When I was five, they found me wandering barefoot and alone on the edge of a highway. My small hands were sticky with blood, but it wasn't mine. I didn't cry, didn't speak. The only thing I could remember was my name. The police said I was silent the entire ride to the station, staring out the window like I was looking for something. Someone. But I don't remember any of that. All I remember are flashes: the chill of the pavement under my feet, the red and blue lights flickering like fireflies, the way every adult seemed afraid to meet my gaze.

They took me to an orphanage that night, the first of many. I think it was run by a church. Although my memories of that time are now hazy and indistinct, certain details remain strikingly clear: the cold, gray stone walls of the building which felt less like a home and more like a prison, the peculiar odor of candle wax mingling with the scent of aged wood, and the hushed tones of the nuns as they offered their nightly prayers while tucking us into our beds. I stayed there until I turned nine. By then, my actual personality had surfaced, and it wasn't what they wanted. The nuns said I was too angry, too defiant, too troubled. They weren't wrong. I lashed out, broke the rules, and picked fights. Maybe it was the rage of a child who had no answers, no family, no place to belong. Or perhaps I was just broken.

When they'd had enough of me, they sent me to another orphanage farther away, where I wouldn't be their problem anymore. That's where I met Ashley. She was tough and fearless, with a sharp wit that made her seem older than she was. "My mom is a prostitute," she told me the day we met, like it was just another fact of life. I didn't even know what the word meant back then, but I nodded like I understood. Ashley was the first person I ever trusted. We stuck together for almost a year, our own little alliance in a world that didn't care about either of us. Then, like everything else, it ended.

I was sent to a foster home, a big suburban house with two biological kids and four adopted ones. They were picture-perfect, the family you'd see in a holiday commercial, but I didn't belong. I was chaos in their carefully controlled lives. One day, I set fire to the shower curtain just to see what would happen. That was enough for them. They sent me back to the orphanage without a second thought.

Months passed, and I went to another foster family. This one didn't have kids, and something about their strained silences told me they didn't really want them either. The husband barely spoke to his wife, and she drowned her boredom in wine. I was their distraction for a while, something to fill the void. They gave me my own room, dolls I never played with, and a piano in the living room, where I learned to plunk out a few sad melodies. But like everything else in my life, it didn't last. When the wife found out her husband had been cheating and had a bastard child, they divorced, and I was back at another orphanage before I turned eleven.

From there, it was a blur. Foster families, orphanages, one after another. Some families kicked me out after my inevitable stunts - stealing, lying, fighting. Others didn't even wait for an excuse. I learned early on that "forever home" was just another lie.

Around seventeen, I'd just about had it. Enough of the rules, enough of the pitying looks, enough of being someone's temporary responsibility. I got a job, saved every dollar I could, and found a room to sublet from a guy who didn't care about IDs. I finished high school during the day and worked during the night. It wasn't much, but it was mine.

I really wanted to build something real for myself, so I applied for scholarships. I knew I couldn't afford college without one. I got in, but I put it off for a couple of years to save up more. Now, I'm here. Twenty-four years old, living in a rundown studio apartment above a Chinese restaurant that blares karaoke every night. The walls are thin, the radiator barely works, and the windows let in a constant draft. I'm alone, but it's my choice.

When I got home that evening, I tossed my books onto the small, chipped table in the corner of my apartment. The space was cluttered but familiar, a haven carved out of chaos. A single bed, a rickety desk piled with papers, and a tiny kitchen that always smelled faintly of soy sauce from downstairs.

I sank into the chair by the table and pulled my headphones over my ears, the low thrum of music blocking out the world. I was supposed to study for my financial management exam, but my thoughts kept drifting.

Today was my birthday.

I stared at the open textbook before me, the words blurring into a meaningless jumble.

"This is the lamest birthday ever," I muttered under my breath. But then again, all my birthdays were lame.

Before I could overthink it, I pulled out my phone and sent Nathaniel a text.

I'll be there.

His reply came almost instantly.

Awesome. I'll pick you up at 9.

I glanced at the clock. 3 p.m. Plenty of time to study. The hours blurred together, the monotony of studying broken only by the occasional buzz of a notification. Before I knew it, it was time to get ready.

