The ribbon of dusty road that led out of Willow Creek quickly narrowed, giving way to a winding deer trail Lyra had never ventured upon. Each step she took deepened the chasm between the life she'd known and the terrifying unknown stretching before her.
A profound sadness tightened her chest, a painful tug towards Granny Elara's receding house, yet beneath it thrummed an exhilarating sense of freedom, a burgeoning purpose she couldn't quite name. The air itself felt different out here, sharper, charged with a wild, untamed possibility.
The cultivated farmlands soon gave way to the dense embrace of the Texas forest. Towering pines reached for the sky, their branches interwoven with gnarled oaks and thick underbrush, creating a shifting mosaic of sunlight and shadow on the forest floor.
The air grew cooler, infused with the rich, earthy scent of damp soil and pine needles, primal and raw. The familiar hum of cicadas faded, replaced by the rustle of unseen creatures, the distant, eerie call of a hawk, and the subtle, rhythmic buzz of insects.
Lyra felt a strange, almost magnetic pull deeper into the woods, as if an invisible thread guided her.
There was an eerie familiarity to the twisting paths, a sense of recognition she couldn't explain, as though her blood remembered routes her feet had never trod. Her wolf, still dormant, was stirring, responding to a call she couldn't yet hear, pulling her towards its ancient home.
She tried to recall Granny's lessons. Flint and tinder for a fire. Edible berries. She fumbled with the compass, trying to make sense of its unwavering needle, feeling hopelessly out of her depth. Her human vulnerability was stark in this wild expanse. As the afternoon wore on, the golden light began to fade, hinting at an approaching dusk. Lyra found a small clearing, sheltered by a cluster of gnarled oaks, and began to prepare a rudimentary camp.
The world around her grew silent, the forest's usual chorus replaced by an unnatural hush.
A prickling sensation crawled up her arm. The crescent moon mark on her inner wrist, usually so subtle, pulsed with a faint, silvery light, an internal alarm Lyra was quickly learning to recognize. The air grew heavy, thick with an unseen presence.
She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs, but saw nothing but shifting shadows and dense foliage. Yet the feeling of being watched was undeniable, a cold dread seeping into her bones. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the undergrowth that was too heavy for a squirrel, sent a fresh jolt of fear through her.
She huddled deeper into her blanket as twilight deepened, pulling Granny's worn journal from her pack, its familiar weight a small comfort. But even here, the dreams found her. She saw the golden eyes again, closer now, piercing through the gloom, surrounded by shadowy, misshapen forms that moved with unnatural speed through the trees.
And then, the howl—no longer distant, but a guttural, terrifying roar that vibrated through the very ground beneath her, making her teeth ache. Lyra woke with a gasp, adrenaline flooding her system, her breath catching in her throat. Something was out there. Something was hunting her.
A sound, a low, guttural growl, ripped through the quiet of the night, closer than anything from her dreams. Lyra scrambled to her feet, her hands instinctively going to her wrists, her fingers brushing the now brightly glowing crescent moon. She barely registered it.
Too late.
They erupted from the shadows, a blur of monstrous motion, too fast for human eyes to track. Not animals, not human, but something twisted and dark. Hulking, shadowy figures with too many limbs, their eyes glowing with malevolent intent, their forms distorted, feral. A raw, guttural language, a series of snarls and clicks, spilled from their gaping maws. They were predatory, graceful, moving with a chilling precision.
One of them lunged, a dark shape with razor-sharp claws. Lyra screamed, pure terror seizing her, but she lashed out, driven by an instinct she didn't know she possessed. She kicked, scratched, fought with every ounce of her human strength, but she was hopelessly outmatched. They didn't aim to kill her quickly; they wanted something more. One snarled, its voice a low rumble, "The healer... the power! Master Owen wants her!"
A searing pain erupted in her left leg as a claw raked across her thigh, tearing flesh, sending a wave of nausea through her. Another creature, larger than the rest, delivered a brutal blow to her head. Stars exploded behind her eyes, the world tilting violently. She crumpled to the forest floor, disoriented, losing feeling in her limbs. The creatures closed in, their snarls echoing around her, a chorus of triumph. She was losing, fading, the terrifying reality sinking in—this was it.
Miles away, Alpha Kael moved through the shadowed undergrowth with the silent grace of a phantom. He was in his wolf form, a magnificent creature of dark fur and piercing gold eyes, his senses honed to an impossible degree. Beside him, Beta Kelvin and Gamma Caleb, equally powerful in their shifts, moved like synchronized shadows. They were tracking a large boar, its scent strong on the humid air, but a new, disturbing current had begun to prickle their senses.
Then it hit Kael. A sharp, high-pitched scream, undeniably human, followed by a chorus of guttural snarls that were not wolf, not bear—something else, something unnatural. The scent of blood, fear, and those vile creatures instantly replaced the boar's. Without a moment's hesitation, Kael turned , his powerful wolf from a blur of speed, his pack brothers close behind.
He burst into the small clearing, a whirlwind of muscle and fur, tearing into the grotesque figures with primal fury. Claws ripped, teeth snapped, and the air filled with the creatures' pained shrieks. As he moved, dispatching the twisted forms with brutal efficiency, his gaze fell upon the figure crumpled on the forest floor.
A woman. Injured, vulnerable, blood blooming like a dark stain on her clothes.
And then, it hit him. A tidal wave of lavender and something impossibly sweet, cutting through the stench of blood and fear, washing over his senses with overwhelming force.
His wolf roared, a guttural sound that vibrated deep within his chest: Mate!
Kael froze, his golden eyes locking onto the fragile human form. This? This weak, bloodied human woman was his fated mate? The thought was an abomination. He needed a strong Luna, a powerful she-wolf who could stand by his side, command respect, bear strong pups. Not this delicate, fragile thing.
The initial shock twisted instantly into a visceral fury, a burning hatred that consumed him. His wolf might recognize her, but his human mind, and his Alpha duty, screamed rejection. Lyra lay unconscious on the ground, oblivious to the storm raging in the golden eyes of the Alpha who had just saved her life, and who already hated her.