Chapter 3
1292words
His chest heaved violently like an old, worn-out bellows.
He raised his head and looked at her. In those red eyes, madness and pain waged their final battle, but more than anything, there was an almost desperate plea.
His voice, when it came, was completely torn apart—so hoarse it barely sounded human.
"Stay..." he begged, the word so broken it was barely recognizable. "Please... don't go... safe... stay..."
Then he completely collapsed.
He curled into a ball on the floor, his body tormented by violent, uncontrollable convulsions. Nina could clearly hear his teeth chattering frantically. A purely painful, heartfelt whimper tore from his body, echoing through this spacious, magnificent prison.
Nina stared blankly.
She stared at the jewelry that could drive any woman crazy, the credit card that could buy the entire world, and that man—no longer human—kneeling on the floor of his palace in the sky.
He was not a kidnapper preparing to hurt her. He was not a monster ready to pounce and tear her to pieces.
He was a creature immersed in hellish torment she could never imagine, waging a brutal war against his own body. Those desperate, clumsy offerings weren't bribes but the most primitive form of pleading—like an animal's mating ritual.
And in this extreme fear, she understood the truth: he had no intention of hurting her.
Her sobbing, without her noticing, had subsided. The wildly beating heart in her chest slowed to heavy, painful thuds. He was now completely at her mercy. What could she... do? Do nothing? Just curl up on the sofa, waiting for him to either die in agony or completely transform into a monster and kill her?
He let out another painful, small and helpless whimper, like a lost little beast.
Her heart—that foolish, hopeless heart overflowing with kindness—made the choice for her.
She slowly, tremblingly, stood up from the sofa. She didn't approach him—she dared not.
"All right," she promised softly to the huge, empty, terrifyingly silent room, "as long as you don't hurt me, I'll stay. Just for tonight. I... will stay."
.
That word—"all right"—fell like a feather, floating lightly in the dead silence, yet weighing as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Nina remained in that half-standing, half-crouching defensive posture, frozen beside the sofa.
Her heart still beat a painful, dull rhythm against her ribs, but that acute fear on the verge of collapse had been replaced by a surreal, heightened sensory awareness.
He didn't move.
That violent, destructive trembling had subsided into a continuous, low-frequency shudder—as if the volcano within him had temporarily gone dormant, though magma still churned deep beneath the surface.
He still maintained that curled up, fetal position—a posture of pure defense and endless suffering.
Time lost its meaning. Perhaps hours had passed, or perhaps only minutes.
Nina's muscles protested with soreness from the prolonged standoff.
She dared not move, nor even breathe too loudly, fearing any slight motion might shatter this fragile peace she had purchased with that one word of surrender.
She was a student, an artist. Her world should have been canvases and charcoal pencils, late-night study sessions, the pleasant mingling aromas of coffee and paint in the studio.
Yet everything before her defied all reason—like something from a horror film she'd never choose to watch.
However, deep within her heart, a faint, almost negligible hope had begun to make her feel that perhaps the worst was over—when he started to change.
It all began with a sound... a deep, moist, fractured click, like a thick branch breaking under the unbearable weight of accumulated snow.
His entire body, in a silent scream, suddenly arched up from the floor, his spine bending at an angle absolutely contrary to human anatomy. The expensive shirt, already tattered, completely disintegrated with a sound like thick canvas being violently torn apart.
Nina's blood froze instantly. This was it. The real nightmare was just beginning.
She stood frozen, staring in horror as his form began to distort at a visibly grotesque speed. His shoulders became unnaturally broad, muscles gathering, writhing, and restructuring beneath his skin like living entities with a nauseating fluid-like quality.
Her terrified focus fell on his hands, clenched into fists and pressed hard against the marble. His fingers stretched as if by invisible force, joints making crack sounds—audible popping noises. His nails thickened and blackened at a horrifying rate, extending into curved, dimly glowing claws like obsidian daggers, scraping against the polished floor with a teeth-grinding screech.
He suddenly threw his head back, and a true howl finally broke free from his throat.
That was absolutely not a sound a human could make.
It was a long, grief-stricken, desolate, terrifying howl of a pure beast—infused with all the unspeakable pain of his transformation and a primeval power that seemed to shake the entire panoramic glass window.
His face contorted in extreme agony. His jaw elongated, teeth suddenly appearing too large and too sharp in his mouth, flashing with a chilling white gleam. Coarse, dark hair spread at an alarming rate along his jawline, down his neck, and across his continuously expanding back...
This metamorphosis was a horrifying symphony of bones dislocating, muscles reorganizing, and flesh tearing apart—a nauseating biological heresy unfolding vividly before her eyes.
He was transforming into a monster—a creature from humanity's darkest and most ancient nightmares.
Nina could make no sound. Her scream froze solid in her throat, blocked by a knot of pure ice. She was going to die. Right here, in this magnificent floating prison forty stories above New York City, torn to pieces by a legendary werewolf. This ending was so absurd, so impossible, that part of her mind simply detached from reality, observing this historic scene with the chilling detachment of an artist.
The half-formed beast—a terrifying hybrid of man and wolf—supported its massive body on powerful, newly formed limbs. Its eyes, burning with an eerie red glow, swept coldly around the room before finally, precisely, settling on her.
This was the moment.
The final moment. The lunge. The tearing. The end.
However, the expected fatal blow did not come.
The creature's posture—originally a powerful stance full of aggression and rising momentum—suddenly collapsed the moment their eyes met. Its massive body trembled slightly and lowered its ferocious head. A subtle, almost pitiful, high-pitched whimper escaped from deep within its throat.
Painfully and slowly, it crawled toward her—not like a predator approaching prey, but like a devout penitent approaching a sacred altar.
It stopped at her feet.
That enormous, wolf-like head, covered with a mixture of dark hair and coarse fur, was exactly level with her knees. It radiated astonishing furnace-like heat, and she could clearly smell a wild, musky intense odor—mixed with ozone, post-rain forest, and something uniquely belonging to powerful beasts.
It raised its head, looking up at her.
In those terrible blood-colored pupils—which could make any predator back away—Nina saw not the slightest trace of malice.
No hunger. No desire to kill.
She saw only desperate, pleading pain and an absolute submission that made her heart stop.
Then, with a motion so profound it could overturn her entire worldview—one filled with deep submission—the beast placed its heavy head on her legs.
The moment of contact was like a silent electric shock, instantly spreading through Nina's entire body.
Through the thin fabric of her jeans, she could clearly feel his scorching body heat, the fine tremors still running through his powerful frame, and the rough texture of his fur. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh—a sound filled with the relief of setting down an immense burden—and then became completely still.
