Morning light spilled over Ravenwood like a reluctant secret.
The town looked ordinary again — cars humming down quiet streets, students heading to class, the scent of roasted coffee and wet pavement drifting through the air. But for Ethan Cole, nothing felt ordinary anymore.
His dreams had blurred into waking life. Every sound felt amplified — every scent too vivid. He could smell the rain before it fell, the dust before it rose, the faint sweetness of someone's perfume halfway across the quad.
And beneath it all, he could feel something inside him — a hum that wasn't quite his heartbeat. It felt alive, restless, waiting.
He tried to shake it off, telling himself it was adrenaline, shock, maybe even hallucination. But when he looked at his arm, the faint mark where the wolf had clawed him glowed faintly beneath the skin — a thin, pale crescent that hadn't been there before.
He covered it quickly, tugging his sleeve down.
---
Classes were a blur. He couldn't focus, couldn't sit still. Mark noticed.
"You're jumpy as hell today," his friend said, leaning on his desk. "You sure you're okay? You look like you fought a bear last night."
Ethan forced a smirk. "Worse. A midterm."
"Funny." Mark frowned. "Seriously though, you want to talk about it?"
Ethan hesitated. He couldn't explain it. Even saying the words out loud felt insane. I saw a wolf. A girl fought it.
"Just bad dreams," he said finally.
Mark studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "You need a break, man. Maybe a night out. There's a bonfire at the cliffs tonight — people from campus are going. Come."
Ethan almost said no. The last thing he wanted was a crowd. But something in him — that restless, wild hum — seemed to stir at the mention of the woods.
"Maybe," he said quietly.
---
By dusk, the air had cooled, tinged with the smell of pine and smoke. Music thumped faintly from portable speakers near the cliffs, laughter echoing through the open space.
Ethan stood apart from the crowd, nursing a drink, staring at the forest edge. The moon wasn't full tonight, but it still felt heavy — like it was watching.
Mark nudged him. "You're not even pretending to socialize."
Ethan gave a distracted shrug. "Not in the mood."
Mark sighed. "I'm gonna find someone who is." He grinned and disappeared into the crowd.
Ethan was left alone, staring into the darkness. That's when he saw her.
She stood at the treeline, half-hidden by the shadows — the same girl from the night before.
His heart kicked hard against his ribs.
This time she wasn't fighting. She was just watching him, eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight. She wore a dark hooded jacket, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her expression unreadable.
Without thinking, Ethan moved toward her.
The laughter and music faded behind him as he crossed into the trees.
When he was only a few feet away, she spoke — her voice low and cautious. "You shouldn't have followed me."
Ethan stopped. "You're real."
Her lips curved slightly. "I should ask you the same."
"What happened last night?" he demanded. "That thing—"
"Wolf," she said flatly.
He swallowed. "It attacked you. Then it came after me."
"It wasn't supposed to," she murmured, glancing toward the dark woods. "They never come this close to town."
"They?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she looked at him — really looked — and her expression changed. She stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"You're marked."
Ethan froze. "What?"
She reached for his wrist. Her touch was warm, but it sent a chill through him. She pulled back his sleeve and saw the crescent mark glowing faintly beneath his skin. Her eyes widened.
"No," she whispered. "It can't be."
Ethan pulled his hand away. "What's happening to me?"
She took a breath, as though weighing what she could say. "That mark isn't just a wound. It's a bond. When a wolf draws blood under the full moon, it leaves part of itself behind. A connection."
"A connection to what?"
"To the pack. To the moon. To everything that isn't human."
Ethan stared at her. "You expect me to believe that?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "You already do. You just don't want to admit it."
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "This is insane. You—who are you?"
She hesitated, then said quietly, "Lyra."
The name hung between them, sharp and beautiful.
"Lyra," he repeated. "And you're what? Some kind of… hunter?"
A flicker of sadness passed over her face. "No. I'm what you're becoming."
He turned back sharply, his voice low. "What does that mean?"
Before she could answer, a rustle tore through the underbrush.
Lyra's head snapped up. Her eyes shifted — literally changed — from soft brown to liquid gold. "They found us."
"Who—?"
"Run," she hissed.
But it was already too late.
Three shapes emerged from the shadows, moving low and fast — wolves, larger than the one from the night before. Their eyes glowed with the same golden light, their growls rumbling like thunder.
Ethan stumbled back. "This can't be real."
Lyra shoved him aside as one wolf lunged. She moved like lightning — catching its jaw, twisting, flipping it over. Another one slashed at her; she ducked, clawing its side with a metallic glint Ethan didn't even see her draw.
"Go!" she shouted. "Get out of here!"
But Ethan couldn't move. Fear froze him in place — until one of the wolves turned toward him.
It charged.
Time slowed. He saw teeth, claws, motion — and then, instinct took over. His body moved on its own. He ducked, rolled, grabbed a fallen branch, and swung with all his strength. The impact cracked through the clearing. The wolf yelped and stumbled back.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
Ethan's breath came in sharp bursts. The wolf met his gaze — and something passed between them. Recognition. A strange pulse of shared awareness, raw and magnetic.
And then, suddenly, the pain hit.
A surge of fire raced through Ethan's veins, starting from the crescent mark. He fell to his knees, gasping, his vision blurring. He could hear his own heartbeat — and beneath it, something else — a deeper rhythm, ancient and wild.
Lyra's voice sounded distant. "It's starting. Ethan, listen to me!"
He couldn't. The pain was too much. His skin burned, his muscles shuddered. The world tilted, sound and scent exploding into overwhelming clarity.
He felt the ground under his palms, the cold bite of dirt, the electricity in the air. Every part of him screamed — and yet some part of him rejoiced.
When he finally looked up, the wolves were gone. So was Lyra.
The forest was silent, but he could still hear the echoes of his own transformation — something deep within him that refused to go back to sleep.
He staggered home before dawn, half in a daze. His clothes were torn, his hands filthy, and his reflection in the mirror was not the same. His pupils were thin and sharp, almost like an animal's.
He splashed cold water on his face, shaking.
"What the hell is happening to me?" he whispered.
Outside, the moon was setting — its silver light fading. But as he turned away, the whisper came again, soft and close to his ear.
"Ethan…"
His blood ran cold.
---