Chapter Two

--- Germaine

I stare at them, waiting for one of the men to break character, to laugh, to admit that this whole thing is some elaborate joke. But their faces remain solemn, too serious for my liking. I grip the edge of the table tighter, the wood biting into my palm.

"I am from another world, and we have come because we desperately need your help." The one called Storm repeats the words like a vow.

My laugh comes out sharp, brittle. "You can't be serious." My voice wobbles even though I want it steady. "Another world? Do you hear yourself? People don't just appear out of thin air and start talking about... missions and needing help. This is insane."

"It is truth," Storm insists, his gaze unwavering, like a flame that won't bend to the wind. "We would not have risked the journey otherwise."

I glance at Cordelia, at the wide-eyed disbelief on her face. Relief pulses in me-at least I'm not the only one who thinks this is madness. "Tell them, Cord," I mutter.

She nods furiously. "You've all lost your minds."

But the men don't falter. Not even a blink.

And then my eyes catch on the one who's been quiet the whole time. Keratin. His name is foreign on my tongue, sharp and unfamiliar, but he doesn't speak it. He just stares at me, his gaze too heavy, too intent. Like he's memorizing my face, cataloging every detail. It unsettles me so much I shift from one leg to the other.

He doesn't look at Cordelia or Maria. Just me.

And it's. . . too much.

"Stop looking at me like that," I snap, though my voice is more shaky than commanding.

His eyes flicker, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't stop, either. He watches me as if my soul holds secrets he's trying to unlock.

I press my lips together, determined not to fidget under his scrutiny. This is ridiculous. They're ridiculous.

"You expect me to believe you're from some-what? Parallel universe? Fairyland? Narnia?" I shake my head, sarcasm spilling from me because if I don't laugh, I might scream.

Storm leans forward, his expression earnest. "You saw how we appeared in your shop. One moment absent, the next... here. Do you question it? Do you think us simple actors?"

Of course I questioned it. My brain had scrambled to find answers-gas leak hallucinations, exhaustion, drugs slipped into my tea. But the truth?

The truth is I don't have answers. And that terrifies me.

"I don't care if you're from Mars." My hands tremble as I shove them behind my back "You can't just barge into my life and expect me to..." I gesture wildly. "...what? House you? Feed you? Believe in fairy tales?"

"You misunderstand," Storm says gently, though there's iron beneath his voice. "We need more than shelter. We need you."

My blood runs cold. "Me?"

Cordelia's sharp inhale fills the silence. "Oh no, Germaine, don't you dare."

I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me. "Right. You don't even know me."

Keratin finally speaks, his voice low, gravelly. "I know enough."

His words slice through the air, through me. My head jerks toward him. Our eyes lock. My breath catches. There's something in his gaze-sorrow, guilt, longing. But how? Why? We've never met.

The silence stretches taut, suffocating, until Storm clears his throat. "We will explain all. But first..." His eyes shift to my arm, to the faint scar near my wrist I never talk about. "You should know the truth of who you are."

My pulse spikes. I snatch my arm back, shoving it under the table again. "What the hell do you know about me?"

Storm doesn't answer. Not yet. Instead, he says, "We are weary from travel. Injured, too. We ask only for a place to stay tonight. Tomorrow, all will be clear."

Cordelia slams her palm on the table. "No. Absolutely not. Germaine, you can't. You don't know these men. They could be psychopaths. This is how women get murdered!"

I want to agree with her. I want to kick them out and bolt the door and pretend tonight never happened. But when I look at Storm, when I look at Keratin, I feel... pulled. Like something inside me already knew they were coming. And that terrifies me more than their story.

Still, logic claws at me. "There are hotels down the road," I say. "Motels. Inns. Whatever you want to call them."

Storm frowns, puzzled. "A... hotel?"

Cordelia rolls her eyes. "Oh my god. They don't even know what hotels are. Germaine, this is insane."

But when Storm's gaze returns to me, there's a quiet plea in it. And damn me, my chest tightens. Against all reason, against Cordelia's protests, I hear myself say, "Fine. You can stay at my place. Just for tonight."

Cordelia whirls on me. "No! Absolutely not! You've lost your mind."

