Chapter 4: The Black Wolf’s Mark

I hurried back to the dorm, determined to find out if Maya was hiding something.

I skipped lunch and went straight to her bunk. I needed answers.

I climbed up and found a battered Book of Psalms under her pillow.

The cover was worn, pages dog-eared. I flipped through, searching for anything weird.

On the title page, in neat, almost too-perfect handwriting, Maya had written:

"I will save all who suffer in this world."

It didn’t sound like the Maya I knew.

There was also a photo tucked inside—totally photoshopped!

The lighting was off, the shadows didn’t match. Maya sat upright on a church pew, smiling, a lily in her hand.

But her eyes—where they should’ve been clear—were pitch black, no whites at all.

It was deeply unsettling. I shivered.

"You back already?"

Maya’s voice came from the doorway, making me jump. I nearly dropped the book, heart pounding.

I quickly shoved the book back under her pillow.

My hands shook, but I managed to hide it before she noticed.

Facing her, I blurted out an excuse:

"Can’t find my book—I thought I left it up here."

I forced a laugh, hoping she wouldn’t notice how nervous I was.

When the Book of Psalms fell out, she just picked it up and tossed it aside, not even glancing at the photo.

She didn’t even care about the book.

She shrugged and moved on. I let out a shaky breath.

After searching everywhere, I still couldn’t find my nonexistent book.

I pretended to give up, thanking her for helping.

Maya just shrugged.

"Try somewhere else."

Her tone was light, almost teasing. I forced a smile back.

I asked, trying to sound casual:

"Do you still go to church?"

I tried to keep my voice light, like I was just making small talk.

Maya shook her head.

"Nah, my mom does. She said the dorm isn’t exactly 'clean'—it used to be a cemetery—so she told me to bring a Bible to keep the bad stuff away."

She laughed, but there was a weird edge to it. I glanced at the cross on my wrist, suddenly self-conscious.

I frowned but didn’t argue.

I’d heard the same rumors from upperclassmen. Maybe it was just one of those campus legends.

After all, the cross on my wrist was from my aunt, who told me the same thing—and even had it blessed by her pastor.

She’d pressed it into my hand when I left for college, whispering, "You never know what’s out there."

But then, while Maya was changing, I caught a glimpse of a black wolf’s head tattooed high on her thigh.

It was bold and fierce—a total contrast to her gentle vibe. My curiosity spiked.

I memorized the design.

Sharp lines, intense eyes. As soon as I could, I sketched it on a napkin.

That afternoon, I snapped a photo of my sketch and posted it online. Not long after, my phone buzzed with a reply.

I joined a few forums, hoping someone would recognize it. My heart raced as a new message popped up.

An anonymous user messaged:

"Your roommate isn’t normal. That kind of black wolf’s head is a mark of a werewolf pack. Usually, there’s something special about them from birth. The black wolf is meant to keep the inner beast under control. You’d better be careful."

The message gave me chills. I read it twice, then a third time, not sure whether to laugh or freak out.

But soon, other users started mocking me:

"It’s just a tattoo. Why make it sound so creepy?"

"Maybe she just likes wolves. Who cares?"

"It’s the 2020s—people can believe what they want."

The comments piled up, most of them dismissive. I hesitated, afraid to share what had really happened in case I got roasted.

I closed the tab, heart pounding. Maybe I was overreacting. Still, that first message gave me a lead.

I searched online for info about the black wolf tattoo and werewolf packs.

Most of what I found was buried in urban legends and supernatural forums. But I kept digging, determined to find something real.

There wasn’t much—just a handful of scattered posts, some already deleted for breaking community guidelines.

The deeper I went, the more unsettled I felt. It was like someone didn’t want this info out there.

Here’s what I pieced together:

That kind of black wolf tattoo, besides being a personal choice, always meant something—just like that commenter said.

It was a symbol, a warning, a badge. The stories were old, whispered and half-believed.

It was mainly used to keep the beast inside from breaking loose.

Some said it was a seal, meant to hold back something dangerous inside.

People with the black wolf tattoo were said to have odd personalities.

They were loners, always a little off—never quite fitting in, always on the edge.

Some had strange abilities, like sensing life and death, or seeing things other people couldn’t.

I thought of Maya’s warnings, her uncanny timing, the way she seemed to know things she shouldn’t.

Because of these quirks, people both respected and feared them.

They were mostly left alone. Some said it was safer that way.

There was once a pack that used the black wolf as their totem. They followed their own code—part guardian, part hunter.

They protected the weak, but their justice could be brutal.

But the wolf they followed wasn’t the friendly, loyal kind, or the gentle pack mother.

It was a predator, wild and unforgiving.

It was the wolf under the blood moon—fierce, terrifying.

Its eyes burned red, its howl could freeze your blood. Just reading about it made my skin crawl.

It stood for the wolf’s wrathful side.

A warning for anyone dumb enough to cross them.

Some said the black wolf was one of the moon’s chosen, sent to the human world to wipe out evil.

Chosen for a purpose—a heavy one.

Their method was hunting. No mercy, no hesitation.

If you were marked, you were done for.

Once their mission was over, they’d be reborn and instantly become an alpha.

A leader among monsters, respected and feared.

Or, in more familiar terms—become a campus legend.

They’d become the stuff of ghost stories, whispered about in dorm rooms just like mine.

I found it all hard to swallow.

It sounded like something out of a Netflix series. But the coincidences were starting to pile up.

I didn’t really buy it.

I shook my head, telling myself it was just a tattoo. Just a weird dream.

After all, Maya was quiet and gentle. Aside from her sleepwalking, she didn’t seem fierce at all.

She smiled at everyone, shared her snacks, even helped me with my laundry. Not exactly the stuff of legends. For a second, I almost laughed at myself.

Just as I was reading more, that anonymous user messaged again:

"Seeing a ghost in front of a werewolf? You should’ve been dead already!"

The message flashed on my screen, sending a chill straight to my bones. I stared at it, heart pounding, suddenly wondering if I was in way over my head. Maybe I was.