CHAPTER 29: WHO CAN I TELL

Eleanor’s POV

Burnnn, Beatrice drawled, her tone laced with savage glee.

Okay, that was marginally better. The delivery was still a little shaky—you sounded like you were reading a grocery list, not eviscerating your nemesis—but the content? Decent. A solid four out of ten. We can work on the flair.

Priscilla took an involuntary step back, her confidence visibly crumbling. Seizing the moment, I rose to my feet. I took a step toward her, my gaze cold and unwavering.

"And there’s more where that came from," I said, my voice low but clear in the dank silence. "Let this be your last and final warning. You, Mom, Dad... all of you need to leave me alone."

The memory of my graduation day flashed in my mind—the degree in my hand, the finality of walking out of their lives without a backward glance. I had done it once. I could do it again, permanently.

"I cut ties with this family for a reason," I continued, my voice gaining a sliver of steel. "I won’t be dealing with your bullshit anymore. If this harassment continues, I will make it my mission to expose your little ’incurable sickness’ lie to everyone. Starting with Dickson."

I didn’t give her a chance to recover, to form a retort. I turned my back on her stunned, pale face and walked out of the basement, leaving the door open behind me. I didn’t run, but my heart hammered against my ribs like a wild drum.

Only when I was out of the house, the cold air hitting my face, did I let out the breath I’d been holding. It came out in a shaky gasp. A tremor ran through my hands. What I had just done... it was terrifying. And utterly, profoundly satisfying.

Well, well, Beatrice purred in my head. Look at you. You almost sounded like you had a backbone. I’m impressed. We’ll be doing more of that.

"My heart is beating so fast," I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. "That... standing up to someone like that... it’s not me."

It is now, Beatrice replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. The alternative is me suggesting we go back and finish what we started. Your choice, really.

The image of Priscilla’s terrified face as my hands squeezed her throat flashed before my eyes. A cold dread washed over me. "The first option," I said quickly, both aloud and mentally. "I choose the first option."

Wise.

I reached the large gates of the estate. I stood there for a moment, the adrenaline fading, leaving behind a practical problem. My phone was dead. I had no car. I was few miles from the main, dressed in clothes still dusty from the basement floor.

How was I going to get home?

I stared down the long road leading away from the estate.

Simple, Beatrice chirped in my head. You run.

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Run? Even if I ran, I wouldn’t make it a mile before I collapsed. I don’t have that kind of stamina."

In your human form, you don’t, she conceded. But fortunately for you, you’re not entirely human anymore, are you? Your abilities are slowly waking up. Your stamina will be... different. Stronger. We can run very fast. Before you know it, you’ll be at the main road.

It sounded unbelievable. But then, so did healing from catastrophic injuries and seeing in the dark. Denial was a luxury I could no longer afford.

Taking a deep breath, I settled into a runner’s stance I’d seen in movies. I pushed off.

My body felt... lighter. The ground seemed to fall away more easily beneath my feet. The wind, which had been a gentle breeze, now rushed past my ears with a loud whoosh. My adrenaline, already high from the confrontation, spiked into a thrilling, electric current that surged through my veins. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Faster! Beatrice urged, her voice a excited whisper on the wind. Let go!

I pushed harder, my legs pumping. The trees lining the road became a dark blur. I’d never felt anything like this—a sense of raw, untamed power. The high was incredible.

Okay, start slowing down! Beatrice commanded suddenly.

"Why?" I asked, the word ripped away by the speed.

Because you’re about to shoot out onto a main road with actual traffic, you dumbass! she snapped. Now, decelerate!

Panic replaced the thrill. I didn’t know how to slow down! I’d never moved this fast before. My brain, still thinking in human terms, decided the simplest solution was to just... stop.

I planted my feet.

NO—! Beatrice’s mental shout was cut off.

My body did not agree with the command. My forward momentum didn’t cease; it fought against the sudden anchor of my feet. I tripped, my legs tangling, and the world became a violent, spinning tumble. I crashed onto the road, rolling and skidding for what felt like an eternity before finally coming to a stop in a dusty, aching heap.

I lay on my back, staring up at the night sky, my lungs burning as I gasped for air. Every part of me throbbed.

