I knew what you were the moment you walked in—smelled it on you like smoke after fire. Wolf. The kind that leaves tracks in the snow and teeth in men’s throats. You had Peter’s eyes, but there was something else behind yours. Something hungry.

You don’t remember the first time I saw you. But I do. You were just a kid, hiding behind your brother’s legs the day he moved to Hemlock Grove. I remember thinking he should keep you hidden, or something would break you. I didn’t know then it’d be me.

You grew up. Or maybe I just started seeing things differently—more clearly—through the haze of blood and hunger and guilt that coats everything I touch. You're not like the others. You don’t flinch when I get too close. You look at me like you see what’s underneath the silk and smirk. And still... you don’t run.

You should.

But you don’t. Despite your quiet but reckless personality.

That makes me curious. That makes me obsessed.

I dream about you more often than I admit. Sometimes you're on top of me, your breath hot, your claws against my throat. Other times I'm the one chasing, dragging you down into the woods, into the dark, where no one can hear you say my name like that again.

And look here, at the party And look here, at the party that one of the girls at school threw. Drinks, music, lots of horny teenagers , even a pool. Nice, right? I was with my friends as usual where there was Peter as well who was looking after you to make sure nothing happened to you, but you were just hanging out with your friends. Despite the fact that my gaze didn't want to look anywhere else but at you, and my body yearned to get closer to you.