Why you defend the worst of the worst.
Why money is all you care about.
You became the same type of monster that steps on your kind. The class you were actually born into.
The class that’ll always run in your veins. No amount of money will ever wash you clean. You aren’t of their pedigree; you’re an imposter trudging through their midst.
“No, I’m not! I deserve to be here!”
Stunned, hush silence falls over the room at my outburst.
Shame and astonishment rise, yet I’m too bewildered to stop. I’m reeling, literally, falling backward—
I slam into something, a side table perhaps. The pain that shoots along my lower back doesn’t begin to compare to the agony radiating in my bones.
Throughout my skin.
Was I drugged? Did one of the guests slip me something?
Someone rushes to me, a blurred form that grabs my arm. Their worried words are indecipherable, only their tone make it through.
Impulse breaks free at their touch. I’m vaguely aware of my lips pulling back, almost as if . . .
As if I’m growling at the person like some sort of animal.
My dream from the night before flashes in my head. The fur bursting along my skin. That howl I’ll never forget.
A small voice tells me to get away from the person. Get away from them all. If I don’t, something bad is about to happen here. These people are in danger. Every single one of them.
In danger from me?
Darkness comes next, the urge to pass out too strong. I jerk away from whoever was touching me, only to bump into others.
More inquiries. Everyone circling, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
No chance to escape.
No way to save them, my inner voice cries.
Save them? From wh—the question has barely begun to form when I succumb to the call of that darkness.
The call of what I will later learn is the change.
Vision is gone, yet some hearing remains.
That animal growling, followed by the howl from my dreams.
Shouts.
Gasps.
Shrieks of agony.
Someone is pleading. A woman, perhaps? Sounds like she’s begging for her life.
She isn’t the only one.
The audible nightmare continues, horrific moments that are like small bursts in time.
Something crunches between my teeth, but my teeth aren’t the same. They feel too different.
I’m fighting this with all I’ve got, trying to understand . . .
The metallic tang in my mouth is familiar.
Darkness is a heavy fog over my mind, and I’m well acquainted with that, too.
Shit. Did I get into another fight on the streets tonight? Would explain the blood I’m gagging on. How many times have I awoken in a drunken, blitzed daze, with the remnants of another brawl over me?
Too many to count.
Way too many.
Then again, what other outlet do I have? I don’t remember most of the altercations I get into, yet that doesn’t change the strange satisfaction in my soul every time I awake from one. That amazing relief of releasing the fury in me.
Groaning, I turn my head, expecting to feel the grind of a sidewalk against my cheek—
There’s a cushion beneath my head. Or what feels like one, at least.
The hell?
Opening my eyes is a mission in and of itself. My lids seem glued together with cement. As I struggle to get them to rise, sensation spikes throughout my entire body. Aches, the likes of which I’ve never felt in my life, blossom through every limb.
God, it feels like I’ve been put through the workout of my life.
Or through a torture rack. Either works.
There also seems to be some kind of liquid over every inch of my body. It’s cold, and when I flex my fingers, the thickness of it leaves me perplexed.
Ugh. That taste of blood in my mouth is at an all-time high, too. Like I’ve gargled it.
Wonder if I’m missing any teeth.
Memories tickle. A penthouse. People, so many people. They were celebrating . . . me.
But they were in danger. I was trying to get away from them because they were in serious peril.
Dread is like a steady drumbeat in my chest. Or is that my panicking heart? Grinding my teeth, I make a last effort to drag myself from this black fog. My body shifts and it’s a matter of seconds before I realize the position I’m in.
Sitting.
I’m sitting on a couch.
In the penthouse?
Oh, holy shit. That’s where I was. The Ritz-Carlton. The celebration for my recent win. Surrounded by people. Not ten years ago, when I was homeless, broken, and out to punish anyone I could.
The facts jolt me and my eyes slam open.
Blood.
An ocean of it splattered everywhere I can see. The white ceiling is drenched in it.
Terrified, I blank out, unable to move. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something dangling from one of the chandeliers and I’m afraid to look.
So fucking afraid.
Eventually, the temptation proves too great, and I turn my head slowly—
Intestines.
Oh Jesus, are those someone’s God damned intestines?!
Crying out, I scramble on the couch, only to be met by the sight of the horror surrounding me.
Mutilation on an unimaginable scale.
More blood.
Body parts.
People torn to shreds.
Death. So much death.
And I’m naked—buck fucking naked—covered in as much blood as the room itself, with what I suspect is chunks of human meat scattered over me.
A scream lodges in my throat, my mind threatening to cave in. A strangled sound makes it through, perhaps a whimper, as I drag myself backward along the couch, eyes bouncing over the slaughter.
This has to be a dream. It has to be.
Please, God, let it be a nightmare!
I’m not only covered in a good portion of the bloodshed, but I’m also the only one unscathed. I remember what I felt within the void, between my teeth—
“H—help . . . me,” I whisper, clueless who I’m invoking. God, as mentioned? Anyone? I just need someone, something, to make this stop.
Please, please make it stop.
There’s a twitching leg on the floor in front of the couch.
Another strangled groan leaves me.
What happened here?
A twisted whisper in my mind answers, You. You happened here.
Impossible. I wouldn’t be capable of something like this. How would I?
I’m about to get my answer in a way I’ll never forget. Not as long as I live.
Which might only be a few more minutes, as it turns out.
My teeth chatter with fear—possible shock settling in—as I stare at the remnants of the life I’d managed to build for myself. A life I’m pretty sure I’ve destroyed.
It was everything I’d ever wanted. What society teaches us is supreme validation of our existence—prestige, money . . . and there it lies, ruined beneath my feet, reduced to nothing but torn body parts and blood.
What am I going to do? How am I going to deal with this?
The doors to the penthouse’s foyer burst open. A black-heeled foot with flames licking up the sides touches down on the marble first, and despite my state of shock, it takes a mere second for me to recognize what I’m seeing.
For my heart to scream the truth of what’s happening.
It’s her.
The woman from my dreams.
The goddess surrounded by fire with death written in her stare.