Episode 1
Evans (david p o v)
Episode 1: New Beginnings
The cab screeched to a halt, the driver giving me a look that said, "You sure this is it, Adonis?" I just nodded, pushing a wad of crumpled bills at him. The apartment building, a monument to brick and urban grit, loomed before me, a stark contrast to the sun-drenched sprawl of California. New York City. Or, well, its slightly less glamorous outskirts. Clara had insisted it was "up and coming," whatever that entailed. Ruth, practically vibrating with excitement, was already bouncing in the back seat. Me? I just wanted to unpack and figure out how to navigate this concrete jungle without attracting too much attention.
Inside, the apartment was… cozy. Small. Boxes stacked everywhere, the air thick with that "new apartment" smell—a mix of dust, cheap paint, and the faint scent of something vaguely metallic. Clara was already barking orders, Ruth was unpacking with the enthusiasm of a hyperactive squirrel, and I just stood there, feeling like a misplaced sculpture in a crowded gallery.
"Evans, honey, could you get those boxes from the kitchen?" Clara's voice, though loving, cut through my internal monologue.
I sighed, dragging my feet. The kitchen, barely large enough for a decent dance-off, was crammed with cardboard. I started wrestling with a box labeled "Kitchen Stuff," when a knock echoed from the front door.
"I'll get it!" Ruth yelled, practically teleporting to the door.
A moment later, a voice boomed, "Yo, new neighbor!"
I peered around the corner. Skinny kid, glasses so thick they magnified his eyes, holding a plate of cookies that looked suspiciously like they'd been baked in a lab. Mike, he introduced himself. The "friendly neighborhood nerd," he called himself, grinning like he'd just won a lifetime supply of comic books.
"Welcome to the jungle, man," he said, pushing past Ruth and into the apartment. "Name's Mike. I live right next door. Figured you guys could use some sugar to survive."
Clara, bless her heart, was instantly charmed. "Oh, how sweet! Thank you, Mike."
Ruth, always eager to make friends, was already chatting him up, asking about the neighborhood. Me? I just eyed the cookies with a healthy dose of suspicion.
"Evans, why don't you and Mike go explore?" Clara suggested, her eyes sparkling. "Get to know the area. I'll be busy trying to find a place to rent for my grocery business."
"Explore?" I echoed, not exactly thrilled at the prospect of a guided tour from a cookie-wielding nerd.
"Yeah, man! I can show you around," Mike said, his grin widening. "There's a killer diner, a sweet skate park, and... Lincoln High."
Lincoln High. I'd heard of it. Rich kid school, right? The kind of place where my face, sculpted by the gods themselves, would probably cause a riot.
"Lincoln's got a scholarship program," Mike continued, oblivious to my internal commentary. "You should totally apply. You seem… intelligent."
Intelligent? That was an understatement. I'd taught Ruth more about literature than most high school teachers knew. I'd devoured books like they were oxygen. But school? Not my scene.
We headed out, Mike practically vibrating with energy. He pointed out every landmark, every store, every fire hydrant, like he was narrating a documentary about his personal kingdom.
"That's the diner, best burgers ever," he said, pointing to a greasy spoon with faded neon signs. "That's the park, good for skating. And over there, that's Lincoln High."
We walked, and then he started leading me down a side street, then into a wooded area. The trees were thick, the sunlight filtering through in dappled patterns. It felt… different. Quieter.
"Shortcut," Mike said, grinning. "It's cool, man. You'll like it."
I wasn't so sure. The air was heavy, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves. I felt a prickle of unease, like something was watching us.
"Mike," I said, my voice low. "This ain't a shortcut, is it?"
He shrugged, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "Maybe not. But it's still cool, right?"
Then, it happened. A growl. Low, deep, primal. It vibrated through the trees, sending a chill down my spine.
"What was that?" Mike whispered, his eyes wide.
I didn't answer. I just stared into the shadows, my senses on high alert. And then, I saw them. Eyes. Glowing in the dark, like twin embers. A wolf. Huge. Massive.
Mike screamed, a high-pitched sound that echoed through the woods. He turned and ran, his footsteps pounding against the dirt.
I froze. Not out of fear, exactly. More like… disbelief. A wolf? In New York?
It lunged, a blur of fur and teeth. I tried to move, to react, but it was too fast. Pain exploded through my body, claws ripping into my flesh. I stumbled, trying to fight back, but it was like trying to fight a force of nature.
