CHAPTER ONE--The Scream in the pines
Avery’s POV
The scream did not belong to the forest.
It cut through the night like a blade, sharp and desperate, forcing my feet to stop before my mind caught up. The pines stood frozen around me, heavy with snow, their branches sagging under winter’s weight. Even the wind seemed to pause, as if the woods themselves were listening.
Another cry followed—ragged, breaking apart halfway through.
Not human.
Not animal.
Something in between.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my rifle. I’d lived on the edge of these woods long enough to know the difference between danger and imagination. This wasn’t a fox caught in a snare or a deer panicking in the dark.
This was pain.
“Damn it,” I whispered.
Every sensible instinct told me to turn back. Night hunting was risky enough without chasing sounds you didn’t understand. My father’s voice echoed in my head, stern and familiar: The forest doesn’t ask for help. It takes payment.
I exhaled slowly and stepped forward anyway.
The snow was deeper off the trail, swallowing my boots with each step. My breath burned my lungs, sharp and white in the cold air. Moonlight spilled through the trees, pale and unforgiving, turning shadows into long, reaching fingers.
The scream came again—closer now.
I pushed through the last line of trees and stopped short.
The clearing was torn apart.
Snow lay churned and bloody, the ground ripped open in wide arcs as if something had fought the earth itself. Dark stains marked the white like spilled ink, steam rising faintly where warmth met cold.
At the center lay a wolf.
It was massive—far larger than any wild wolf I’d ever seen. Its fur was thick and silver-gray, streaked with black that shimmered faintly under the moon. One powerful foreleg was clamped in a steel trap, rusted jaws sunk deep into flesh.
Blood soaked the snow beneath it.
The wolf lifted its head.
Golden eyes locked onto mine.
I forgot how to breathe.
Those eyes were wrong. Not glassy with pain or wild with fear. They were aware. Sharp. Watching me like I was the one who didn’t belong.
My pulse roared in my ears.
Back away, my instincts screamed. Slowly. Quietly.
Instead, my feet stayed planted.
The wolf made a sound—low, broken, vibrating straight through my chest. Not a growl. Not a whine.
A plea.
“I—” My voice came out thin. I swallowed and tried again. “Hey. I’m not here to hurt you.”
The wolf didn’t move, but its muscles tensed, rippling beneath its fur. It could still kill me if it wanted to. Trap or not.
Snow drifted down between us, glittering in the moonlight. The world felt suspended, balanced on a single breath.
I crouched slowly, keeping my movements deliberate. “Let me help,” I murmured, more to myself than to it.
The trap made my stomach twist. Old model. Illegal. My father had used ones like this years ago, before I’d made him swear to stop. Someone else had brought it back into the woods.
Someone careless. Or cruel.
I slipped my multitool from my pocket, fingers numb with cold and nerves. The wolf watched every movement, eyes never leaving me.
“You’re going to hate this,” I whispered.
When I braced the tool against the hinge and pressed down, metal groaned. The wolf jerked, a low snarl tearing from its throat. My heart stuttered, but I didn’t stop.
“One more,” I muttered.
The trap snapped open.
The wolf ripped its leg free and staggered back, blood splattering fresh snow. I dropped the tool and stumbled away, hands raised.
“You’re free,” I said, voice shaking. “Go. Run.”
For a heartbeat, it just stood there.
Then its legs buckled.
The wolf collapsed hard onto its side, breath coming fast and shallow. Blood poured from the wound, dark and thick against the snow.
“No,” I breathed. I took a step forward, then stopped. Touching it now could get me killed.
Or worse.
The air changed.
The wind died. The forest went utterly silent. Even the snowflakes seemed to freeze mid-fall, suspended in the air like scattered stars.
A cloud slid away from the moon.
Silver light flooded the clearing—too bright, too dense to be natural. It poured over the wolf’s body, washing the blood-stained snow in a pale glow.
I couldn’t move.
The wound began to close.
Not slowly. Not like healing should.
Flesh knit together before my eyes, skin smoothing, fur growing back where bone and muscle had been exposed. The blood vanished, soaked into the earth as if it had never existed.
My breath caught painfully in my chest.
The wolf arched, body shuddering, a sound tearing from its throat that wasn’t pain.
It was transformation.
I stumbled back, heart hammering, as the silver light intensified—brighter, pulsing in time with something deep and ancient. The forest seemed to lean inward, watching.
The moon burned overhead, wide and unblinking.
And I realized, with a creeping certainty that turned my blood cold—
Whatever I had just freed was not finished changing.
And the night was far from done with me.
