The town of Raven's Peak slumbered beneath a veil of mist, the moon casting pale silver light over the dense forest that cradled its edges. The wind whispered through the pines, carrying secrets only the night could understand.
Lyra Flynn pulled her coat tighter around her as she walked home from the bookstore where she worked part-time. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of damp earth and distant rain, mingling with the faint aroma of old paper still clinging to her fingers. She had spent the evening reorganizing dusty shelves, her mind half-lost in the fictional worlds she adored.
Now, however, the real world felt… off.
The streets were unusually silent. Raven's Peak was never a bustling town, but there was a stillness tonight that sent a chill through her. The flickering streetlamps cast elongated shadows, warping familiar surroundings into something unrecognizable.
A feeling crept over her.
A prickling awareness.
Like unseen eyes pressing against her back.
She swallowed, forcing herself to keep walking, but her fingers curled into fists inside her coat pockets. The sensation didn't fade. It grew, a slow, suffocating pressure coiling around her ribs.
She glanced over her shoulder. Nothing but empty pavement.
Calm down, Lyra. You're imagining things.
But the feeling didn't pass. If anything, it intensified. The trees lining the sidewalk seemed darker than usual, their gnarled limbs reaching toward her like skeletal fingers. The wind picked up, carrying a distant sound—so faint she almost missed it.
A growl.
Low. Deep.
Not human.
Lyra froze mid-step, her breath hitching.
She turned slowly, her heart pounding.
The sound had come from the woods. Just beyond the road, past the old wrought-iron fence that separated Raven's Peak from the vast forest beyond. She squinted into the shadows between the trees, searching.
Then she saw them.
Two golden eyes.
They glowed in the darkness, luminous and unblinking. Watching her.
Her stomach clenched.
The figure stepped forward, the moonlight catching its form. A wolf. But not like any wolf she had ever seen. It was massive—its shoulders nearly reaching her waist, its fur sleek and dark as the night itself. Muscles rippled beneath its coat as it moved with unsettling grace, its gaze locked onto hers.
Time seemed to slow.
A wave of something strange rolled over her. Recognition.
Which made no sense.
She had never seen this creature before.
Had she?
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She should run. Scream. Do something. But she stood frozen, caught in the depth of those golden eyes.
Then—
"Lyra."
The voice wasn't spoken aloud. It slid through her mind, rich and deep, curling around her like smoke.
Her vision swayed. The world tilted.
The last thing she saw was the wolf stepping closer before darkness swallowed her whole.
—
She woke to the scent of damp earth and pine.
Cool grass pressed against her cheek. A dull ache throbbed at the base of her skull, and when she moved, a sharp pain lanced through her limbs, like she had been thrown there.
Her fingers curled into the dirt.
Where was she?
She forced her heavy eyelids open.
The forest loomed around her, the trees thick and ancient, their twisted roots sprawling across the earth like veins. A soft mist clung to the undergrowth, swirling in the dim moonlight. It was quiet—too quiet. Even the wind had stilled.
Panic surged through her chest.
She had been on the road home. Then… the eyes. The voice.
The wolf.
A rustle in the underbrush snapped her attention to the right.
She wasn't alone.
Her body locked up as a figure emerged from the shadows.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Moved with an unnatural fluidity, as if he were more shadow than man.
The moonlight caught his face—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, dark hair tousled as if by the wind. His lips were slightly parted as if he had just exhaled her name.
But his eyes.
Gold.
Like the wolf.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice low and edged with something unreadable.
A shiver ran down her spine.
She scrambled backward, her hands sinking into the damp earth. "Who are you?"
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Just watched her. Then—
"Kaidën Darkhaven."
The name curled around her, sinking into her bones like an old memory waiting to be remembered.
Her breath came fast. "What happened to me?"
Kaidën exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Lyra gritted her teeth. "Try me."
Another pause. He studied her as if searching for something in her face.
"You're changing," he finally said.
A chill wrapped around her ribs. "What the hell does that mean?"
Kaidën's jaw tightened. "It means you can't stay here. They'll come for you."
Before she could demand an explanation, a howl shattered the silence.
It was distant—but not distant enough.
Lyra's blood ran cold.
Kaidën cursed under his breath and moved fast—too fast—gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
She nodded shakily, but her knees nearly buckled. His hands caught her, steadying her with unnatural warmth.
"You need to come with me," he said.
Lyra hesitated. Her entire world had just been upended. And now this stranger—this impossibly familiar stranger—was demanding she follow him into the unknown.
But the night whispered. The golden eyes burned.
And something inside her already knew.
This was just the beginning.