I settled on skinny jeans, a faded band T-shirt, and my usual sneakers. My reflection in the mirror looked as tired as I felt, but I didn't bother with makeup or anything fancy.

My phone buzzed again.

I'm downstairs.

I grabbed my keys, phone, and some cash, then headed down. Nathaniel was waiting in his sleek Chevrolet Corvette, a reminder of the gap between his life and mine. His relaxed smile greeted me as he opened the passenger door.

"Hop in, Mer," he said, his voice warm as always.

The drive to the club was a blur of streetlights and city sounds. When we arrived, the line outside snaked down the block. Nathaniel didn't even glance at it. He breezed past the bouncer like he owned the place, and I followed, sticking out in my T-shirt among the sea of glittering dresses and designer clothes.

Inside, the music was deafening; the bass reverberating in my chest. Sweat-slick bodies moved to the rhythm, and the air was thick with the smell of perfume and alcohol. It smelled like sex. Nathaniel led the way to the bar, ordering drinks while I leaned against the counter, scanning the crowd.

That's when I saw him.

A man, tall and dark, standing at the edge of the room. His gaze locked on mine, unflinching. Something was unsettling about how he stared, like he knew me - or wanted to. He didn't look away, not even when I tried to ignore the weight of his gaze.

"Let's dance!" Nathaniel's voice snapped me out of it, his hand pulling me toward the packed dance floor.

I tried to lose myself in the music, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

When we finally retreated to a corner table, Nathaniel excused himself to the bathroom. That's when she appeared.

"Oh my god, you're so pretty!" The woman's voice was bright and sugary, like she'd practiced it in front of a mirror.

"Uh, thanks," I said, caught off guard.

"I'm Amber. Sorry to bother you, but I saw you sitting alone and wanted to say hi."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm actually here with someone."

"Boyfriend?" she asked, her tone too casual to be innocent.

"No. Just a friend."

Before I could say more, Nathaniel returned, his face a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Hey, Mer, who's your friend?"

"I actually don't really know," I answered.

Amber smiled awkwardly and quickly excused herself. "Sorry to interrupt. Enjoy your night."

As she walked away, I couldn't help but think she was strange, but her confidence lingered in my mind.

"That was weird," I said, watching her retreating figure.

Nathaniel nodded, but his expression was tight, his usual humor replaced by something I couldn't quite place.

"Yeah... weird," he echoed, but his voice sounded off, like there was something he wasn't telling me.

I decided not to push it.

Nathaniel and I chatted as we nursed our drinks, one after the other. I've always had a good tolerance, and Nathaniel liked to joke that I drank booze like fish drink water. His words made me smirk, though my mind drifted back to the stranger who'd been watching me earlier. His intense gaze had stuck with me, sending a shiver down my spine that I couldn't shake.

Just as Nathaniel leaned in to ask me how I'd done on our last test, a scream pierced through the loud music, making both of us freeze. The club seemed to fall into an uneasy silence for a split second before the noise returned, and everyone ran. I glanced toward the entrance, and my heart dropped when I saw the stranger approaching, his face tight with urgency.

"Nate, did you see something?" he demanded, his voice sharp as his eyes flicked from Nathaniel to me.

Nathaniel sighed, rolling his eyes. "Ethan, how many times have I told you not to call me Nate? You know I hate that."

"That's highly irrelevant right now!" Ethan snapped, barely sparing Nathaniel a glance before grabbing my arm. His grip was firm, and before I could protest, he started pulling me toward the staircase.

"Hey! Let go of me!" I shouted, trying to pull my arm free. Panic flared in my chest as I glanced back at Nathaniel, who was following us without hesitation. "Who the hell are you?" I yelled at Ethan, struggling to keep up as he led me down a dark corridor on the second floor.

Ethan didn't answer, his pace relentless as he dragged me to an office at the end of the hallway. My breath came in shallow gasps, fear swirling in my stomach. He shoved me inside, and Nathaniel quickly followed, closing the door behind us.

"Nate, go sweep the club. Clear everyone outside," Ethan barked at Nathaniel, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, sir!" Nathaniel replied without missing a beat, turning on his heel and rushing out of the room.