The world turned into a chaotic mess of growls and pain. Then, blackness.
I woke up on the cold, damp ground, leaves sticking to my face. My head throbbed, every muscle in my body screaming. I tried to sit up, but my limbs felt like lead.
Mike was gone. The wolf was gone. Just me, the trees, and the silence.
I stumbled to my feet, my legs wobbly. I was bleeding, cuts and bruises everywhere. I looked down at my hands, and… something was different. I felt… stronger. More alert. But also… weird.
I made my way back to the apartment, my steps slow and unsteady. Clara freaked when she saw me, her face pale with worry.
"Evans! What happened?" she demanded, her voice shaking.
"Got jumped," I mumbled, avoiding her eyes. "Some guys in the woods."
She looked like she wanted to ask more, but she just nodded, her eyes filled with concern. Ruth was quiet, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced with a worried frown.
I went to my room, the small space feeling even smaller now. I looked in the cracked mirror, my reflection staring back at me. My hair, still dyed black, shimmered with an odd light. Like it was glowing from the inside.
I touched it, and a jolt of energy shot through me. It felt… alive. Like it was connected to something else.
I then left for the bathroom for a bath
The bathroom mirror was a foggy mess, but even through the haze, I could see it. The skin where the wolf's teeth had ripped into me, where the claws had left their mark… smooth. Like it had never happened. I ran my fingers over the unblemished skin, a shiver crawling up my spine.
"What the hell?" I muttered, the words echoing in the small space.
I stood there, the hot water beating down on me, and tried to make sense of it. The wolf, the sheer savagery of its attack… and then, nothing. Like a bad dream erased from my memory. Except, it wasn't a dream.
My mind raced, flipping through images from old movies, cheesy werewolf flicks, and those late-night documentaries about the paranormal. Could it be? Could something like that actually exist? I'd always been a sucker for that stuff, secretly wishing for a taste of something… more. But this? This was insane.
A jolt of adrenaline, a mix of fear and excitement, shot through me. This wasn't just weird. This was… powerful. And I had a feeling it was mine.
I knew, right then and there, this had to be a secret. No one could know. Not Clara, not Ruth, not even Mike. If word got out, I'd be a lab rat, a freak show.
I got dressed, the damp clothes clinging to my skin, and headed out. Mike was still sitting on the steps, looking like he'd just seen a ghost.
"Dude, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I freaked. I just… ran."
"It's cool," I said, even though it wasn't. "But what was that thing?"
He just shook his head, his eyes wide and haunted. "I don't know, man. Never seen anything like it."
I needed answers. I needed to understand what had happened in those woods. And I needed to make sure it didn't happen again.
"Look," I said, "about that scholarship. For Lincoln. You think they'd take both me and Ruth?"
Mike's face lit up, a spark of his usual enthusiasm returning. "Seriously? That's awesome! We gotta get you guys signed up."
"Yeah," I said, "but I need to study. You know, catch up. Any libraries around here?"
Truth was, I wanted to find books. Books on werewolves, on anything supernatural. I needed to understand what I was dealing with.
We walked to the library, a small, quiet place tucked between a bustling laundromat and a noisy bodega. Mike was all about the scholarship prep, pulling out study guides and practice tests. But I was scanning the shelves, searching for anything related to folklore, mythology, anything that might explain what had happened to me.
Hours later, my head was spinning with ancient legends, werewolf tales, and bizarre scientific theories. Nothing concrete, but enough to make me think, maybe, just maybe, it wasn't all movie magic.
We headed back to the apartment, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the street. Clara was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with a determined look on her face.
"Mom," I said, leaning against the counter, "I wanna apply for that scholarship. And I wanna pay for both me and Ruth."
She stopped chopping, her eyes narrowing. "Your money? From where?"
"I've got some saved up," I said, avoiding her gaze. "From my old job. And I'll get a new one. Part-time. I can handle it."
She looked skeptical. "You sure about this, Evans? School and a job? That's a lot."
"I'm sure," I said, my voice firm. "It's important to me."
After a long conversation, where I outlined how I would manage my time, and promised to keep my grades up, she finally agreed. "Just don't overdo it, Evans. And you better ace that exam."
I grinned. "I will."
