The first time I heard it—the low, inhuman growl—it came from just beyond the tree line.
It was past midnight, and I was up late grading papers from a guest seminar I'd given at Portwood University. I'd opened the window for some fresh air, but instead of spring breezes and the occasional owl, the sound came sharp and low, vibrating through the dark like a warning wrapped in shadow.
I froze.
It wasn't a dog. I'd grown up in this town; I knew what the wild sounded like. Whatever I'd heard, it wasn't natural.
It was… angry.
Hungry.
Alive in a way no animal I'd ever studied had been.
I leaned out, squinting toward the dense woods just past Grant's backyard, but I couldn't see anything. Just the flicker of moonlight on wet leaves and the kind of silence that didn't sit right.
I shut the window fast and locked it.
⸻
The next morning, I tried to be logical. Rational.
I told myself it had been a stray dog. A coyote, maybe. Portwood was rural enough to still have wildlife near the edges of town. I told myself it was nothing.
But that didn't explain why my skin still tingled like something had looked directly at me—through the dark, through the glass, through me.
I tried to shove the thought away.
Instead, I threw myself into work.
By noon, I was holed up in the university's rare books room, scanning dusty pages from medieval manuscripts. I had been chasing a new thread for my paper—how recurring werewolf myths appeared in surprisingly similar forms across disparate cultures. Romanian folklore. Irish legends. Indigenous North American stories. Even ancient Mesopotamian records.
Always a man, always cursed.
Always pulled between his humanity and the beast inside.
One passage stood out to me, written in Latin and roughly translated by a bored grad student a decade ago:
"The marked one shall walk among the mortals, torn by the Moon's decree. His soul tethered to another's, not by choice but by the laws of the old blood."
It was oddly poetic. And familiar.
I reread the phrase "tethered to another's."
That pull. The one I felt when Lucien was near.
I sat back in my chair, suddenly breathless.
No. It was ridiculous. Mythology was metaphor, not prophecy. Stories we told to explain what we didn't understand. Not reality.
Still…
The word tethered echoed like a bell in my ribs.
⸻
Later that afternoon, I walked to the café down the street to clear my head. I had barely taken a sip of my coffee when the chair across from me scraped loudly.
Lucien sat down, uninvited and unapologetic.
"Nice to see you too," I said, arching an eyebrow.
He smirked faintly. "You left the university without saying goodbye."
"I didn't realize I needed your permission."
His expression softened. "You don't."
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversation hummed around us like white noise. But Lucien's presence was too strong to ignore.
"You heard it too, didn't you?" I asked finally. "Last night. That sound in the woods."
Lucien's jaw twitched.
"I did."
I leaned forward. "And you're not going to tell me what it was?"
"I'm telling you that you should stay inside after dark. Lock the windows. Keep the lights on."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get—for now."
I slammed my cup down harder than I meant to. "I don't need protecting, Lucien. I need the truth."
His eyes darkened, storm clouds rolling in behind them. "You say that like you're ready to hear it. But you're not."
"Try me."
He looked at me like he was about to. Like the truth sat on the edge of his tongue, just waiting to leap.
But instead, he stood. "Not here."
"Then when?"
He paused. "Tonight. Meet me in the clearing. The one behind your house. Midnight."
I stood too, heart racing. "What's going to happen?"
He didn't answer.
He just looked at me with something between fear and longing—and then walked out the door.
⸻
11:55 p.m.
I stood at the edge of the trees, heart thudding so loud it drowned out the crickets. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting silver-blue shadows on the forest floor.
Lucien had said midnight. Five minutes. My skin buzzed with energy, like the air was alive with anticipation.
The clearing ahead was familiar. A wide, open space surrounded by thick forest—Grant and I had played here as kids. It was where I first imagined fairy tales were real.
Tonight, I wasn't sure they were fiction anymore.
At exactly midnight, Lucien appeared.
No footsteps. No sound. He just… emerged from the trees.
He was wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans, but something about the way he moved—graceful, taut, like something held back under his skin—made him look anything but ordinary.
"You came," he said, voice low.
"You asked," I said, stepping forward. "I want the truth."
He studied me for a long moment. Then he took a deep breath.
And began to unbutton his shirt.
I blinked. "Um. Lucien?"
"You said you wanted the truth," he said. "No more lies."
He shrugged off his shirt and stepped into the moonlight. I froze.
Across his chest, ribs, and arms were marks—some old, some faint, others looking as though they'd just healed. Deep claw scars. Circular, bite-shaped indentations. His skin was a map of violence.
"What… what happened to you?" I whispered.
"This," he said, stepping closer, "is what I've become."
And then, with a shudder that rippled down his body, I watched him begin to change.
Bones cracked. His back arched. A groan of pain—half growl, half scream—tore from his throat as his body shifted. Hands curled into claws. His face elongated. Fur rippled over his skin like wildfire.
It was violent. Terrifying. Beautiful.
Seconds later, where Lucien had stood, now loomed a massive wolf.
Not a dog. Not a man in a costume.
A wolf.
Black as obsidian. Eyes the same icy blue I knew too well.
I stumbled back, heart slamming against my ribs. "Oh my god."
The wolf stepped forward—but moved with familiarity. Recognition. Not menace.
I looked into its eyes and saw him.
Lucien.
And that's when I understood.
All of it.
The electricity when we touched.
The way he watched me like he was starving.
The reason he said he was dangerous.
He wasn't just a man with secrets.
He was a werewolf.
And I was his mate.