I stood there, staring at Ethan, trying to make sense of what was happening. He calmly walked to the door and locked it with a soft click, and my heart raced.

"Why are you locking the door? Who the fuck are you?" I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Ethan turned toward me, his expression softening slightly. "Calm down," he said, his voice smooth and steady. "My name is Ethan. Nice to meet you." He stepped closer and reached for my hand, bringing it to his lips in a brief, polite kiss.

I yanked my hand away, glaring at him. "Enough with the formalities. Just tell me what the hell is going on," I said, my voice quieter now, exhaustion creeping in.

Ethan sighed and glanced at his phone. "We'll wait for Nathaniel to get back, and then I'll explain everything," he said, his eyes shifting to the door.

I didn't answer. Instead, I studied him, my mind racing as I tried to piece together what was happening. Ethan was tall, around 6'3", his dark raven hair slightly tousled, framing a chiseled face that could've been straight out of a magazine. His eyes were a deep, almost unnerving shade of blue, and the way his shirt stretched over his broad shoulders made it clear he wasn't just a pretty face. Under different circumstances, I might have admired him, but I was too freaked out to care right now.

Minutes felt like hours as I sat there in silence, my mind whirling with questions. What did they want with me? And why did Nathaniel seem so different?

Finally, there was a knock at the door. Ethan walked over and cracked it open slightly before letting Nathaniel back inside.

"Did you find anything?" Ethan asked, his tone all business.

Nathaniel shook his head, looking frustrated. "No. Nothing. I couldn't find her, but I smelled one of her minions nearby."

Her? Who were they talking about?

Ethan's jaw tightened. "Then it's time. We need to take her to the pack."

Nathaniel's face faltered. "She's not ready yet."

I stood frozen, trying to make sense of their conversation. Pack? Minions? None of this made any sense. I opened my mouth to ask what they were talking about, but Nathaniel turned to me, his expression serious, eyes pleading.

"Mer, I know you're freaking out right now," he said softly, taking a step toward me. "But I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?"

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my ears. The Nathaniel I knew, the one who'd been my friend for four years, who'd seen me through all my worst days, had never given me a reason to doubt him. But this? This was different.

"I don't know," I whispered, barely able to meet his eyes.

He took another step forward, his voice low. "You're going to have to trust me on this one."

After a long pause, I nodded. Whatever was going on, I had no choice but to follow him now. He never betrayed me before.

Nathaniel gently took my hand and led me out of the office. This time, we walked in silence, the tension thick between us. Outside, a black SUV waited. It wasn't Nathaniel's usual car, but he opened the back door for me as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I climbed inside, and Ethan slid in next to me, his presence looming in the small space.

Nathaniel got behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb. The city lights blurred past as we drove through the quiet streets.

I glanced at my phone - 2 a.m.

The night stretched on as I tried to keep my eyes open, but exhaustion finally took over. I leaned my head back against the seat, and before I knew it, the steady hum of the road lulled me into a restless sleep.

I've been standing here for nearly an hour, waiting for this ridiculous party to start. The surrounding humans are oblivious, buzzing with excitement as they line up outside the club. But I could feel her voice in my head, cold and commanding.

Get me that heart.

Her words echo through my mind, and a knot tightens in my chest. Being an underling for this arrogant but powerful witch is a small price to pay for my freedom. I'll do what she asks. I always do.

I watched as a couple bypassed the long line and strolled inside. I could feel them - they were wolves, or at least one of them was. But they weren't my concern. Nothing will stop me tonight.

Impatience thrummed through me as the bouncer lazily let people in, one by one. It felt like an eternity, but finally, I slipped past the threshold and into the club's pulsing chaos. The air inside was thick with the stench of sweat, alcohol, and smoke - the things these humans seemed to revel in. I moved through the crowd, barely noticing the crush of bodies and flashing lights. My mind focused on my task.

I was here for one thing: a witch's heart - a virgin witch, no less, from her bloodline. As I weaved through the crowd of dancers, I felt a strong presence, a powerful aura. I glanced toward one of the VIP areas and spotted an Alpha, a dangerous one. His energy was like a beacon, hard to miss. I made a mental note to keep my distance. Getting tangled up with wolves tonight wasn't part of the plan. I moved to the farthest place from him and searched for this witch.

