Chapter nine

Sierra’s POV

We worked side by side, our laughter echoing softly in the spacious kitchen as the aroma of fresh herbs and roasted vegetables filled the air. Mrs. Lawrence’s eyes sparkled as she recounted a funny story about a cooking mishap involving Jayden and Jason when they were young, and I couldn’t help but smile. It felt good, even if just for a moment, to be distracted from the strangeness of my new reality.

“You’re quite the cook, Sierra,” Mrs. Lawrence complimented, stirring a pot of simmering sauce. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” I replied, a little surprised by how comfortable I felt. “I guess I learned from watching my dad. He’s pretty good in the kitchen.”

Her expression softened at the mention of my dad, and she set the wooden spoon down, turning to face me. “Your father loves you very much, you know,” she said, her voice tender. “He’s always talked about you with so much pride.”

A lump formed in my throat, and I quickly looked down at the vegetables I was chopping. “Yeah,” I murmured. “He’s always tried his best.”

Mrs. Lawrence reached over and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re doing great, Sierra. It’s not easy to start over in a new place, but you’re handling it well.”

Before I could respond, the kitchen door burst open, and Jason strolled in, looking amused. “Smells good in here,” he said, leaning against the counter. “You two are making me hungry.”

Mrs. Lawrence shot him a mock glare. “You’ll have to wait just a little longer. Dinner will be ready soon.”

He laughed and then turned his gaze to me. “Sierra, you’re cooking too? Didn’t know you had it in you.”

I rolled my eyes at his teasing but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, well, try to keep your expectations low. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Jason raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll try to survive.” He winked and left the kitchen, his laughter trailing behind him.

As we continued cooking, I couldn’t shake the sense of normalcy that had somehow settled around me. It was strange, feeling almost at home in a place that was still so unfamiliar and full of mysteries.

Once dinner was ready, Mrs. Lawrence and I set the table together. The rest of the family soon gathered, and we shared a meal that was surprisingly pleasant. Jayden, however, kept his distance, his expression guarded and his interactions with me short and almost curt. His behavior left a bitter taste in my mouth, a stark reminder that not everything was as warm and welcoming as it seemed.

After dinner, as the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle through the large dining room windows, I quietly excused myself from the table and made my way to my room. The evening had gone smoother than I’d expected, yet something still felt off. Maybe it was Jayden’s cold attitude, or perhaps it was the lingering tension that seemed to fill the air, even when everyone was trying to act normal.

I pushed the uneasy thoughts away, slipping into my room and shutting the door behind me. As I leaned against it, I let out a long sigh, rubbing my temples. It had been a long day, and exhaustion was beginning to settle into my bones.

But just as I was about to change into something more comfortable, I froze. A low, rumbling growl echoed from somewhere in the distance. My heart skipped a beat, and I straightened, straining to hear. The growl came again, this time closer, like it was creeping through the hallways of the mansion.

I rushed to my window, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was making that sound, but the garden below was dark, shadowed in moonlight. The growl intensified, growing louder, and a shadow moved across the wall outside my room—a shape that made my blood run cold.

It looked like a dog, but the silhouette was too large, too powerful. And dogs didn’t growl like that. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

A wolf?

I stumbled back from the window, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The night was eerily still, the only sound the thudding of my heart in my chest. Wolves. I couldn’t believe it. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as the growl echoed once more, this time from much closer. The chill in the air seemed to deepen as my thoughts spiraled.

I had always hated wolves—everything about them. Their glowing eyes, the sharpness of their teeth, the wildness in their behavior. They were unpredictable, fierce, and untamed. No matter how many documentaries I’d watched about them, or how many times people tried to convince me that they were misunderstood, I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but fear for them. And now, there was one—or something like it—right outside the mansion, moving through the shadows.

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. This mansion, the strange atmosphere, the eerie silence that settled every time I walked through the halls. Mrs. Lawrence's warnings about the forbidden rooms. The strange paintings I’d seen earlier, the carvings of wolves and ancient symbols. The cryptic way everyone spoke—especially Jayden, who always seemed so aloof and distant. And then there was the growl, now so close that I could almost feel the vibrations in the floorboards beneath my feet.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew something was off here. I had been too distracted with trying to adjust to my new life, to focus on the glaring oddities around me. But now, with the growl still echoing in my ears and that shadow moving outside my window, I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

The mansion had secrets, and I was starting to believe they were all linked to something ancient. Something dangerous.