...I turned to Mike. "You know of any part-time jobs around here?"
"Yeah, man!" he said, his eyes lighting up. "Sal's Diner. They're always looking for waiters. And Sal, he likes… well, he likes a good-looking face."
We headed over to Sal's, a bustling diner with red vinyl booths and the ever-present aroma of greasy burgers and fries. Mike pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling, and led me to a booth near the back. Sal, a big, gruff guy with a booming voice that could probably shatter glass, was wiping down the counter.
"Sal, this is Evans," Mike said, gesturing towards me. "He's looking for a job."
Sal looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my face. "You got any experience?"
"Not really," I admitted, trying to keep my voice steady. "But I'm a quick learner. And I'm good with people."
He grunted, his eyes still fixed on me. "You can start now. We're short-staffed." He pointed towards a stack of menus. "Get changed. There's a uniform in the back. And don't screw up."
"Right," I said, a mix of surprise and relief washing over me. "I'll get right on it."
I found the uniform, a faded blue shirt and a stained apron, and changed in the cramped back room. When I returned, Sal pointed me towards a section of tables, and I started taking orders, trying to keep up with the flurry of activity.
It was chaotic. Orders were flying, customers were impatient, and the air was thick with the smells of coffee and fried food. But I managed, somehow. I even got a few smiles and compliments, mostly from older ladies who seemed to appreciate my… let's just say, my presence.
Then, she walked in.
The diner, already buzzing with noise, went dead silent for a moment. Heads turned, phones came out, and a wave of whispers swept through the room.
"It's Ella Zender!" someone yelled, their voice filled with awe. "Our one and only beauty model!"
A girl, with long, blue hair that shimmered like moonlight on water, walked towards the counter. She moved with an effortless grace, her designer clothes a stark contrast to the worn vinyl booths and chipped mugs. She was beautiful, like a goddess stepping into a greasy spoon.
I watched her, trying to keep my expression neutral. I'd seen beautiful women before, but there was something about her… something that made my heart skip a beat. And then there was the hair. That blue. Like mine. Or, like mine would be if I didn't dye it black.
She walked up to the counter, her eyes scanning the room, and then they landed on me. She paused, her gaze lingering for a moment.
"A glass of water, please," she said, her voice soft but clear.
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. I grabbed a glass and filled it with ice water, trying to ignore the way my hands were shaking slightly.
"Here you go," I said, placing the glass in front of her.
She took a sip, her eyes still on me. "You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound casual. "Just started."
She tilted her head, her blue hair cascading over her shoulder. "You don't seem… impressed."
"Impressed?" I echoed, confused.
"By me," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Everyone else seems to be."
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "You're just another customer."
She raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. "Just another customer with this"
My heart skipped a beat. "It's dyed," I said quickly. "A fashion statement."
She chuckled, a low, melodic sound. "Of course. And mine is natural." She took another sip of water, her eyes still on me. "You know, most people would be tripping over themselves to get my attention."
"Maybe I'm not most people," I said, meeting her gaze.
She smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that made my stomach do a weird flip. "Maybe not. But I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other."
She finished her water, placed the glass on the counter, and walked away, leaving a trail of whispers and stunned silence in her wake.
I stood there, watching her go, my mind racing. That feeling, that jolt… it was back. Stronger this time.
"whats the heck is wrong with me"
greasy orders, and the clatter of silverware. By the time my shift ended, I smelled like a walking burger, but my wallet was a little heavier. Walking home with Mike, the city noises faded into the background as he launched into his usual stream of consciousness.
"Dude, you shoulda seen that lady's face when she got the onion rings," he said, mimicking a horrified expression. "Like, they were gonna eat her soul or something."
I chuckled, trying to shake off the grease. The girls at the diner, they'd been… well, they'd been noticing me. More than usual. Compliments about my "eyes" and "that jawline" and "that voice" were getting old fast. I just wanted to get home and shower.
"So," Mike said, nudging me with his elbow, "you and Ella, huh? That was something."
"What was 'something'?" I asked, pretending to be clueless.
"You know," he said, grinning. "The whole 'not impressed' thing. That's Ella Zender, man. Like, the most beautiful girl in Lincoln. And her hair? Natural. Born with it. For real."
I felt a jolt. Natural? Blue hair? Like mine? I pushed the thought away, trying to focus on what Mike was saying.
