The Howl Within
The morning after the attack, the mist had thinned, but the air still carried the weight of something watching.
Detective Aiden Cross stood in front of the cracked mirror in his motel bathroom, staring at the man who wasn't quite the same as yesterday. His pupils were dilated. His skin, pale but tinged with something else—something sharp, alive. He ran cold water over his hands, watching it swirl down the drain like smoke.
He hadn't slept. Every sound in the room had screamed at him—the ticking of the clock, the distant hum of the fridge, the soft creak of the floorboards above. It was as if the world had turned its volume up and shoved it in his skull.
He grabbed his phone. No service. The storm last night must have taken out a tower—or maybe the town just didn't want him talking to the outside world.
His arm burned where the creature's blood had touched him. When he unwrapped the bandage, the wound wasn't healing like a normal cut. It shimmered faintly under the light, pulsing with each heartbeat.
He tried to shake it off. He'd seen worse. Been through worse. But this… this felt different.
It felt alive.
He needed answers.
Aiden slipped on his coat and holstered his gun before stepping outside. The chill of morning hit him hard, but it didn't sting like it used to. In fact, it felt almost good. The breeze smelled of pine and wet earth—and something else, faint but intoxicating: the coppery tang of blood somewhere far off.
He clenched his jaw. What the hell is happening to me?
The drive to the police station was quiet except for the echo of his thoughts. When he arrived, the chief was already waiting, a coffee in one hand, worry lines carved deeper than usual into his face.
"You look like you wrestled a ghost," Chief Marlowe said.
"Close enough." Aiden dropped into a chair. "The guy from last night… he wasn't human."
Marlowe frowned. "Aiden—"
"I'm not hallucinating. He changed. Right in front of me. Bones snapping, face splitting—he was a goddamn wolf."
The room went silent. Marlowe set his cup down slowly. "You've been through hell, I get it. But maybe you need a break—"
Aiden slammed his hand on the desk. "You think I'm making this up?"
"I think Black Hollow messes with people's heads," the chief said quietly. "It feeds on old ghosts."
Aiden's eyes burned with anger—and something else. A low growl vibrated in his throat before he caught himself. He swallowed it down, forcing his voice steady.
"There's a pattern here. The pendant I found in the woods—it's the same symbol my father used to draw. He knew something about this curse. And now it's starting again."
Marlowe's expression darkened. "Your father was obsessed. That obsession killed him."
Aiden's fists tightened. "No, Chief. Something else killed him."
Before the argument could go further, the door swung open. Officer Harper stepped in, pale-faced and sweating. "We got another one."
Aiden's heart sank.
"Where?"
"Behind the old sawmill. And sir—" Harper hesitated. "This one's still alive."
The sawmill sat like a skeleton on the edge of town, its roof caved in, its windows long shattered. The air there was thick with decay and damp wood.
The paramedics were already there, kneeling beside a man half-buried in mud, his body shredded, his breaths shallow.
Aiden crouched beside him. The man's eyes fluttered open—bright blue, terrified.
"Who did this to you?" Aiden asked gently.
The man coughed, blood spilling over his lips. His voice came out cracked and hoarse. "Wolves… but not wolves…"
"What do you mean?"
"They… they spoke."
Aiden's pulse quickened. "Spoke?"
"They said… 'He's one of us now.'"
The man's hand shot out suddenly, gripping Aiden's wrist. His nails dug deep, his gaze locking onto Aiden's with wild intensity. "You have the mark… you can't fight it. None of us could."
Then his body went still. The life drained from his eyes.
Aiden stood, chest tight, heart pounding too fast.
The paramedic looked up at him. "Detective? You okay?"
He nodded stiffly, turning away. But his mind was unraveling.
He's one of us now.
He touched the wound on his arm. It pulsed again. Harder this time.
That night, the rain returned—soft at first, then relentless. Aiden sat in his jeep outside the church, staring at the darkened windows. Something drew him there, something older than reason.
He wasn't alone.
A shadow moved between the graves—a woman's silhouette. Her movements were slow, graceful, unafraid.
Aiden stepped out of the car. "Hey!"
The woman turned, her eyes catching the moonlight. They glowed faintly gold.
She was tall, her black hair falling in waves, her coat tattered from the rain. But it wasn't her beauty that froze him—it was the faint scent of forest and blood that clung to her, the same scent he'd noticed in the woods the night before.
"You shouldn't be here," she said softly. Her voice was calm but heavy with something like sorrow.
"Neither should you," Aiden replied, hand brushing against his holster. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows what's coming."