And that, Beatrice said, her voice dripping with exasperated sarcasm, is what happens when you go from sixty to zero like a brainless sack of potatoes. We’re going to need to work on your braking system.

I lay there for a moment, the gravel digging into my back, but the familiar ache was already fading. Something fundamental had shifted inside me.

This was real. This was my life now. It was a terrifying, world-shattering realization, but it was also... a fact. My life was going to change completely. The only question was whether it would be for better or worse.

Pushing myself up, I brushed the dust from my clothes. My limbs felt fine, if a little stiff. I walked the remaining distance to the main road, my mind whirring. I see a taxi was approaching and I flagged it down, grateful for the cash I always kept tucked in my phone case for emergencies.

"Where to?" the driver asked, eyeing my disheveled state.

I gave him my address and sank into the back seat, watching the city lights blur past, a silent audience to the chaos unfolding inside me.

****

The next morning, the surreal feeling hadn’t faded. I was in another taxi, this time heading to work. My stomach was a knot of anxiety. I’d finally switched on my phone, and it had instantly exploded with a torrent of notifications.

Dozens of texts from Dickson.

[ Where are you?]

[Your family is furious. What did you do to Priscilla?]

[I left you for one minute and you act unstable? What the fuck is wrong with you?]

[Answer me, Eleanor.]

I bet my family had tried to reach me too, but they’d been blocked for years. A small, vindictive part of me was glad.

I paid the driver and walked into the Vexxon building, the air conditioning feeling like a slap after the morning’s humidity.

I’d spent hours last night hunched over my laptop, falling down a rabbit hole of myths, scientific "debunkings," and shadowy conspiracy forums where people swore supernatural creatures were real.

I’d learned about packs, about Alphas, about the moon’s influence. But I’d also learned something else, something that chilled me more than any ghost story: the sheer volume of hatred.

On those same forums, alongside people seeking community, were others who spoke of "abominations" and "cleansings." They didn’t just believe we existed; they wanted us extinct.

The problem was, I had no idea what to believe. The truths were tangled with lies, ancient lore mixed with modern fear-mongering. Was I a monster? A miracle? A dangerous secret that needed to be hidden?

The elevator doors slid open, but not before a faint, strangely sweet scent tickled my nose. It was addictive. I frowned, looking around the empty elevator car. Where was that coming from?

The doors closed, cutting off the smell, and I shrugged it off as a weird olfactory hallucination, another item on my growing list of ’weird things happening to Eleanor.’

The elevator opened to my floor and walked towards my office. Mira was already inside, pacing. The second she saw me, she rushed over.

"Eleanor! Where were you yesterday? I was trying to reach you! I was worried sick!" Her eyes scanned me, looking for injuries. "And Dickson was absent all day too. Did he... did he do something stupid?"

The concern in her voice was genuine, a stark contrast to the venom from my family. "It’s becoming a usual occurrence now," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "But I’ll deal with it."

Mira just stared at me. Her mouth was slightly agape.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious. Had I grown a second head overnight?

"You..." she began, her head tilting. "You feel different. You sound different. You just said you’ll ’deal with it.’ The old you would have mumbled an apology for making me worry." A slow smile spread across her face. "I like it."

Her approval warmed me, but it also deepened my anxiety. How could I possibly tell her the truth?

Hey, Mira, the reason I’m different is because I’m apparently a werewolf, and I have a sarcastic inner wolf named Beatrice giving me life advice and homicidal suggestions.

She was human. She’d think I’d lost my mind. And what if she was like those people on the forums? What if she was horrified? What if she was afraid of me?

But she was also my best friend. And if I couldn’t trust her, who could I trust? The need to tell someone, to share this terrifying burden, was overwhelming.

I took a deep breath, my hands trembling slightly as I pretended to organize a stack of papers on my desk. "Mira... I need to ask you something. It’s going to sound... weird."

She leaned against my desk, her expression open and curious. "After the week we’ve had? Try me. Spill."

I couldn’t look at her. I focused on a pen, my heart hammering. "What... what do you feel about werewolves?"

The silence that followed was absolute. I forced myself to look up.

Mira’s face had gone completely still. All the warmth and curiosity had drained away, replaced by a stunned, unreadable blankness.

My heart plummeted. Regret flooded through me. I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.