"Then come with me," I bite back, my patience thin. "If you're so worried, stay the night too. Problem solved."

Her lips part in outrage, but she doesn't argue. She can't. Because she's too stubborn to leave me alone. Because she's my best friend and we've stuck together since high school.

Minutes later, we're outside. The bakery's lights shut off, the street quiet except for the occasional straggler. A man passing by hollers at the strangers. "Hey, nice costume! Where'd you get them?"

The golem-yes, that's what Storm called him-glances at his own clothes and makes a weird sign at the stranger, who quickens his steps.

Is that his own version of a fuck you?

My stomach flips with unease. These men don't belong here. They stand out too much.

By the time we reach my car, I'm second-guessing everything. My chest is tight, my breaths shallow. What am I doing? I don't invite strangers home. I don't play host to men who claim they're from other worlds.

"This is the box?" Keratin's brow furrows as he eyes my car.

"It's a car," I mutter, already unlocking it.

"I am not getting in that thing," the golem declares, backing away.

Cordelia snorts, a strangled laugh escaping her. I glare at her, but even my lips twitch. "Suit yourself. I'll give you directions to the nearest inn."

But then Storm steps forward, his expression resigned. "No. We'll enter this... box." His mouth twists like the word tastes bitter. "If it takes us to your abode, then so be it."

I slide behind the wheel, Cordelia in the passenger seat, the men piling awkwardly into the back. The car feels cramped, too full of strange male energy. My skin prickles.

I jam the keys into the ignition. "Buckle up."

Storm leans forward, eyes glinting. "I can get us there faster."

"Excuse me?"

A hand lands on my shoulder. The world tilts. Darkness swallows me whole. For a moment, I think I'm dying. My stomach lurches like I've been dropped into a void. Then, suddenly, light. Clarity.

And when I blink, we're parked neatly in my garage.

My heart thunders. "What the-how-this is my house." My voice pitches higher, hysteria lacing through it. "You drugged me, didn't you? That's what this is! I blacked out, and-and-"

"No," Storm interrupts calmly. "Magic."

My laugh borders on a sob. "Magic? You expect me to believe-"

"Come," he urges gently. "Let us inside. You will understand."

Cordelia looks as shaken as I feel. But my hands move anyway, unlocking the garage door, ushering them in. Cinnamon and pine fill the air-my home. Safe. Familiar. Yet nothing feels safe anymore.

Keratin's gaze sweeps the foyer. "This is your home?" His voice is low, unreadable.

"Yes," I whisper. "Family legacy."

"It is... suitable."

I bristle at the word, but bite my tongue. "Make yourselves comfortable."

We go through the motions-guest room prepared, food reheated, wine uncorked. The men clean up, emerging from the bathroom with their long hair tied, the scent of cedar clinging to them. They look less alien like this. Almost... human.

Dinner passes in near silence, tension thick as fog. I barely taste the soup, my throat tight with anticipation. Because I know what's coming. Explanations. Truth. Or lies, depending on how far their madness goes.

When the plates are cleared, Storm rises. He lifts his hands, and the air shimmers. My breath catches as a veil unfurls, translucent at first, then widening, deepening, until images form.

Landscapes. Vibrant. Alive. Lush fields that stretch forever, mountains bleeding waterfalls, towns that pulse with color and life. I gasp, my heart thudding as scents and sounds flood me-honeysuckle, citrus, wind, birdsong. I shouldn't be able to smell it. I shouldn't be able to hear it. But I do.

"This... this isn't possible," I whisper, eyes wide.

The scene shifts-forests, fireflies, creatures darting through trees. Wolves. Huge, otherworldly wolves, their eyes glowing as though they see me.

I can't breathe. They're beautiful. Terrifying. Majestic.

And then they shift.

One by one, wolves become men. Men become wolves. My scream lodges in my throat. My hands fly to my mouth. "They-they turned into-"

"Humans," Storm finishes. His voice is steady, calm, like this is nothing unusual. "Yes, my lady. We are both. Wolf and human. Werewolves, if you prefer the word. What you have just seen are the four clans of the wolf world."

The tray Cordelia is carrying crashes to the floor. Tea and porcelain shatter around her feet. Her cry pierces the air.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Werewolves.

God help me.

What have I let into my house?