"She doesn't date, either," Mike continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "Too busy being a goddess, I guess."
We reached my apartment building, the familiar brick and grime a welcome sight. "Thanks for the info," I said, trying to sound casual. "And for the job."
"No problem, man," Mike said, grinning. "See you tomorrow."
Inside, Ruth was sprawled on the couch, watching some reality show. Clara was in the kitchen, humming as she stirred a pot of something that smelled like heaven.
"Hey," I said, dropping my bag on the floor. "Ruth, you ready for tomorrow?"
"Ready for what?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the screen.
"The scholarship exam," I said. "I signed you up. We're both taking it online."
Her eyes widened. "Seriously? You did? That's awesome!"
"Yeah," I said, "but you gotta study. It's tomorrow."
We spent the rest of the evening cramming, me trying to remember stuff I hadn't thought about in years, Ruth surprisingly focused. Finally, we called it a night, both of us exhausted.
Ella's POV
The diner was a greasy, noisy place, filled with the kind of people I usually avoided. But I was thirsty, and curious. I'd been at a designer's studio all afternoon, and the dry air had parched my throat.
I walked up to the small diner restaurant near by, my blue hair shimmering under the fluorescent lights. The place went quiet, and then many comments complimented and so on begins which was normal. People always stared some ask for authorgrape which I ignore
The guy behind the counter, though, he was different. He didn't gawk, didn't stutter, didn't try to impress me with some cheesy line. He just looked at me, his eyes… assessing.
"A glass of water, please," I said, my voice soft but clear.
He nodded, grabbed a glass, and filled it with ice water. His hands were steady, his movements efficient. Not like the usual fumbling I got.
"Here you go," he said, placing the glass in front of me.
I took a sip, my eyes still on him. "You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice casual. "Just started."
He wasn't impressed. That was… unusual. Most guys would be falling over themselves to get my attention.
"You don't seem… impressed," I said, tilting my head.
"Impressed?" he echoed, a hint of confusion in his voice.
"By me," I said, a small smile playing on my lips. "Everyone else seems to be."
He shrugged. "You're just another customer."
I watched his eyes, and knew he was lying.
"Just another customer with this," I said
Shrugging my hair.
He stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's dyed. A fashion statement."
I chuckled, a low, melodic sound. "Of course. And mine is natural."
He didn't flinch. Most people did.
"You know," I said, taking another sip of water, "most people would be tripping over themselves to get my attention."
"Maybe I'm not most people," he said, meeting my gaze.
I smiled, a slow, deliberate smile. "Maybe not. But I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other."
I finished my water, placed the glass on the counter, and walked out, leaving a trail of whispers and stunned silence in my wake.
I climbed into my private cab, the plush leather a welcome relief after the diner's sticky seats. The driver, a quiet, efficient man named Thomas, pulled away from the curb.
"Home, Miss Zender?" he asked.
"Yes, Thomas," I said, leaning back in my seat. "Home."
We drove through the city, the skyscrapers giving way to sprawling mansions and manicured lawns. We turned into a gated community, the sign reading "Aethelgard Estates." Our mansion, a sprawling, modern structure with floor-to-ceiling windows, loomed at the end of a long, winding driveway.
Inside, the air was cool and quiet. My parents, Charlotte and Zender, were waiting in the living room, sipping tea.
"Ella, darling!" my mother exclaimed, rising to greet me. "How was the fitting?"
"Long," I said, sinking into a plush armchair. "But the dress is perfect."
"Good, good," my father said, nodding. "The gala is in two weeks. It's important you look your best."
We chatted about the fitting, the gala, the latest fashion trends. It was all very… normal. But underneath the surface, there was always a tension, a sense of something unspoken.
"You seem… preoccupied," my mother said, her eyes searching mine.
"Just tired," I said, forcing a smile. "Long day."
I went to my room, the cool, minimalist space a welcome sanctuary. I changed into a silk robe and sat on the balcony, watching the sun set over the city.
The guy at the diner, his eyes, his voice… they were still on my mind. He was different. And I had a feeling he was going to be a problem. Or maybe… something else entirely.
Monday morning. The sun, a pale gold, filtered through the silk curtains of my bedroom, casting a soft glow across the minimalist décor. I lay in bed for a moment, the silence of the mansion a stark contrast to the city's constant hum. A sigh escaped my lips. Another day. Another performance.
