Chapter 8 Prey and Monster

Dark. Cold. Damp.

Jack slowly opened his eyes. His head felt like it had been smashed with a hammer, heavy and sluggish, refusing to think.

He tried to move, only to realize his hands and feet were tightly bound by iron chains, suspending his body in midair. The metal was freezing against his skin, biting into his wrists.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, making his stomach churn violently.

He blinked. His vision gradually cleared.

—He was in a closed basement. The walls were cracked and peeling, the floor stained with dried blood, and the air carried an unspeakable foulness.

Across from him, a man leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Jack narrowed his eyes and recognized him.

—Elliot.

The werewolf hunters' "psychological expert."

A man notorious for breaking werewolves.

"You're awake?" Elliot's voice was lazy, laced with amusement. "Guess you're not tired enough yet."

Jack didn't answer. He only stared at him, his eyes dark with restrained fury.

Elliot was unfazed. He took a slow step forward, gazing down at Jack.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Jack's throat was dry, his voice hoarse. "You want to kill me."

"Kill you?" Elliot raised an eyebrow. "No, we're still interested in you."

He crouched slightly, peering into Jack's eyes, his tone gentle.

"We want to know… are you a monster?"

Jack let out a cold chuckle. "Haven't you already decided?"

Elliot shrugged. "That doesn't matter. What matters is—what do you think?"

As he spoke, he pulled a photograph from his pocket and tossed it onto the floor.

Jack looked down.

His pupils contracted sharply.

—It was a picture of the murdered man. His body torn apart, bloodied and mangled. And standing over the corpse…

Was Jack.

His eyes glowed red. His hands dripped with blood.

"You killed him last night," Elliot murmured. "Do you remember?"

Jack stared at the photo, his nails digging into his palms, his breathing unsteady.

This wasn't possible…

He didn't remember doing this.

But in his mind—there was a gaping, empty void.

Had he really not done it?

Elliot noticed his hesitation and smiled, pressing further.

"You know," he mused, "the biggest difference between humans and werewolves isn't their bodies… it's reason."

He crouched lower, his voice soft and coaxing.

"Humans doubt themselves. Werewolves don't."

He blinked, his tone suddenly shifting into something sharper.

"If you were still human, your first thought would be to question the photograph, wouldn't it?"

He paused, then smiled kindly.

"But you didn't. Your first instinct was—Did I really kill him?"

"What does that tell us?" Elliot's voice was warm, almost reassuring.

"It tells us you already know the answer."

Jack's fingertips went numb. His heart pounded. His ears rang.

No… impossible…

His breath came in short, shallow bursts, his vision flickering.

Blood.

The image crashed into his mind like a tidal wave.

A hand, trembling, trying to resist—only to be torn apart by razor-sharp claws. Blood splattering against the walls.

Teeth sinking into flesh. Hot, metallic liquid filling his mouth.

Screams. Pleas. Wails.

Tearing. Devouring. Swallowing. Swallowing. Swallowing—

Jack's body jerked violently. His breath hitched, teetering on the edge of suffocation.

What… what was this?

A hallucination? A memory? Or… reality?

He didn't know.

He didn't know if he had killed that man.

But Elliot knew he had cracked.

Smiling faintly, Elliot whispered, "Do you smell it?"

Jack froze.

"The scent of blood in the air." Elliot leaned in, his voice soft, seductive.

"Doesn't it smell… delicious?"

Fire ignited in Jack's throat.

A deep, violent hunger roared inside him.

His jaw clenched as he tried to resist, but something buried within him was awakening.

He could hear the blood coursing through veins. He could smell the scent of prey.

He could feel Elliot's pulse—

One beat. Another. And another…

A tempting, rhythmic call, luring him to tear out his throat and taste the warmth of fresh blood.

"Don't fight it," Elliot whispered. "You are a monster."

Jack's entire body tensed, his nails digging into his palms until blood trickled between his fingers.

He knew he couldn't give in.

He couldn't—

But his vision blurred. His body trembled.

The hunger was consuming him.

He was going to break.

Then—

"Step away."

A cold, sharp voice shattered the darkness.

Jack's mind snapped back. He jerked his head up.

Aisha stood at the entrance, gun in hand, barrel aimed directly at Elliot.

Her gaze was deep and unreadable, something flickering behind her eyes.

Elliot straightened, smiling lazily.

"What brings you here?"

Aisha didn't answer. She took a slow step forward, her voice steady.

"Let him go."

Elliot arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You know what he is."

Aisha's fingers tightened on the gun. Her eyes flickered—but she didn't back down.

Jack stared at her, stunned.

She was saving him?

Why?

Aisha's gaze briefly swept over him before settling back on Elliot. Her voice was low.

"If he really is a monster…"

Her fingers brushed over the trigger, her tone quiet yet unwavering.

"I'll kill him myself."

Jack's heart clenched violently.

Silence hung in the air.

Then, Elliot chuckled.

"Interesting."

He turned toward the door, but as he passed Aisha, he murmured softly,

"I hope you know the difference between a man and a wolf."

Then, he disappeared into the shadows.

Jack slumped against the wall, breath ragged and uneven.

Aisha stepped toward him and unlocked the chains.

He looked up at her, voice rough.

"…Do you trust me?"

Aisha didn't answer immediately.

She only stared at him, her expression unreadable.

Then, she spoke softly.

"I want to."

"But if you did kill someone—"

Her fingers lightly traced the grip of her gun. Her voice was calm. Cold.

"I won't hesitate."

Jack felt something twist painfully in his chest.

He didn't know if he was a man or a monster.

But he knew—

Aisha didn't know either.