Ethan Nicolas leaned against a table at the Rusty Anchor, the outdoor club alive with twinkling lights. His dark hair hung messy over sharp green eyes, his trouble-making grin fading. He wore a crisp white shirt, black jeans, and his leather jacket, sipping a beer. The air smelled of burgers and beer, music thumping from the stage. Across the deck, he saw her—a girl with a red hairband, bright against her dark hair, dancing. Just like Sophie's.
A broken flash hit—Sophie's voice, cold, "You're a monster—get out!"—her dark eyes hard, red hairband slipping as she turned—him growling, "Wait!"—claws out, rain drenching him—she spat, "Freak!"—walking away—him alone, head down, muttering, "No…"—nights of dark, empty haze, gut torn. He'd suffered, shattered—love went black.
Ethan's chest tightened, rattled. Love's a scam,he told himself, jaw clenched. I hate love. He slammed his beer down and walked out—past Jake smirking at a table, past Tara laughing with some guy—needing space, needing gone.
Later, he pulled into his parents' driveway, the house glowing soft in a quiet suburb. The smell of roasted chicken hit as he stepped inside. He'd swapped his jacket for a dark sweater over his white shirt and black jeans, still too good-looking for family night.
Tom sat in the living room, messing with a fishing rod, gray hair wild. "There's my hotshot," he said, grinning. Linda rushed from the kitchen, apron on, and hugged him tight. "Sit—dinner's ready!" Ethan forced a smile, dropping into a chair. Full moon was tonight—his skin itched, werewolf blood buzzing. He'd ditched the Anchor chaos with Tara and Jake, but that couple he'd wrecked there still made him smirk inside.
Across town, Ava Francis kicked off her shoes at her dad's place, a small house with warm lights and messy shelves. She'd left the Anchor with questions—Ethan's slick moves with Tara, that fighting couple, his sneaky laugh with Jake by his side. Her dark hair flopped as she hit the couch, freckles catching the lamp glow, her chill vibe holding.
Greg poked his head out from the kitchen, stirring soup. "Back late, Ava—club good?"
"Wild," she said, grinning. "Work guy was there—Ethan. He's… something."
"Something good?" Greg asked, chuckling. Lila bounded in, 16 and full of spark, brown hair in a messy bun. "Ava! Spill—cute boys?"
"One cute one," Ava said, smirking. "Too cute—kinda full of himself."
Back at Ethan's, dinner went on—chicken, potatoes, Linda chatting about neighbors. Ethan nodded, but the moon pulled hard. His fork slipped, clattering loud. "You okay, son?" Tom asked, squinting.
"Yeah," Ethan said, fast, hiding his hands under the table. His fingers twitched—claws pricked his skin. "Just tired." He stood, smooth. "Grabbing water." In the kitchen, he gripped the counter, eyes flashing yellow in the dark window. A growl rumbled low—not here. He splashed his face, grin back on, and returned. "All good."
Linda smiled. "You look worn out."
Ethan's phone buzzed—WolfSnap. A harsh static hit, then a deep howl cut through. He'd built it for kicks, but his werewolf side hummed in it now. He silenced it, heart thumping. Something was close—too close.
At Ava's, Lila sprawled on the rug, grinning. "So, this Ethan—he hot?"
"Stupid hot," Ava said, rolling her eyes. "Dark hair, green eyes—girls were all over him at the club."
Greg laughed, setting soup bowls down. "Sounds like trouble."
"Maybe," Ava said, sipping. Her phone pinged—WolfSnap, that same growl from the club. "This app's weird," she muttered, showing Lila. "Keeps making noises."
"Creepy," Lila said, wide-eyed. "Text your hot boss—ask him."
Ava smirked, typing: "WolfSnap's growling. Your app broken?" She hit send.
Ethan's phone lit up mid-bite. He read Ava's text, grinning. "Not broken—just alive. You scared?" he typed back.
Her reply buzzed: "Not scared. You're just bad at tech."
He laughed, loud enough for Linda to look over. "Work stuff?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, texting: "Better than spilling drinks, clumsy." Ava's club spill popped in his head—her smirk, her vibe. She didn't know his playboy tricks yet, but she was poking.
Ava grinned at her phone. "He's cocky," she told Lila.
"Flirt back," Lila teased. Ava shoved her, laughing.
Outside Ethan's house, leaves rustled—something darted in the shadows, fast and quiet. His head snapped up, senses sharp, but his parents didn't notice. Ava didn't either, slurping soup across town. The growls in WolfSnap weren't random—Ethan felt it in his bones, under that perfect face. Trouble was stalking him, and Ava was closer to it than she knew.
To be continued...
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