Page 28

W hen my eyes flutter open, the light stabs straight through my skull. It’s quite dim, actually, but still makes me squint. My body screams in protest as I try to move. Everything hurts.

Focus, Bunny.

There’s a window right in front of me. Gross. Smudged, like someone smeared grease and dirt all over it and called it a day. Some kind of tarp flaps halfway over it. It barely filters the sun, just makes everything look worse—yellow, hazy, dirty.

I slowly sit up and look around.

I’m in a cabin. I think. Bare log walls and a ceiling that looks like it might cave in if I breathe too hard. It stinks like decay and mildew. Like the place gave up being livable half a century ago.

But the worst part—the part that punches all the air out of my lungs—is the metal. The distinct smell of rusty iron bars.

I’m inside a cage.

No. God, please, no.

I freeze. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. My heartbeat is in my throat. I feel like if I even twitch too fast, everything I’m trying to keep in will come screaming out of me. Vomit. Panic. Hysteria. All of it.

There’s an old mattress under me, stained with stuff I really don’t want to think about. The floorboards underneath are rotted and soft, like they might break under pressure. Just like me. And a bucket sits in the corner as if it’s supposed to be some kind of toilet. Cute .

What the fuck happened?

I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to rewind the last twenty-four hours. Bits and pieces flash. Blood. Screaming. Running. Kendra—

Kendra.

My chest caves in. She’s dead. I know it. I saw it. Her guts spilled all over the forest floor.

I gag.

Dev. Nate. They weren’t… they weren’t them anymore. Their eyes. Their bodies. Wrong. Just wrong. Twisting and shifting and growling. Like monsters from a nightmare I didn’t wake up from.

And Ghost…

“Good morning, sunshine.”

That voice.

I flinch so hard my shoulder slams into the bars. The metal rattles like a taunt. And despite everything, my stomach still does that fluttery bullshit thing it always does when I hear him speak.

Fuck you, hormones. Read the room.

I look down at myself. Naked. But of course I am.

I cross my arms over my chest, but it doesn’t help. I feel exposed, raw, like I’ve been sanded down to nerve endings. I’m covered in cuts and bruises all over, dried blood, and a sticky layer of shame coating my skin. My face burns. I just want to disappear.

I glance up, and there he is. Sitting in a beat-up chair like he’s waiting for coffee and toast. All relaxed. Confident. Arms spread, legs wide, mask covering his face as always.

“Ghost,” I croak. My throat’s raw from all the screams and tears. “What the hell?”

He ignores that. Just nods toward a dented metal cup by the bars. “Drink some water.”

I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself. I want to. God, I want to. But my voice dies halfway up my throat. Because I don’t know who— what —I’m dealing with.

This thing looks like Ghost. Talks like Ghost. Walks like Ghost. He didn’t morph into any creature like the others.

Didn’t grow fur or claws or those nightmare jaws.

Didn’t go full horror movie in the woods.

And maybe that’s worse. Maybe he is still Ghost. Which somehow makes it even more terrifying.

But there’s that desperate, delusional part of me that wants to believe he’s not himself. I felt that unnatural tongue inside me. And he did call those beasts his “brothers”, whatever that meant. My Ghost would never hurt me like he did…

Would he?

Something snores. Loud.

My whole body jolts at the sudden noise. I whip my head to the corner of the room—and holy shit.

There’s a bear. A goddamn brown bear, curled up like some designer doodle-mix “fur baby” brought along by a childless millennial couple on a camping trip. Its back leg twitches—probably dreaming about mauling someone.

“That’s Khalok,” Ghost says, casual as you please. Like we’re naming party guests.

Before I can process that, he points across the room. A huge mountain lion is just waking up, stretching. Its bones crack in a way that’s anything but normal.

“And Zhyra,” he adds.

“And Doruun,” another voice booms out of nowhere. Deeper than deep. Like bass cranked too high, rattling in my chest.

I turn toward it—and just… what the actual fuck.

I don’t even know what I’m looking at. My brain can’t process it. It’s like someone mashed a wood bison and a Greek myth together and decided that was a good idea.

He’s got this massive head with horns that curve up like grim exclamation points.

Straight, dark brown hair hangs like an emo fringe over his brow, and a matching beard, pointed and precise, like he got it styled at the barber shop.

And then there's this hump—a real one, not a posture issue—that slopes into a wide, upright back. His chest is covered in fur, but not… gross fur. It’s dense and woolly, but looks soft to the touch.

