The first time the wolf spoke to me, I woke up screaming.
Not because it was vicious.
Not because it was angry.
But because it knew my name.
I sat bolt upright in my bed, breath tearing out of my chest as if I'd been running for miles. Moonlight spilled through the thin curtains of my apartment, painting pale silver bars across the peeling walls. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat, in my ears, in my fingertips.
"Avelyn," I whispered to the empty room, grounding myself in the sound of my own voice.
It was just a dream.
That's what I told myself every night.
Still, my hands trembled as I dragged them down my face. My skin was damp with sweat, my sheets twisted around my legs like they were trying to hold me down. Outside, the city hummed softly—distant traffic, the low thrum of life continuing without me.
Normal. Safe. Human.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pressed my bare feet into the cool floor. The sensation helped, a sharp reminder that I was awake, that I was here. That wolves didn't belong in my life beyond documentaries and childhood fairytales.
And yet…
The image clung to me, vivid and relentless.
Golden eyes glowing in the dark.
A massive shape moving through shadowed trees.
A voice—deep, calm, unmistakably male—cutting through the silence.
You're late, little heir.
I shook my head hard, as if I could fling the memory away. My heart stuttered at the word heir, a strange ache blooming behind my ribs.
I didn't belong to anyone.
I wasn't anyone special.
I'd spent my whole life learning how to disappear into the background, how to pack up and leave before places learned my name too well. No roots. No legacy. Just survival.
I stood and crossed the apartment, stepping around half-unpacked boxes. I'd moved in three weeks ago, telling myself this place would be temporary too. It always was.
The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger I barely recognized lately.
My hair—dark brown, almost black—fell loose around my shoulders. There were faint shadows beneath my eyes, the kind sleep never quite erased. But what made me freeze wasn't exhaustion.
It was my eyes.
They looked… brighter. Sharper. Almost green in the moonlight.
I leaned closer to the mirror, pulse ticking up again. "You're imagining things," I muttered.
That was becoming a habit.
I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection until my breathing slowed. The dream faded, like it always did, leaving behind that same unsettling sense of being watched.
Except this time, it didn't fully go away.
The dream followed me into daylight.
I noticed it first on my walk to work.
The city was already awake—horns blaring, vendors calling out, footsteps rushing past me on cracked pavement. I blended in easily, head down, earbuds in, pretending to listen to music while my mind replayed the night over and over again.
A shiver ran down my spine.
I felt it again.
That sensation.
Like eyes on my back.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Nothing.
Just people. Cars. A stray dog rooting through trash at the corner.
Still, my pulse refused to settle.
By the time I reached the café where I worked, my nerves were strung tight enough to snap. I unlocked the door, flipped the sign to Open, and tried to lose myself in routine. Coffee grounds. Steam. The familiar hiss of the espresso machine.
Normal things.
"Morning, Ave."
I startled so hard I nearly dropped a mug.
"Jesus, Mark," I breathed, clutching my chest as my coworker laughed. "You trying to kill me?"
"Not today." He grinned. "You look wrecked. Bad night?"
I hesitated. The truth hovered on my tongue—I keep dreaming about wolves who know my name—before I swallowed it down.
"Just didn't sleep well."
Mark nodded, already distracted. "Story of my life."
But even as I moved through the morning rush, something felt… off.
I heard things before they happened. Cups clinking behind me. A customer clearing their throat across the room. I turned instinctively, responding before my brain caught up.
By noon, I had a headache from trying to ignore it.
When my shift finally ended, I didn't go home right away.
I walked.
I didn't know why—just that the cramped walls of my apartment suddenly felt unbearable. The city streets stretched endlessly, sunlight filtering through glass and steel. Without thinking, I turned down a quieter road, then another, until traffic faded into a low murmur behind me.
The air changed.
It smelled different here. Cleaner. Earthier.
Trees lined the sidewalk ahead, their branches arching overhead like a canopy. I slowed, something in my chest tightening—not fear, but recognition.
As if I'd been here before.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice came from behind me.
I spun around.
He stood half in shadow, half in sunlight, like he belonged to both. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed simply in dark clothes that somehow made him look dangerous without trying. His eyes—storm-dark and sharp—locked onto mine.
My breath caught.
Not because he was handsome, though he was in a way that made my pulse stutter.
But because I knew him.
Not from memory.
From my dreams.
"I—" My voice faltered. "Do I know you?"
Something flickered across his face. Relief? Tension? Pain?
"No," he said slowly. "But you will."
A chill raced over my skin.
"Who are you?" I demanded, taking a step back.
He didn't follow. Didn't crowd me. But his gaze softened, just a fraction, like he was trying not to frighten me.
"My name is Kael," he said. "And you're in danger."
I scoffed despite myself. "Let me guess. You're here to warn me about something only you can explain."
"Yes."
That wiped the humor from my face.
My instincts screamed at me to run.
Instead, I stood there, rooted to the pavement, staring at a man who felt far too familiar.
"You're not human," I said before I could stop myself.
Silence stretched between us.
Kael's jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't know that yet," he replied quietly.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
The world tilted, reality cracking open just enough for something impossible to peer through.
"I need you to listen to me," he continued. "Everything you think you know about yourself—about your life—it's incomplete."
I shook my head. "I don't believe you."
"I know," he said. "But the wolves do."
The word hit me like a physical blow.
My breath hitched. "What did you say?"
Before he could answer, a low growl rolled through the trees.
Not a dog.
Not a sound from the city.
Something deeper. Older.
Kael moved instantly, stepping between me and the shadows, his body tense, eyes burning with something wild.
"We've been found," he muttered.
Fear finally clawed its way into my chest.
"Found by who?"
His voice dropped, heavy with truth.
"By those who would kill you for what you are."
The growl came again—closer this time.
And somewhere deep inside me, something answered back.
End of Chapter One