The full moon hung like a silver crown over the forest, pouring cold light across the frost-crusted ground. The air bit deep into lungs, sharp with the scent of pine, snow, and something ancient—the wild pulse of the pack.
In the clearing, the Hale wolves stood in a wide circle, bare feet pressed to the frozen earth. Steam curled from their mouths with each breath. They were built for this night—shoulders broad, muscles coiled, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Sixteen-year-old Evan Hale stood among them, the icy wind cutting into his skin. His hoodie lay discarded at his feet. Every beat of his heart pounded in his ears, syncing with the drum of his blood. Tonight should have been his night—the night the wolf took over.
It began like a ripple through still water.
A low, guttural growl broke the silence as the first shift began. His cousin doubled over, bones cracking in violent rhythm, muscles swelling and tearing, skin splitting to give way to thick fur. Her jaw stretched, teeth lengthened into gleaming fangs, and when her head snapped up, her eyes burned gold.
One by one, the others followed. Flesh twisted, spines curved, hands burst into claws. In seconds, the clearing swarmed with massive wolves—each a living weapon bristling with power. Their scent was sharp, wild, intoxicating.
Evan felt it too—the heat under his skin, the thrum in his veins—but it stopped halfway.
His breathing grew ragged. Vision sharpened in the moonlight, every sound in the forest crisp and clear. Dark hair thickened along his forearms, chest, and the back of his neck. His canines ached, lengthening just enough to scrape his lip. But that was all.
He stood there, trapped in the half-state between man and beast, while the real wolves prowled around him—taller, stronger, faster. Complete.
The whispers began. Half-wolf.Broken.Shame.
His father stepped forward, placing a warm but heavy hand on his shoulder. The grip was steady, but there was no pride in it—only a silent apology. His mother's gaze, soft and full of love, hurt more than the cold gnawing at his skin.
Then his uncle's voice sliced through the night like a blade.
"He's no wolf. Not my kin. Not an Alpha's heir."
The wolves moved again, their massive forms brushing past him. Their fur radiated heat, making his own bare skin feel colder by contrast. His fingers curled into fists, nails pressing into his palms, but he said nothing.
He kept his eyes low, pretending the ground beneath his feet deserved his attention. Pretending the whispers weren't about him.
But they were.
"Look at him—still standing there like a human."
"Bet he wishes the moon would just hide."
"Half a wolf, half a shame."
The words slid into his ears like icy blades. His heightened hearing caught every insult, every mutter, no matter how far away. Tonight, his sharpened senses were not a gift—they were a curse.
He could see the difference in their shadows—bigger, broader, looming over him. He was lean, still human-shaped, wrapped in nothing but the moon's cold light and the scatter of hair along his arms and chest. His half-length canines felt like mockery compared to their fangs.
A pair of golden eyes locked on him—a wolf from another family line. The massive head tilted, lips curling in a soundless snarl to show perfect, gleaming weapons. Then, with deliberate slowness, he turned away, as if Evan wasn't worth the effort.
Heat flared in Evan's chest, but it wasn't strength—it was shame.
He thought of his father—once the Alpha's right hand—standing silent beside him. His mother clutching her robe tighter, as though she could shield herself from what she couldn't shield him from. This wasn't just his failure. Tonight, he was their shame too.
A sharp bark of laughter broke the air.
"Careful, Evan," someone called from the edge of the circle. "Don't freeze to death before you ever find your wolf."
More laughter followed—low, ugly, meant to wound.
He stayed silent. Speaking would make his voice crack, and showing weakness here was like bleeding into the water.
Another wolf brushed past, its thick tail snapping against his hip. The weight of its presence pressed down like a mountain, reminding him, over and over, of what he wasn't.
The cold wasn't just on his skin anymore—it had seeped deep into the place where his wolf should have been. Hollow. Stripped bare for everyone to see.
He told himself he didn't care. That he'd endured worse. That words couldn't cut as deep as claws.But they could. They did.
The night dragged on, each breath a reminder that he was still standing on two feet while the rest of them prowled the snow as shadows with teeth.
Then… he heard it.
At first, it was so faint he thought he'd imagined it—a shift in the air, a ripple in the forest's stillness. But then it came again. Soft. Rhythmic. Too steady to be any animal's movement.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His gaze lifted to the tree line beyond the clearing.
Shapes moved between the trunks, darker than shadows, gliding silently.
Too fast. Too smooth.
A prickle of unease crawled over his skin. The forest had gone unnaturally still—no rustle of leaves, no whisper of wind, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. Even the wolves around him sensed it; their growls dropped low, hackles rising in unison.
Evan's breath hitched. His sharpened hearing picked up faint, deliberate footsteps, each one perfectly placed, avoiding every twig and patch of snow that might make a sound.
Predators.Not the kind you could outrun.
The shapes drew closer, slipping between the trees like ink in water. And then he saw them—eyes like liquid silver, cold and unblinking, fixed on the pack as if already choosing which throats to tear first.
His stomach turned to stone.
Before he could draw breath to warn them, the first vampire stepped into the moonlight.
And then he saw them—eyes like liquid silver, fixed on the pack.