And underneath it, he’s ripped. Like… aesthetically, terrifyingly jacked.

His arms are human-ish, but his legs? Not even close.

Thick, muscular, ending in cloven hooves.

A tuft of fur covers his junk. And yeah—tail.

Swishing behind him like this is all normal.

I just stare. He stares back.

He’s horrifying. But also almost looks regal. Stunning in a way. And I think I might throw up.

Behind him, gray fur flickers past the open door, and before I even blink, a wolf trots in. It stops, looks at me, then starts to shift.

Crack. Pop. Snap.

Bones rearranging. Muscles twitching. All happening in a blur, then suddenly there’s a half-man, standing upright on powerful hind paws. And he grins at me like we’re old friends with his deadly jaws.

“Hi, little rabbit. I’m Varekka,” he rumbles, voice smooth and mocking. “Pleasure finally meeting you properly last night.” He licks his mouth. I see the tail still wagging behind him. Like he’s pleased with himself.

He reminds me of Nate. A more confident version of him. If that Nate had been eaten by the big, bad wolf.

He probably was.

I can’t say anything. Can’t think. My brain is just screaming: “ Too much! Too much! Too much!” on a loop.

They’re all quiet. Too quiet. But I feel it—they’re talking. Not with words. Some creepy, telepathic shit that’s making my skin crawl.

Then, like it’s no big deal, they all stand and head out. One by one. No goodbyes. No threats. Just… gone out the door.

Except for Ghost. He stays behind. With me.

He nods at the water cup again. “Drink,” he says, more forcefully this time, like I’m being difficult on purpose.

I stare at the cup like it’s poison. It very well could be.

But I can’t deny it—I am thirsty. My mouth is dry like sand in the desert, tongue feels like it’s coated in cotton and old pennies.

But I can’t bring myself to do it. Because I know what happens next.

I drink the water, I’ll have to pee, and then it’s the bucket.

In front of him. I already feel it—the pressure building in my lower belly, sharp and insistent.

Or maybe that’s not it. Maybe it’s still them deep inside of me. That thought makes me swallow painfully. My stomach twists. My thighs clench. I feel raw, sore in ways I didn’t even know a body could be.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches me.

And even through all this—through the filth and fear and whatever the fuck I’ve been turned into—there’s that stupid, stubborn part of me that feels safer with him here.

Like he’s the least monstrous of the monsters.

It’s fucked up, I know. But he’s still human.

At least on the outside. And that last brain cell that hasn’t caught up to the horror still sees him as a tether.

I latch onto him like he’s a lifeline, something familiar I can hold onto while everything else slips into a nightmare.

I’ve been down the paranormal rabbit hole for years.

It’s part of the job, part of who I am. Ghost hunting.

Cryptid theories. UFOs. The weird disappearances, unexplained deaths, shit no one wants to talk about.

I’ve spent so much time researching things people laugh off, digging for proof everyone else ignores.

But Alaska was different… That case stuck with me.

It still gives me nightmares, and not even my anxiety meds help.

The image of those bodies—they were barely even bodies anymore.

Torn apart. Shredded. Pieces of them scattered, like something had just tossed them around for fun.

Bones snapped like twigs. Skins slashed open like paper.

Their faces twisted in terror, frozen mid-scream.

Blood sprayed across the walls and ceiling, spilled in snow like someone created abstract art, the hot tub like a bucket of red paint.

And the footprints? Nothing on this planet should make prints like that—massive, clawed, not human, but not animal either.

That was when I knew for certain.

There are monsters.

And now I’m here. With them.

I saw them with my own eyes.

They aren’t just beasts. They’re power. Hunger. And not just the kind that wants to eat.

It was about owning me. Marking me. Claiming me. Like I was some kind of prize. A fuckdoll to pass around while they took turns deciding if I was worth keeping.

I survived last night.

Barely.

But what happens when they get bored? When the novelty wears off and I’m not a shiny new toy anymore?

The thought hits like a gut punch. My chest tightens, my breath shortens. I start to panic, full-on. Shaking, gasping. Hyperventilating like my lungs forgot how to do the one thing they’re made for.

My eyes dart back to Ghost. “Please,” I whimper desperately, my voice cracking in half. “Please, let me go. Please! Ghost, I’m scared …”

Nothing.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t care.

He just stares at me like I’m a stranger. Like he’s trying to decide if I’m even worth a breath.

My brain scrambles, looking for another angle, any angle.

So I switch tactics. Fast. And I lie.