The Blood We Carry

The low hum of the engine echoed through the tense silence as we turned into the farm's long driveway. Outside the tinted windows, the trees blurred past, shadows creeping with the nightfall. Marco hadn't spoken a word since we pulled Mia from that warehouse. His knuckles were pale against the leather of the steering wheel, locked in a grip so tight it looked like letting go would unravel him completely.

Beside me, Mia sat stiffly, her fingers twitching in her lap, her shoulders taut as wire. I felt everything—her panic pressing into my chest, the sting of betrayal, the raw confusion that bled into fear. It had always been like this—ever since we were kids. Ever since the imprint. Her emotions weren't just hers. They were mine too.

She was unraveling.

So was I.

I stole a glance at her. Her eyes were wide, but unfocused, staring blankly out the window like she couldn't quite process what she'd seen—or what she felt. Blood stained her shirt near the collar. She hadn't noticed. She hadn't even tried to wipe it away since we carried her out of that place. That detail—that she didn't care—hit me harder than any wound ever had.

I had barely made it in time.

Then, finally, she spoke. Her voice was soft and frayed, like it had passed through too much fear to sound whole.

"I saw you. You—changed. You weren't human."

My jaw tensed. There was no point denying it now.

"You weren't supposed to find out this way," I said, my voice low, heavy with guilt.

She recoiled, like the truth itself stung.

"So it's true," she whispered. "You're not... What are you? What am I?"

The SUV slowed as we approached the estate gate. The guards opened it like clockwork, the polished routine of people who had been preparing for danger for years.

They just didn't realize it would come from within.

Inside the house, the silence changed. It wasn't empty anymore—it was heavy, charged. Like we were standing in the middle of a storm that hadn't yet broken.

We settled into the living room. Mia sat on the leather chair, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, holding herself together. But I could feel the tremors inside her like they were my own. Her thoughts were spiraling, emotions crashing one over the other—confusion, rage, grief.

Marco paced by the fireplace, a lion in a cage. I leaned against the wall, my eyes never leaving Mia.

Watching her fall apart in silence was worse than anything she could've screamed at us.

Finally, Marco broke it.

"You were born into a bloodline that leads our kind," he said, his voice clipped and controlled. "Our tribe. Our pack."

"Our kind?" she echoed, voice shaking, strained.

I stepped forward, cutting off whatever blunt thing Marco was about to say.

"Werewolves, Mia. We're not legends or fairy tales. We're real. Your family—your father—is the Alpha."

She gasped, barely breathing.

"Turning? Turning into what?" she asked me, eyes wide, pleading for something—anything—else.

"You'll shift," Marco answered. "On your twenty-fifth birthday. It's in your blood. We've kept you on the farm to protect you, because once the other tribes learn you haven't shifted yet..."

"They'll come for you," I finished. "To use you. Or worse. Like what happened tonight."

That broke her stillness. She jumped to her feet, pacing fast, like movement might make it all disappear.

"So the guards, the gates, the farm—everything—wasn't to protect me. It was to contain me. Like I'm some... werewolf princess?!"

"Not a princess," Marco muttered. "Alpha-blood."

She let out a bitter laugh, one that didn't reach her eyes. I felt it—the cracks forming deep in her chest, the betrayal blooming like poison.

Marco glanced at me. We both knew this part had to come next.

I stepped closer.

"There's more," I said gently. "You and I... we're bonded, Mia. Imprinted. Since we were children. That's why I can feel you. Why I knew exactly where you were tonight. Why your pain becomes mine."

Her eyes found mine—stormy, confused, and angry all at once.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" she asked, her voice breaking.

That question cut deeper than claws ever could.

Marco's voice was quieter now, tired.

"Because once you know, you can't unknow. The imprint binds you. The curse is in your blood. And now… it's too late. Everything's changed."

Mia's breath was shallow. Her fists clenched. Then slowly, she lowered herself back into the chair, her gaze unfocused again.

"So... what happens to me now?"

I moved closer. Dropped to one knee beside her so she didn't have to look up.

"Now," I said, keeping my voice calm, "we protect you. We teach you to protect yourself. Because whether we're ready or not—war is coming. And you're not just a target anymore, Mia. You're the key."

She didn't reply. Just stared at her trembling hands—bloodied, bruised, hers.

I wanted to reach for her. To hold her. To tell her she was safe now.

But I couldn't.

Because for the first time in her life...

She wasn't.