Chapter 1

The rain drummed against the roof of the ’74 Chevy Nova like a thousand nervous fingers tapping on a desk. It was a rhythmic, drowning sound that sealed us off from the rest of the world. Outside, the Northwood High parking lot was a blurred watercolor painting of gray asphalt and yellow sodium lights. Inside, the air was heavy enough to choke on.

I adjusted my backpack on my lap, the plastic of my debate binder digging into my thighs. "Thanks for the ride, Jax," I said, my voice sounding too loud in the small cabin. "I didn't think anyone else was left on campus."

Jax didn't answer. He just gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles were white, the tendons in his forearms pulling tight like suspension cables. He was wearing a hoodie I didn't recognize, stained with mud at the cuffs, and he smelled... intense.

It wasn't cologne. It was deeper than that. Pine needles, wet earth, and something sharp and metallic, like a penny held under your tongue. It made my head swim. It made the numbness I’d been carrying around all semester—that gray, static fuzz that covered my grades, my college applications, my life—suddenly sharpen into focus.

I reached for my seatbelt.

*Click.*

The sound came from the door. It wasn't the seatbelt. It was the central lock slamming down.

I froze. "Jax?"

He didn't look at me. He was staring straight ahead through the rain-streaked windshield, his jaw working as if he were chewing on glass. He revved the engine. The whole car vibrated, a low, guttural growl that seemed to come from his chest rather than the machine.

"Jax, the exit is that way," I said, pointing toward the main road.

He threw the gearshift into drive. "We aren't going to the exit."

"My house is ten minutes away. My mom is waiting."

"I can't take you home, Maya." His voice was wrecked. It sounded like he’d been screaming for three days straight. "It's not safe. They know where you live."

"Who?"

"Everyone," he rasped. "The pack. The others. If I leave you there, they’ll take you."

He slammed on the gas. The tires squealed on the wet pavement, fishtailing slightly before gripping the asphalt. We shot forward, bypassing the turn for Elm Street and heading toward the highway on-ramp.

Panic, cold and sharp, finally pierced my chest. This wasn't a ride. This was an abduction.

"Stop the car," I demanded. I tried to sound like the Debate Club president, authoritative and calm, but I sounded like a terrified girl. "Jax, stop the car right now."

"I can't."

"You're scaring me!"

"Good," he growled. "Be scared. Adrenaline makes you taste better to them. It keeps you alive."

The smell in the car spiked, becoming overwhelming. It was the scent of burning wood and pure, unadulterated aggression. Sweat beaded on Jax’s forehead. He was shaking, a fine tremor that rattled the keys in the ignition. He looked feverish.

I looked at the door handle. We were doing forty, maybe forty-five. If I jumped, I’d break a bone. Maybe my neck. But if I stayed...

I reached for the latch.

Jax’s hand shot off the steering wheel. He didn't grab my wrist; he slammed his palm over my hand, pinning it to the door.

His skin was burning. It felt like touching a radiator.

"Don't," he hissed.

I turned to look at him, and the air left my lungs.

Jax finally looked at me. His eyes were gone. The familiar blue I had seen in the yearbook was replaced by a swirling, molten amber. The pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris. They weren't human eyes. They were the eyes of something that lived in the dark and ate things that screamed.

"Let me go," I whispered, though my voice lacked conviction.

"If you run," Jax said, leaning closer, the heat radiating off him suffocating me, "I will chase you. It’s not a choice, Maya. My blood is singing for the hunt. If you run, I will catch you. And I won't be gentle when I do."

He wasn't threatening me. He was warning me. He was telling me that the boy who sat behind me in History was gone, and something else was behind the wheel.

I looked at his hand covering mine. It was large, calloused, and trembling with the effort to not crush my fingers.

I thought about my room at home. The stack of textbooks. The perfectly organized schedule. The crushing, suffocating safety of a life where nothing ever happened.

Then I looked at Jax. He was terrified. He was dangerous. And he was looking at me like I was the only water in a desert.

My heart hammered against my ribs—not in fear, but in a rhythm I hadn't felt in years. *Thump-thump. Thump-thump.* It was the beat of waking up.

"Where are we going?" I asked softly.

Jax searched my face, looking for the scream, looking for the fight. When he didn't find it, the amber in his eyes swirled, softening just a fraction.

"North," he breathed. "Away."

I looked at the door handle one last time. Then, slowly, I pulled my hand out from under his. I placed it in my lap.

I didn't open the door.

Jax let out a breath that fogged the window. He moved his hand back to the wheel, his grip shifting from white-knuckled tension to possessive control.

He hit the gas.

The Nova roared, tearing onto the highway, leaving the school, the grades, and the safety far behind in the rain. I watched the lights of the town fade in the side mirror, and for the first time in my life, I didn't look back.