern. "Thomas, what are you doing here?"

Thomas almost shrinks under Blake's sharp gaze. His eyes turn downwards as he replies, "Leyla told me."

I frown, turning to the woman. How did she tell him, when she's been here the whole time? Did I miss her pulling out a phone?

I wince. All this thinking is worsening my headache.

"Get her more water," Blake snaps, suddenly.

Leyla narrows her eyes at him but follows his order. I glance back at the two men. Thomas is no longer looking downwards. No, now he stares directly at me, intrigue filling his eyes.

"Is she really—" he begins, but Blake shoots him a look that immediately shuts him up.

"How long?" I repeat, tired of being excluded from this conversation. "Where am I? Can someone explain what's going on?"

Blake sighs. Leyla refills my cup and scurries off to the corner. Thomas grins.

"Should I tell her?" he asks.

Blake elbows him in the ribs.

"What's your name?" he asks, looking at me with those piercing blue eyes.

I frown. I think about lying, but my lips move on their own accord. "Clover."

"Clover," he echoes. His fingers twitch by his side. He clears his throat and lifts his hand up, covering his eyes for a moment. Finally, he asks, "How much do you remember, Clover?"

"You," I begin. "You're the guy from the diner... with the pancakes. And—I left."

"Without telling me," he adds.

I do my best not to roll my eyes. "Well, it was pretty suspicious, the way you were talking about me on the phone."

"Oh," Leyla squeaks. Blake glares in her direction and she shrugs, muttering lowly, "Well what was I supposed to do? You closed your mind."

"For a reason," he shoots back. He turns towards me and continues. "What else do you remember?"

I decide to ignore their extremely strange conversation for the sake of finding more information out. I close my eyes, trying to think back.

"There was this guy," I say, "and I ran into the woods, and—there was this wolf. It was huge, and it had blue eyes, and then it—"

I furrow my brow and press a hand to my forehead. My head is pounding. I can barely open my eyes.

"It turned into..." I trail off, blinking hard. I can remember it so clearly. The wolf. His blue eyes. His body morphing. I look at Blake. "It turned into you. Didn't it?"

His eyes shut and he breathes out. Leyla refuses to look at me. Thomas glances nervously between us.

"No?" he says unsurely.

"Thomas," Blake interrupts. "Stop. She has a right to know, after... what I did."

He says that last part lowly, like he's ashamed. He refuses to look at me. A shudder runs down my spine.

"What are you talking about?" I demand. I look at Leyla who shrinks away. "What does that mean?"

"Clover, please, calm down," Leyla mutters, though she still struggles to meet my eye. "It's nothing—nothing bad."

Blake scoffs. "Nothing bad? Come on, Leyla. I shouldn't have—she doesn't deserve this."

"Deserve what?" I ask. The urge to throw my empty cup at him grows. "Tell me!"

I sit upright, only to wince at the ache in my head and my chest.

Blake is by my side in seconds.

"Clover," he murmurs. "Take it easy."

He reaches forward, pulling the blanket higher over me, but the second his knuckle brushes my collarbone, he shudders and freezes.

My body shifts forward unconsciously, forcing his knuckles to press harder against my skin, like I need to feel his touch. I don't know why I'm doing it, but I can't stop myself. His skin is so warm to touch, and when he stands this close, I can smell his earthy scent again.

Blake lets his knuckles rest against my skin for a moment. His fingers unclench from the blanket and the backs of them flatten against my skin.

In that moment, my headache dulls. My chest feels brand new—like there never was a knife lodged into it.

And then, he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a step back.

"Leyla," he says, snapping his fingers.

She seems to understand him. She steps forward, pulling my pillows up and pushing me into them.

My stomach turns and my headache returns tenfold. I want him to come back. In fact, I want him to climb into this bed with me and let me rest my head against his chest.

God, I really have lost it.

"You need to rest, Clover," Leyla says. "You may have healed quickly, but your body is still adapting to—" Her eyes meet Blake's, and she snaps her mouth shut.

I huff, tired of all these secrets. All these nervous looks. I want to know what's going on, and then I want to grab my bag and leave before Bianca really catches me, once and for all.

I meet Blake's eye.

"Tell me what's going on," I spit. "Now."

He sighs again.

"You've been asleep for two days," he starts.

