13. The weight of secret

The morning sun streamed through the blinds of Jake's penthouse, casting long shadows across the floor. Jake stood by the window, gazing at the city below, his mind heavy with the events of the previous night. His body still ached from the transformation, and his mind swirled with fragmented memories of blood, hunger, and the cryptic vision of the statue. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts, but the images clung to him like a dark cloud.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Jake turned to see Emily standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Jake, you look... different today," she said, her eyes scanning his disheveled appearance. "What happened to you?"

Jake flashed his signature smirk, leaning casually against the wall. "Different? I think I look pretty damn good, don't you?" He flirted effortlessly, trying to divert the conversation.

Emily folded her arms, clearly not buying it. "Come on, Jake. You've been acting strange lately. Bruises, disappearing all the time... Are you in trouble?"

Jake chuckled, walking toward her with that easy confidence that made him so irresistible. "Trouble? Sweetheart, I am trouble," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But not the kind you need to worry about." He winked, his voice smooth as silk.

Emily's concern deepened, but she knew better than to push. Jake had always been guarded, never letting anyone too close. "Fine," she sighed, dropping the subject for now. "But I'm here if you ever want to talk."

"Noted," Jake replied, giving her a quick peck on the forehead before changing the topic. "Hey, I'm hitting the gym with the guys later. You should come by, watch me lift some serious weight. Maybe I'll let you spot me." He winked again, making Emily roll her eyes, though she couldn't help but smile.

Later that afternoon, Jake arrived at the gym with his group of friends. The air was filled with the sound of clanking weights and upbeat music. Jake's muscles still throbbed from the transformation, but the physical exertion was a welcome distraction. As he made his way to the bench press, his friends crowded around, egging him on.

"Let's see what you got, Reynolds!" one of them shouted, pumping him up.

Jake grinned, loading the bar with more weight than any of them had ever attempted. The steel plates rattled as he added the final stack, and everyone watched with wide eyes. Jake lay back on the bench, gripped the bar, and with effortless strength, he lifted the enormous weight as if it were nothing.

"Yo, what the hell?" one of his friends exclaimed, eyes wide with shock. "Dude, that's insane!"

Another chimed in, "How are you even doing that? Are you secretly Superman or something?"

Jake set the bar down, standing up and stretching his arms. "Just clean living, boys," he said with a grin, deflecting their awe. But inside, he knew it wasn't just the workout—it was the wolf. His strength had grown since the transformations started, and while his friends were impressed, Jake felt the creeping fear that he was becoming less human with each passing day.

After finishing his workout, Jake grabbed his towel and headed out, still hearing his friends' murmurs behind him. "Man, Jake is on another level."

But their praise felt hollow. No amount of physical prowess could shake the weight of the curse hanging over him.

---

By evening, the penthouse was quiet. The city below hummed with the distant sounds of life, but Jake felt completely alone. He had flirted with Emily, worked out with his friends, but nothing could numb the gnawing feeling inside him.

He stared at the box sitting on his table, the one that had been passed down through his family for generations. The vision of the ancient statue, his mother's distant cries, the cryptic messages—it all led back to this. Jake ran his fingers over the intricate carvings on the box's surface, feeling the power within it, pulsing faintly under his touch.

"Guess it's time," Jake muttered, and with a deep breath, he opened the box.

A gust of cold wind rushed out, swirling through the room, and before Jake stood a spectral figure—his mother's ancestor, the original one who had made the pact with the devil. The spirit was tall and imposing, with a stern yet wise expression, his ancient eyes glinting with the weight of centuries.

"Ah, the wolf returns," the spirit said, his voice both haunting and comforting. "It's been a long time since anyone of my blood has opened this box."

Jake took a step back, his heart racing. "Who are you?"

The spirit smirked, his tone both amused and proud. "I am your ancestor, boy. The one who made the pact that flows in your blood. And might I say, 129 girlfriends? Impressive. I couldn't even manage that back in my day."

Jake blinked, caught off guard. "You... know about that?"

The spirit chuckled. "Of course. I may be dead, but I'm not blind. Though, I must say, horses were a lot easier to manage than these contraptions you call cars." He looked around, confused, before pointing to Jake's phone. "What in the devil's name is that? A magic stone?"

Jake couldn't help but laugh despite himself. "It's a phone. You know, to talk to people. No magic involved."

"Bah," the spirit waved his hand dismissively. "Seems like a waste. In my day, you wanted to talk, you rode your horse, faced your enemy, or kissed your lover. Simple." He paused, his tone growing serious. "But I haven't come here to talk about horses or girlfriends. I've come to warn you."

Jake felt a chill crawl up his spine. "Warn me about what?"

The spirit's eyes darkened, and his voice took on an eerie, cryptic tone. "The wolf howls not in hunger, but in mourning. When the moon bleeds, your choice will be made. One will live, one will die."

The words sent a shiver through Jake's core, but before he could ask anything, the spirit vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Jake alone in the silence of his penthouse, with more questions than answers.

Jake slumped into a chair, his mind racing. What did it mean? Who would live, and who would die? And what was the "moon bleeding"?

As the weight of the prophecy settled over him, Jake realized one thing—whatever fate awaited him, it was coming fast, and there was no escaping it.

With a heavy heart, Jake closed the box, feeling more lost than ever. The night outside deepened, and as the city's lights flickered on, the only thing clear to Jake was that his time was running out.