I rose, the cool marble of the floor a shock to my bare feet, and walked to the bathroom. The steam from my bath filled the room, the scent of lavender and sandalwood a familiar comfort. I undressed, my reflection staring back at me from the mirror. Blue hair, perfect features, a mask of indifference.
The warm water enveloped me, easing the tension in my muscles. I closed my eyes, letting the silence soothe my restless mind. Today was English with Mrs. Johanson, a class I usually tolerate .
I emerged from the bath, my skin glowing, and wrapped myself in a plush towel. Back in my room, I stood before the walk-in closet, a vast space filled with designer clothes. After a moment's contemplation, I chose a flowing silk blouse in a soft shade of blue, paired with tailored black trousers and sleek ankle boots. Simple, elegant, understated.
I sat at my vanity, applying a light layer of makeup. A touch of mascara, a swipe of lip gloss, a hint of blush. I didn't need much. My features were already… striking.
I gathered my school bag, and headed downstairs. My parents were in the dining room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air.
"Ella, darling," my mother said, her voice warm. "You look lovely."
"Thank you," I replied, taking a seat at the table.
"We have some news," my father said, his voice was serious. "We're going to be traveling for a few weeks. Business in Europe."
A flicker of disappointment washed over me. I was used to their absences, but it still stung. "When do you leave?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," my mother said. "We've arranged for Mr. Lee to drive you to school, and Mrs. Henderson will be here to oversee things at home."
I nodded, pushing my food around my plate. The mansion would feel even emptier without them.
"Don't look so glum, Ella," my father said, a hint of impatience in his voice. "It's just business."
"I know," I said, forcing a smile.
After a brief, strained breakfast, I headed out to the garage, where Mr. Lee, my personal driver, was waiting with the sleek black sedan.
"Good morning, Miss Zender," he said, his voice polite.
"Good morning, Mr. Lee," I replied, sliding into the back seat.
The drive to Lincoln High was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of concrete and steel. As we approached the school gates, I braced myself for the usual reception.
Mr. Lee pulled up to the curb, and I stepped out, my blue hair catching the morning light. The whispers started immediately.
"It's Ella!" someone breathed.
"She looks even more beautiful this term," another voice said.
"That outfit is to die for!"
I ignored them, as always, and walked towards my locker. I grabbed my English textbook and headed for Mrs. Johanson's classroom.
The classroom was already buzzing with activity, students chatting and laughing. As I entered, the noise died down, and all eyes turned to me.
"Ella!" a girl named Tiffany squealed. "You look amazing!"
"That color is perfect on you," another girl said.
"Like a goddess," a boy whispered.
I offered a polite smile and took my usual seat in the back of the room. I pulled out my textbook and pretended to read, trying to ignore the whispers and stares.
A moment later, Mrs. Johanson entered the classroom, her presence commanding instant silence. "Good morning, class," she said, her voice warm but firm. "Please take your seats."
The lesson began, a discussion of Shakespeare's sonnets. I tried to focus, but my mind kept drifting.
Then, the door opened.
A guy walked in, his dark hair a stark contrast to his pale skin. He was tall, lean, and undeniably handsome. There was something about his eyes, dark and intense, that made my heart skip a beat.
"Ah, Mr. Evans," Mrs. Johanson said, her voice surprised. "You must be our new scholarship student. Welcome."
He nodded, his gaze sweeping across the room. It paused on me, just for a moment, and then moved on.
A wave of confusion washed over me. I remembered him. The diner. Sal's. He was the waiter. The one who hadn't been impressed.
Whispers broke out among the students.
"He's kind of hot," a girl murmured.
"Even hotter than Lucas," another girl whispered, glancing at the arrogant boy in the front row.
Lucas's jaw tightened. He glared at the new guy, a flicker of something dark in his eyes.
I frowned, annoyed with myself. Why was my heart racing? I'd seen handsome guys before. But this… this was different.
Mrs. Johanson cleared her throat, regaining the class's attention. "Mr. Evans, please introduce yourself."
He stepped forward, his voice low and steady. "David Evans"
His voice sent a shiver down my spine. I had never experienced anything like this.
I sat in my seat, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. What was wrong with me? Why was this guy, this scholarship student, having such an effect on me? I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all.
Tbc
This is just getting started guys