Apex

She woke up strapped to a steel table.

The restraints were heavy industrial cuffs, bolting her wrists and ankles to the metal.

Julian stood over her. He was arranging surgical instruments. A bone drill. A scalpel. A jar of clear liquid.

"This hurts me more than it hurts you," Julian said softly. He stroked her forehead. "I wanted you to choose me, Elena. I really did. But you're just too... feral."

He picked up the drill. He revved it. The high-pitched whine filled the room.

"Say goodbye to Sarah," Julian whispered. He leaned in, aiming the drill at her temple.

Sarah looked at the spinning bit. She looked at the man who had stolen her life, killed her fiancé, and turned her into a nightmare.

She felt the fear. But beneath the fear, she felt something else.

The hunger. The rage. The predator he had baked into her cells.

* Survival.*

Her pupils contracted into vertical slits.

She pulled her right arm. The cuff held.

So she broke the arm.

With a sickening crunch, Sarah dislocated her own thumb. She didn't scream. She hissed.

She pulled. The skin of her wrist tore, peeling back like a glove. Blood sprayed, hot and acidic. She yanked her hand through the metal cuff, stripping the flesh down to the white, regenerating bone.

Julian stared, the drill wavering. "What..."

Sarah didn't hesitate. She grabbed the drill with her mangled, bleeding hand. Her bones were already knitting back together, the flesh bubbling and reforming around the steel grip.

She ripped the drill from his hand and smashed it into his face.

Julian screamed, staggering back, clutching his shattered nose.

Sarah ripped her other hand free, not caring about the skin. She tore the ankle restraints loose, bending the metal with strength that belonged to a tiger, not a woman.

She slid off the table. She stood up. She was naked, covered in blood, her skin rippling as it healed.

She looked at Julian.

He was on the floor, scrambling backward. He looked up at her, and for the first time, the possessiveness was gone. There was only terror.

"Elena, please," he whimpered. "I made you! I can fix you!"

Sarah walked toward him. Her feet left bloody prints on the tile. She opened her mouth, revealing the rows of serrated, shark-like teeth.

"My name," she whispered, her voice a guttural rasp, "is Sarah."

She pounced.

It wasn't a fight. It was a feeding.

She pinned him to the floor. His hands scrabbled uselessly against her skin, which was hard as armor.

She tore his throat out.

She didn't stop there. The hunger demanded it. The predator demanded it. She dismantled him, ending the architect with the tools he had given her.