THE FIRST HOWL
1196 Words
The wind outside howled like something was dying.
Rhea stood at the edge of the ancient woods, bare feet digging into the cold dirt, her breath curling into the air in clouds. The moon, swollen and blood-bright, loomed above her like an open eye—watching. Judging.
Inside her, something was shifting.
A burn in her chest. A roar in her blood. Her heartbeat had become too loud, like a war drum echoing through her bones.
“You feel it now, don’t you?” Callum said quietly behind her.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because if she spoke, she might scream.
Minutes earlier, the manor had erupted in chaos.
It started with the scent—thick and metallic, like rust and rot—and then the blood trail.
Callum had found it first. Three deer, ripped to pieces at the edge of the woods, their remains arranged in a pattern that screamed ritual, not hunger.
“Rogues,” he growled. “And not just any. These are branded.”
Branded. Marked by the corrupted alphas who’d gone feral when the bloodline wars began. Those wolves weren’t just enemies—they were extinctions with claws.
“They’re here for you.”
Rhea didn’t flinch. Not anymore.
“Then let them come.”
Callum grabbed her arm, fierce. “You haven’t shifted. If you go out there now, they’ll tear you apart before you can scream.”
“I’d rather die fighting than hiding in shadows.”
“You’re not ready.”
She met his gaze, gold fire rising in her irises.
“Then make me ready.”
That’s why she stood at the edge now.
Between her and the trees stretched a sea of moonlight and mist, wild with the smell of wolves and ash and blood magic.
Her body was trembling.
Not from fear.
From the call.
It wasn’t pain anymore—it was pressure. Like her very skin was too tight, holding back something massive and ancient trying to get out.
Her fingers ached. Her spine was on fire. Her breathing was shallow, but every inhale tasted like the forest, like the hunt.
Then it hit her like a tidal wave.
The Shift.
She didn’t scream.
Not this time.
Her mouth opened, but only a howl came out—raw, primal, ancient. Her knees hit the dirt, her hands clawed at the ground as her bones broke and reformed. Her skin shimmered, tore, and reshaped.
Fur erupted from her spine, cascading down her limbs.
Her jaws stretched into a snout.
Her eyes glowed like molten gold set in obsidian.
The last thing she heard before she fully shifted—
Callum whispering: “You were born for this.”
And then she was gone.
Gone as the girl she’d been.
Reborn as the wolf she truly was.
Rhea stood tall on four massive legs, her body sleek and powerful, black fur glinting with silver streaks. Her tail flicked. Her paws pressed into the soil like she owned it.
And inside her chest?
Silence.
Peace.
For the first time in her life, her body felt right.
The forest bent around her as she moved. Trees bowed in the wind. Animals scattered. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath.
She could smell everything.
Every heartbeat.
Every drop of blood.
Every lie in the dirt.
And something was coming.
No.
Many things.
The rogues.
They were near.
And they smelled her now—the heir returned.
She ran.
Faster than wind. Stronger than gravity.
She moved like a shadow between trees, her body a blur of black and gold. The power in her muscles was unreal. She felt no pain, no weakness—only hunger.
For answers. For vengeance. For war.
Then—
A flicker of movement.
To the left.
She skidded to a stop on instinct.
And stepped into a clearing just as a figure leapt at her.
The rogue slammed into her with enough force to crack ribs—but she didn’t fall.
She snapped her jaws and twisted, throwing him off balance. They tumbled across the ground in a flurry of claws and fangs, leaves and blood flying.
He was grotesque.
Larger than natural. Patchy fur. Eyes red as fire. His teeth dripped black venom.
“Little princess,” he snarled, “I’ve waited a long time to eat you.”
She didn’t respond with words.
She lunged.
Their fight was brutal. Bone-cracking. Fast. He bit deep into her shoulder—but she didn’t flinch. She drove her claws into his ribs and threw him across the clearing.
Another rogue leapt from the shadows.
Then another.
Then three more.
She was surrounded.
But she didn’t back down.
She circled slowly, growling, teeth bared, the Alpha rising in her eyes.
“She’s glowing,” one rogue hissed. “That’s not normal.”
“It’s her,” another growled. “The Blackwood wolf.”
“Then we end her now.”
They lunged—
And Rhea howled.
The sound shattered the air.
It knocked two of them back physically. The others froze mid-strike, stunned. That howl wasn’t just sound—it was power. Magic. A command.
She leapt, slashing into the nearest rogue, severing an artery.
Blood sprayed.
She rolled under the next attacker and bit clean through his throat.
Another came at her from behind—but before he could strike, a massive grey blur tackled him mid-air.
Callum.
Together, they fought like one being.
He moved left, she took right. They struck with precision, power, and purpose.
The rogues didn’t stand a chance.
When it was over, four lay dead. One limped off into the woods, howling in retreat.
Rhea stood panting, her fur soaked in blood, eyes wild.
Callum turned to her.
“How do you feel?”
She looked down at the bodies, then up at the moon.
A slow, dark smile crossed her wolfed face.
“Alive.”
Then—
a whisper.
Not in her ears.
In her mind.
A voice. Familiar. Soft. Terrifying.
“The heartstone has chosen her. The pack must kneel… or be broken.”
Rhea’s head snapped to the east.
She saw nothing—
—but something was calling.
A memory?
A dream?
Or a summons.
She shifted back, the transition smoother this time. Still painful—but cleaner.
She knelt in the dirt, gasping. Her clothes were in tatters. Her skin was bruised. But her eyes blazed like twin suns.
Callum crouched beside her.
“You heard it too, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“Then it’s begun,” he said grimly. “The other alphas will feel it. The council. The broken packs. The Betrayers. They’ll all come.”
“Let them.”
“Some will come to join you,” he said. “Others… to kill you.”
Rhea stood slowly.
The night air whispered across her skin. The blood dried. The moon turned red.
And her fate was no longer a choice.
“Then we build a pack,” she said, voice sharp. “We rebuild Blackwood. We take the throne back.”
“And if they don’t kneel?”
She looked into the trees, eyes burning.
“Then they bleed.”
- Writer
