Nightfall swallowed the outskirts of Ashwood in thick darkness, the forest edge rising like a black portal to a forbidden world. The abandoned Blackwood Lumberyard crouched in a foggy clearing, its skeletal ruins resembling the bones of a beast long forgotten by time. Decades ago, this place pulsed with the roar of chainsaws and clouds of sawdust. Now, only a rusted iron gate swayed in the wind, creaking like a dying whisper. Vines strangled the barbed-wire fence, the ground slick with mud and rainwater that mirrored pale, fractured moonlight. The air hung heavy with the rot of old wood, damp moss, wet pine—and something sharper: the faint, metallic tang of fresh blood mixed with raw animal musk. In the distance, wolf howls rolled low and haunting through the trees, answering the thunder that cracked overhead.
Ivy parked her old Ford a quarter-mile down a muddy logging trail and killed the engine. Her heart slammed against her ribs, fingers locked white-knuckled on the wheel. The video replayed in her mind: bones cracking, fur erupting, those burning golden eyes—identical to the monster that had ripped her mother apart eighteen years ago. Stay calm. This is just evidence. Get in, get proof, get out. She grabbed her backpack—headlamp, voice recorder, small knife, bear spray, spare phone—slipped on gloves, and stepped into the downpour. Icy rain stung her face like needles. She pulled up her hood, water dripping from the brim and blurring her vision.
The path was a mess of fallen leaves and sucking mud, every step squelching under her boots. Her headlamp cut a narrow beam through the gloom as she approached the fence. Six feet high, but roots had buckled a section, creating a gap. She crouched, scanning for tripwires or cameras—nothing. Gripping the barbed wire carefully, she levered herself over. Her boot sank deep into mud with a wet splash. She froze, ears straining. Only rain pattering on leaves and wind moaning through the ruins. No growls. No footsteps. She exhaled and moved forward.
The main gate hung half-open, chains dangling like broken veins. She pushed it; the hinges screamed in protest. Inside stretched a graveyard of machinery: massive saws wrapped in vines, rusted conveyor belts, ground blanketed in decaying wood chips. The blood scent grew stronger—fresh, coppery, primal. Ivy switched on her voice recorder and whispered, "Time: 10:15 PM. Blackwood Lumberyard. Entering the site. Strong odor of blood and animal presence. Proceeding with caution."
Her light swept the ground—and caught a dark pool. Blood. Not fresh, but recent; edges crusted, center still glossy. She knelt, gloved finger dipping in. Metallic. Earthy. Definitely blood. Pulse racing, she snapped photos with her phone before pushing deeper.
Claw marks scarred a nearby wall—five deep, parallel gouges, too wide for any normal predator. She traced them; cold metal sent a shiver racing down her spine. Something massive had been here. Something unnatural.
A low growl rumbled through the mist, vibrating in her chest like distant thunder. Ivy killed the headlamp and ducked behind a stack of rotting crates. Darkness closed in. Rain hammered the tin roof overhead. Her breath came short and sharp; fear flooded her veins, hot and dizzying. It's just the wind. Or an animal. But the growl drew closer—accompanied by heavy, dragging footsteps.
Through a crack in the crates, a tall figure stepped into the clearing. Black raincoat, hood shadowing his face. Broad shoulders, powerful build—like a predator in human skin. Moonlight sliced through the clouds, catching his features: sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes that gleamed with unnatural gold. Those eyes. Ivy's stomach dropped. The same golden fire from her nightmares.
He dragged a young man behind him—early twenties, pale, clothes shredded, wrists bound. The kid struggled, voice cracking. "Please, Alpha… I didn't mean to lose control. I can't stop it—"
Alpha. The word hit Ivy like ice water. Pack leader. Werewolf royalty from the legends.
The man—tall, lethal, radiating dominance—threw the young man down. His voice cut through the rain, low and frigid. "You broke the rules, brother. Losing control risks exposure. Humans can't know we exist."
The kid collapsed to his knees, body convulsing. Skin rippled. Bones cracked audibly. Fur burst out; face stretched into a muzzle; teeth lengthened to fangs. In seconds, a gray wolf snarled where the man had been—crimson eyes wild, claws slashing air as he lunged.
The Alpha didn't flinch. His own eyes flared brighter gold. Muscles swelled; the air crackled with power. Flesh tore; dark fur exploded across his frame. Limbs lengthened into massive paws. He shifted in a fluid, terrifying surge—midnight-black wolf, sleek and enormous, coat glistening with rain. His howl shook the ground, raw and commanding.
The two wolves collided in a blur of fangs and fury. Claws raked; blood sprayed across the mud. The gray wolf fought desperately, but the black one was stronger, faster—calculated. A single slash opened the gray's belly; entrails glistened. The gray yelped, collapsing. The black wolf pounced, jaws clamping the throat. One violent twist—blood gushed, hot and dark, soaking the earth in a ritual of dominance.
Ivy pressed a hand to her mouth, bile rising. She fought not to vomit. Her finger shook as she snapped a photo—the flash popped bright in the dark.
Shit.
The black wolf shifted back instantly. Lucian Blackwood—though she didn't know his name yet—stood human again, clothes torn but mostly intact, rain sluicing blood from his skin. He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. That scent—jasmine undercut by sharp fear. It hit him like a drug. His eyes locked on her hiding spot, pupils blowing wide. No. Not now. Not her. Primal instinct roared: Mine. Claim. Protect. Reason fought back: She's human. She's danger. I swore no mate. No weakness.
He growled low, striding toward the crates.
Ivy scrambled back, panic exploding. But he was lightning-fast. A hand clamped her arm, yanking her into the open. Her headlamp clattered to the ground, beam spinning wildly across his face—strikingly handsome, dangerously intense. Golden eyes faded slowly to stormy gray, like embers cooling after fire. His grip was iron, yet careful—not bruising.
"What did you see?" His voice was gravel and restraint, threaded with something darker.
Terror ignited into rage. Ivy twisted, raising her bear spray. "Let go, you monster!"
She fired—but he moved like smoke, dodging easily. He released her. She stumbled back, rain pounding them both.
"Get out of here, human," he snarled, voice edged with frost. "Before I change my mind about letting you live." But his eyes betrayed him—anger, hunger, raw conflict. Her scent wrapped around him, pulling at the beast inside. Mate. The word echoed in his blood. He turned sharply, fighting the urge to drag her close, to mark her, to claim.
Ivy didn't wait. She spun and ran—boots sliding in mud, heart in her throat. She vaulted the fence, crashed through the gate, sprinted to her car. No footsteps chased her. Only rain and distant howls.
She dove inside, locked the doors, engine roaring to life. Headlights stabbed the night as she floored it away.
Her phone—she'd dropped it. Photos. Evidence. Everything.
Behind her, Lucian stood motionless in the rain. He bent, picking up the glowing screen. Evelyn "Ivy" Harper stared back from her profile photo—an ordinary journalist, yet it twisted something deep in his chest. Her scent clung to the air, intoxicating. "Why you?" he muttered, grip tightening until knuckles whitened. The wolf inside howled to chase, to hunt, to bind her to him forever.
But he stayed rooted. He had sworn solitude. A mate was a chain. A weakness.
Yet tonight, the bond had awakened—and it refused to be ignored.
The howls rose again, mocking him in the storm-lashed dark.
Ashwood's secrets were stirring. And they had just found their next target