He stepped closer. "Then tell me."
Her gaze lingered on him for a long moment, searching his face. "You've already felt it, haven't you? The pull. The hunger."
Aiden froze. "What do you know about that?"
"You were bitten under the moon." She moved closer, her eyes glowing brighter now. "The curse has chosen you."
Aiden shook his head. "No. That's not possible."
"It is. The curse doesn't choose the willing—it chooses the broken."
Her words hit like a bullet.
"I can help you," she continued. "But first, you need to stop fighting it. Every time you deny what's happening, the wolf will grow stronger."
He backed away. "You're insane."
She tilted her head. "Then why does your heart race when you hear the night call?"
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating her face—pale, scarred, and inhumanly beautiful.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"I am Lyra," she said. "Once Alpha of the Black Hollow Pack. Once human, like you."
The name sent a jolt through him. His father's journal had mentioned her—Lyra of the Hollow, the one who defied the moon.
"If you're real, then tell me how to stop this."
Lyra's eyes darkened. "You can't stop it, Aiden. But you can control it. Or it will consume you like it did your father."
The world tilted. His throat tightened. "My father?"
She stepped closer until she was a breath away. "He was one of us."
Aiden's pulse roared in his ears. "No… that's not possible. He—he died protecting people from you."
Lyra shook her head slowly. "He died protecting you from the pack."
Aiden stumbled back, shaking. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Her voice softened. "You've always felt different, haven't you? Faster. Stronger. Angry for no reason. That isn't madness, Aiden—it's the wolf buried in your blood."
He turned away, gripping his head. Memories flickered—his father's late nights, the strange herbs, the warnings never to go near the woods under a full moon.
"No…" he muttered. "No, no, no—"
Lyra reached out and touched his arm—the one with the wound. The mark beneath the skin glowed faintly, like embers awakening.
"Rebirth begins with pain," she whispered. "And yours has already begun."
Then, before he could stop her, she vanished into the fog.
The next few days blurred together.
Aiden tried to bury himself in work, but nothing helped. His senses were sharper than ever. He could hear the flutter of wings three blocks away, smell every drop of coffee brewing in the station, taste the fear rolling off people when they lied.
And at night—he heard them.
Howls in the distance. Calling him.
The police force began to notice his change. The whispers followed him down hallways. He's losing it. He's cursed like his old man.
One night, after another failed interrogation, he snapped. His hands slammed against the table, leaving deep dents in the metal. Everyone stared. He mumbled an apology and stormed out.
By the time he reached his car, his veins were burning again. His vision blurred. The full moon hung low and silver, and something inside him answered it.
He fell to his knees in the parking lot, gasping as his bones twisted, muscles spasming. His reflection in the car window stretched and warped.
Pain ripped through him like fire. He clawed at the pavement, teeth elongating, eyes flashing gold.
A scream tore from his throat—but halfway through, it turned into a howl.
And just like that, the man was gone.
When Aiden woke again, dawn was bleeding through the trees. He was naked, cold, and miles from town. His body ached as though he'd run through fire.
But the strangest thing wasn't the pain—it was the calm. For the first time in years, his mind was quiet. The constant hum of guilt and regret had been replaced by something primal, something that belonged.
He looked around. The woods were alive with color and scent. He could smell every tree, every heartbeat, every trace of life.
Then he heard it—a rustle behind him.
Lyra stepped from the shadows, her dark eyes gleaming.
"You made it through your first change," she said softly. "Few do without losing their minds."
Aiden stared at her, his chest heaving. "What have you done to me?"
"I didn't do anything," she said. "The curse did. You were born of it."
He shook his head. "No. I'm a cop. I stop monsters."
Lyra's smile was sad. "Then you'll have to stop yourself."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken.
Finally, she said, "The pack will come for you. They can sense what you've become. You're either their brother… or their prey."
Aiden's fists clenched. "Let them come."
Lyra's gaze flickered with something like admiration. "You're your father's son, all right."
The wind shifted. Far off, a chorus of howls rose through the valley—dozens of them, echoing through the mountains.
Aiden looked toward the sound, something wild flickering in his eyes.
"Then it's time I find out what he died for."
Lyra nodded. "Then welcome to the hunt, Detective."
As the sun rose over Black Hollow, the mist began to retreat, but the curse had already taken root again.
And in the shadows beyond the treeline, the pack gathered—wolves with human eyes and hearts black as moonlight.
Their leader stepped forward, scarred and smiling.
"So," he murmured, "the lost heir has returned."
He lifted his head, howled once, and the forest answered.
The hunt had begun.