The forest was quieter than it should have been. Not with peace, but dread.
Rain fell in steady sheets, a gray curtain swallowing the trees, the dirt trail, and the small wooden bungalow that sat alone at the heart of the clearing. The place was modest, pinewood walls darkened by weather, a slanted metal roof clattering softly under the downpour. There were no streetlights, no fence, no neighbors. Just woods, endless woods, and the sliver of a trail that wound back toward the main road like a dying vein.
Behind a gnarled cedar tree, half-hidden by low branches slick with water, a girl crouched, small, shivering, barefoot. She couldn't have been more than seven. Mud soaked her nightdress; her damp, curly hair clung to her pale face. She was breathing too fast. Her small hands covered her mouth as she stared, wide-eyed, at the flickering windows of her home.
They're still inside.
A low growl tore through the sound of the rain. Then another.
From the windows, shadows lunged. The flickering firelight from the hearth threw distorted, monstrous silhouettes onto the walls. Screams rang out, short, sharp. Then they stopped. Like snuffed candles. Silence followed. The kind of silence that lives after blood has already hit the floor.
The girl gripped the tree harder.
She hadn't seen what they looked like. Not fully. Only flashes, the door being torn open, her mother screaming, her father shouting something unintelligible. Then the creatures crashed through like a storm. Massive. Furred. The size of small cars. She had barely enough sense to scramble through the back, slipping into the rain, tripping over roots as she fled into the trees.
Now, from her hiding place, she watched.
The front door of the cabin creaked.
Out of the darkness, three forms emerged. At first, they still walked on four legs: Dire Wolves, each larger than a bear, their fur shimmering slick with rain. Black. Gray. Ash-blonde. Their paws sank into the mud with heavy grace. Their eyes gleamed with an unnatural intelligence.
Then came the shift.
Bones cracked, fur shifted, legs twisted. It wasn't grotesque, it was elegant, almost mesmerizing. The wolves stood taller, towering, eight feet, their forms shifting into humanoid werewolves. Fur still cloaked them, but their postures became upright, shoulders broad, claws retracting into fingers. Their faces held the same lupine beauty, but their bodies were unmistakably feminine. Curves cloaked in muscle, strength hidden behind poise.
They were horrifying. And beautiful.
One of them, the ash-blonde with near-white fur spoke first, her voice smooth and cold, echoing through the rain.
"Two adults. One child missing."
The second one, gray-furred, with a sharper jawline sniffed the air. Her eyes narrowed.
"She ran. Smart kid."
"Doesn't matter," the third muttered. Black-furred, with golden piercings glinting even through the rain. She turned toward the trees, scanning.
The leader raised a hand. "Find her."
The girl's heart slammed against her chest. Her legs ached from crouching. Every instinct screamed run, but her body was frozen with fear.
The werewolves moved like liquid shadows, spreading out, sniffing the ground, graceful and deliberate. They weren't rushing. They weren't panicked. They knew she couldn't have gotten far. And they enjoyed this.
She took one shaky step back, then another, her heel brushing a rock.
Snap.
All three heads turned.
She bolted.
Rain blinded her. Branches whipped her face. She didn't even know where she was going—just away. Away from the house, from the monsters, from her family's screams that still echoed in her mind.
Behind her, padded footfalls gave chase. Not loud. But deliberate.
The werewolves had returned to Dire Wolf form, moving like phantoms. They didn't snarl. They didn't howl. That would've been mercy.
Mud splashed. Trees blurred. Her breath hitched in sobs. And then, pain.
She was tackled from the side, rolling into the wet earth. The world spun. Her chest burned. When she blinked through the rain, they were there.
All three.
Back in their humanoid forms. Towering. Rain sliding off their fur. They formed a loose triangle around her, letting her crawl back against a tree trunk. Her dress was torn. Her knees scraped. Her tears indistinguishable from the rain.
"Found her," the gray one purred, crouching low. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "God, you're tiny."
"She's shaking," said the black-furred one, clicking her tongue. "I think she peed herself."
The blonde one stayed quiet, her golden eyes unreadable.
"She saw us," said the gray one, stepping forward. "She'll talk."
"She's just a kid."
"Exactly. And kids talk."
The girl whimpered.
"Aw, poor thing," the black-furred one cooed, kneeling closer. "Bet you want your mommy."
The gray-furred assassin chuckled. "She screamed the loudest, you know. Your mommy."
The girl sobbed, shaking violently.
They weren't monsters.
They were something worse.
They were people.
People who had become monsters and learned to laugh while killing.
Then the blonde one stepped forward.
Her voice was quiet.
"That's enough."
The others paused.
She knelt before the girl, still towering, still a beast, but her expression was calmer. Almost... soft.
"She's scared. Don't make her suffer."
The black-furred assassin shrugged. "Suit yourself."
The girl's eyes locked onto the blonde's face. She didn't smile. She didn't explain.
She just raised one clawed hand—
And brought it down.
The forest swallowed the sound.
Rain fell heavier, washing blood into the roots.