I needed answers.

With my heart racing, I paced around the room, my mind whirling. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was research. I could find out what was going on here. If this place had something to do with wolves—something far darker than I had first realized—I was going to figure it out. I wasn’t going to sit idly by and wait for whatever threat this mansion harbored to find me.

I walked over to the desk and switched on my laptop, my fingers trembling as I opened the browser. The glow of the screen illuminated the room in soft blue light. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before typing.

“Wolves,” I typed quickly into the search engine. As the results began to load, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the answers I might find would either comfort me or make everything much, much worse.

The first few links were general articles about wolves: their behavior, their habitats, their social structure. But I needed something more specific. I quickly scrolled, my eyes scanning for something that would explain why I was hearing a growl, why there was a shadow outside my window that resembled a wolf, and why I felt like I was standing on the edge of something dangerous.

Then, buried deep in the search results, I found something that made my stomach drop. It was a forum, titled "Wolves in Myth and Reality." Clicking on it, I was immediately met with a thread discussing werewolves. My breath hitched in my chest.

Werewolves. The word hit me like a cold shock. Could it be possible? Could the strange things I’d been noticing—the mysterious paintings, the strange behavior of the Lawrence family, the warnings about forbidden rooms—be connected to werewolves?

My fingers hovered above the keys as I skimmed the thread. There were stories—wild, outrageous stories—about packs of werewolves, hidden communities that lived in the shadows. According to some of the posts, these packs were highly secretive, with their own rules, their own territories. The more I read, the more it seemed to match the weirdness I’d encountered in this mansion.

The thread was filled with people sharing their own theories and experiences. Some believed werewolves were just a myth, stories passed down through generations to scare children. Others swore that they had encountered them—either by accident or by fate—and lived to tell the tale. A few posts even described “rituals” tied to the full moon and packs of wolves, suggesting that the “man-wolf” myth had more truth to it than anyone realized.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen. The posts mentioned that werewolves could be ordinary people, living among humans, hiding their true nature. They could be born into the world as humans, only to transform during the full moon or when their emotions got the best of them. Some even spoke of packs who had learned to suppress their urges and live in peace with humans, but others… others had become rogue, wild, and uncontrollable.

My hands were shaking now, my head spinning with the possibilities. The posts also mentioned something else: *territory.* Werewolves, it seemed, were territorial creatures. Once they established their pack, they protected it fiercely—often by keeping outsiders out of their domain. The forbidden rooms in this house. The strange, primal art. The cold, distant manner of the Lawrence family. All of it seemed to fit.

I clicked on another link, one that promised to explain werewolf lore in greater detail. As I read about the history of werewolves, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was learning about something that had been hidden from me for years.

But before I could absorb it all, a noise startled me—a sharp scratching sound from outside my door. My heart stopped in my chest.

The growl came again.

Closer.

And then, a low thud against the door, as if something heavy had just brushed against it. My skin prickled, and I moved away from the desk, fear clenching in my chest.

I didn’t want to check. I didn’t want to see what was lurking outside. But I couldn’t stop myself. Slowly, I approached the door, the air around me growing colder, thicker with tension.

I placed my hand on the doorknob, the cold metal sending a chill up my arm. The growl was almost unbearable now, echoing through the walls. I turned the knob ever so slightly, peeking through the crack.

And there, in the dim light, I saw it.

A shadow. Massive. Dark. It wasn’t a dog.

It was something else. Something far worse. And as the growl grew louder, a part of me already knew what it was.

A wolf?

A werewolf?

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. Everything around me—my entire world—was spinning out of control. And just as I took a step back, I heard a voice from behind me, a voice I never expected to hear.

“Don’t open the door.”

I turned around, heart skipping a beat, to find Mrs. Lawrence standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"Whatever you do, Sierra," she said, her voice low and serious, "you must stay away from that door."