I pushed farther into the crowd, and then I sensed her. It was like a shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable. My eyes zeroed in on her immediately. There she is.

She was young, not even 20 years old, and slim, with dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her skin had a warm, deep tone, and her eyes... her eyes gave her away. A soft lilac hue glowed faintly in the club's dim light, betraying her nature. She's a witch. She looked delicate, almost innocent.

It's a shame, really.

I forced a smile, masking my true intentions, and made my way toward her. She noticed me, her lips curving into a coy grin. "Hey," I said, slipping into the smooth, seductive voice I've perfected over centuries. "I saw you dancing, and I couldn't help but notice... you're probably the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Mind if I join you?"

Her smile widened, a feline glint in her eyes. She was interested. I could feel it - her desire rolling off her in waves. She nodded, and I stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist as we moved in sync with the music.

"Your accent is sexy," she whispered, her voice soft against my ear. "Where are you from?"

"Czech," I answered flatly, keeping it brief. There was no need for more conversation. She started babbling about how romantic Europe is and how she's always dreamed of visiting. She did not know her dream would die with her tonight.

We kept dancing, her body pressed eagerly against mine, but I knew I was running out of time. I needed to get her alone. She was panting already, barely able to keep still, and I knew it wouldn't take much more. Her desperation is obvious - written in every sway of her hips, every moan she lets slip as my hand grips her ass like I own it. She's just another girl who wants to feel wanted.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against hers, giving her exactly what she wanted - soft, slow, teasing. She melted immediately, lips parting, body arching into me like a fucking invitation. I took control, biting her lower lip, deepening the kiss with a roughness that made her gasp.

I grabbed her hip hard, fingers digging in, and murmured, "Let's get out of here."

She nodded fast, breathless and needy, and I didn't give her a second to rethink it. I guided her through the writhing bodies toward the back of the club. Down the hall, past the stinking bathrooms, into the dark corridor where the music faded and shadows eat the light. It was secluded here - perfect. She followed without hesitation, clearly desperate for touch, for attention. I almost pitied her. Almost.

I pushed her against the wall the second we were alone, my mouth at her throat, biting, licking, tasting the salt of her sweat. She moaned, loud and shameless, and I laughed under my breath. My hand slid up her thigh, lifting her skirt without ceremony. Her thong's already soaked. I yanked it aside and shoved two fingers inside her without warning. She cried out, more surprised than hurt, her hands clutching my shoulders as she spread her legs wider for me.

I fingered her hard, fast, curling my digits just right until she was squirming, panting, her hips bucking against my hand like she was chasing something. I slammed my mouth over hers to shut her up, silencing her cries as my thumb circled her clit with brutal precision. She was soaking, dripping into my palm, her body jerking with every thrust of my hand. It was almost laughable how easily she succumbed.

Her moans filled the narrow space as I moved faster, hitting the right spots with practiced precision. She was lost in the pleasure, utterly oblivious to the real danger she was in. When she finally screamed in ecstasy, I let her ride the wave of her release, her body sagging against mine, spent and vulnerable. Her panties were still shoved to the side, her skirt bunched up around her waist.

She gazed up at me, her eyes dazed. "What's your name, sexy stranger?" she breathed.

I remain silent, staring down at her with an expression she's too far gone to decipher.

"Don't be shy," she pressed, her voice playful.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't matter to you," I said, my voice dripping with venom.

I smiled coldly, removing my hand from her pussy and taking it to her chest.

"Why wouldn't it," her sentence was cut short in the middle as she screamed in pain.

My hand shot, and I plunged it into her ribcage with one swift motion. Her scream was short-lived as I grabbed her heart, the warmth of her blood spreading over my skin. Her eyes went wide with shock, and a gurgling sound escaped her throat as blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. I kissed her one last time, savoring the taste of her final breath.

"Dear, didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" I whispered mockingly as she choked on her own blood.

With one final pull, I ripped her heart from her chest, the life draining from her eyes as her body crumpled to the floor. I stared at the still-beating organ in my hand, feeling nothing but satisfaction.

It's been too long since she screamed. The wolves will be here soon. No matter. I clicked my fingers, and in an instant, I vanished into thin air.