"Two days?" I echo. That can't be right. How could my chest have healed in only two days?

"And you're right," he adds, interrupting my thoughts.

I blink, confused.

"I was that white wolf," he explains. "You weren't imagining it."

"I knew it!" I exclaim. I pause, my head pounding even harder. "Wait. How is that possible? And—what's that?"

I point at the shimmering line that connects us. Blake groans and presses a hand to his head again.

"What's what?" Thomas asks, giving Blake a suspicious look.

"You don't see it?" I ask. I wave a hand through it, watching as the rope vanishes in a shimmer, then regroups into a glittering string.

Thomas shrugs. "I can guess. Is it a glittery rope that goes into your chest?"

I nod, and he hollers a laugh, patting Blake on the back.

"Congrats, dude," he says. Blake shrugs him off. "With a human, too. Who would've thought?"

"So, you do know what it is?" I ask.

Blake meets my eye again. He moves closer. Barely, but the movement makes my blood thrum. I feel myself shift in the bed, moving imperceptibly closer too.

"Let me start from the beginning," he says. "My name is Blake. I'm part of the Lunam Silvam pack."

"Pack? What's that, like a gang?"

"No, like a pack," he says. "Stop interrupting. Lunam Silvam is a pack of werewolves who live in that forest you ran into when that man stabbed you, and— What's so funny?"

I cover my grin with a hand. "Nothing. It's just—you said werewolves."

"That's what we are!" Thomas exclaims. "I know, I didn't believe it either, until Blake—Well, let me demonstrate."

He hops forward and, in a flash, his body changes. A wolf emerges in his place, russet fur a shade darker than his hair.

I yelp, scooching back in the bed until my back hits the headboard. My body throbs with the movement.

The wolf bares his teeth at me in what I think must be a smile.

"You're joking," I mutter. "I—I must be dreaming—or I really have died. There's just no way. Werewolves are real?"

"That's enough, Tom," Blake snaps. The wolf—Thomas—growls lowly, then jumps up and is instantly a human again.

A naked human.

"Tada!' he says, holding his hands up like he's just demonstrated a magic trick. Well, I guess it kind of is a magic trick. I warm, looking away.

"Clothes!" Blake snaps.

Getting his point, Thomas reaches down for the scraps of his ripped clothing and holds them over his vulnerable parts.

"Real werewolves," he says, grinning. "And now you'll be one too."

"Excuse me?" I sputter.

"Thomas," Blake scolds.

"Oops. I cut to the chase, didn't I?"

Blake sighs, but nods at me. "He's right. After that man stabbed you, you were going to die in that field. I... shouldn't have, but I saved you. There was only one way."

He reaches forward, his fingers hovering over my neck. He doesn't touch me, but I can feel the warmth from his body. I want to lean closer. It takes everything in me to stay still.

"I bit you," he says, his voice quiet. His fingers tap my neck, finally. At his touch, a fire ignites inside of me, spreading from my neck, down to my chest, and across my whole body. "I bit you, and it was a full moon. By the next full moon, you will be one of us. A werewolf."

I freeze, letting his words wash over me.

"You bit me?" I echo. I lift a hand to my neck then, finding the spot where his teeth marked my skin.

I feel it then—indentations in my neck.

I expect it to feel sore, but it doesn't. If anything, it feels almost nice.

It brings the reality of it all shooting to the front of my mind; makes everything almost believable.

That I really did see a werewolf. That I really was bitten. That, by the next full moon, I'll be one too.

I don't know how I feel about it. On one hand, it's terrifying. I don't want to be some—half-creature. A monster from fairytales.

On the other hand, it's almost a relief. After months on the run, it's almost like I've found a purpose.

If I'm really a wolf, Bianca will never get to me.

"That's not all," Leyla adds from her corner.

I snap my eyes towards her. The fire in me turns to rage.

"What do you mean, that's not all?" I practically shout. "What more could there possibly be?"

Blake's hand drops to his side like he's been scalded. He staggers back. The loss of his warmth only unsettles me more.

"The rope," Leyla squeaks. Her words make my heart stutter.

"You can see it?" I ask.

"No," Blake interrupts. I look at him. His mask slips for a moment as his blue eyes soften. "Only we can. It means—you're my mate."