The Wolves: Part One: Lost

Chapter 1 I was walking through a dark forest—the dense woods surrounding Hawke’s Ridge—where the towering pines stretched endlessly toward the sky. Their branches intertwined above, needles rustling softly in a cool, damp breeze that filtered faint moonlight onto the mossy ground beneath my bare feet. The earth was cold and soft, the moisture clinging to my skin like a ghost’s breath. The air smelled of rain—wet stone, pine, and something metallic, faint but unmistakable. Thick clouds hung low, casting shadows that shifted like restless spirits. It was the same weather as that night—the night that had changed everything. My white sleeping gown fluttered with every step, thin and delicate against the chill. My dark brown hair, tangled and damp, trailed behind me in slow waves. The silence was almost suffocating—no birdsong, no rustling wildlife—just a heavy stillness pressing into my chest. Ahead, the forest opened to a clearing where the lake lay still and dark. Its surface was a glass mirror reflecting the stormy sky and twisted, skeletal trees leaning in, as if trying to touch their own reflections. The cold air bit at my skin, and my heart pounded in my chest like a warning drum. I wasn’t alone. From the shadowed treeline emerged a figure—the man from my nightmares and dreams—tall and lithe, with olive-toned skin and dark waves falling over his forehead. His eyes glowed emerald flecked with gold, hypnotic and fierce, pulling me in with a force I couldn’t resist. His voice was a whisper, barely audible. “Lena...” My name left his lips like a promise. I tried to respond, but my voice barely existed—just a shallow breath caught between fear and longing. He crossed the distance between us in seconds. Strong hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His lips met mine in a kiss that was both tender and consuming, heat flooding through me so fast it made me dizzy. Then pain exploded at my neck. I gasped as his teeth sank into my skin, sharp and unyielding. The world tilted. My legs weakened, tears stinging my eyes as he drank. I stumbled back, breaking free. His face twisted, bones shifting beneath skin. His eyes burned red now, fangs bared, blood—my blood—slick against his mouth. Terror seized me. “Lena!” The voice cut through the nightmare, sharp with fear. My father burst from the trees, his expression wild as he reached for me. “Run!” But before he could reach me, a massive black beast lunged from the shadows. Its eyes blazed like fire as it slammed into him. I screamed. Darkness swallowed everything. --- I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my heart hammering as though I’d been running for miles. The dream clung to me like smoke, thick and suffocating. My chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as I stared up at the ceiling, the image of glowing eyes and blood-stained lips burned into my mind. The same nightmare. Every night for the past month. Fragments of something I couldn’t remember—yet somehow felt deep beneath my skin, like an old wound threatening to split open. Morning light filtered softly through sheer curtains, painting pale patterns across my room. I pushed myself upright and ran a hand through my hair, long raven-black strands falling loose around my shoulders and down my back. It felt real. Solid. Normal. Today was my eighteenth birthday. The threshold to adulthood. My first day of senior year at Black Hollow High. I tried to focus on that—on the excitement, the possibility—but unease lingered, quiet and persistent. I dressed carefully in a cream-colored sweater—soft and warm, perfect for the early morning chill—and slipped on a pastel blue dress that fell just above my knees, light and airy. The fabric swayed as I moved, a contrast to the heaviness I felt inside. I pulled on my worn ankle boots, the leather soft and molded perfectly to my feet from years of wear. After dressing, I paused in front of the mirror. Storm-gray eyes stared back at me, pale blue flecks catching the light. There was something sharp in them—something older than I felt inside. I tilted my head, studying my reflection, and for just a second I didn’t recognize the girl looking back. She looked like someone standing on the edge of something vast and dangerous. Downstairs, the warm scent of cinnamon and coffee wrapped around me the moment I entered the kitchen. “Happy birthday, Lena,” Mom said softly, sliding a plate of heart-shaped pancakes onto the table. Rose Atler looked the same as always—blonde curls pinned back, hazel eyes warm—but there was a tightness in her smile that hadn’t been there years ago. Something careful. Something tired. Across from me, my younger sister Sage grinned, syrup already smeared at the corner of her mouth. At twelve, she still carried an easy joy, untouched by the weight that seemed to settle over everything else in our lives. Mom’s gaze drifted to the empty chair by the window. Dad used to sit there every morning. Max Atler had been gone for seven years, but his absence still filled the room like a presence of its own. I swallowed and forced a smile. “Thanks, Mom.” Later, fog curled thickly through Black Hollow as I walked toward the cemetery. The air felt heavier there, as though the town itself held its breath. Dad’s grave sat near the edge, the stone worn smooth by time and weather. I knelt, brushing my fingers over his name, grounding myself in the familiar ache. “Hi, Dad,” I whispered. “I wish you were here.” The silence answered back. As I stood, movement caught my eye. A boy walked along the gravel path, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Dean Edwards. His brown hair was slightly messy, like he’d run a hand through it one too many times, and his blue eyes lifted when he sensed me watching. For a split second, something unreadable crossed his face before he looked away. My heart stumbled. Dean was Black Hollow’s golden boy—the star quarterback, the kind of guy everyone knew by name. Confident. Untouchable. The type of boy girls whispered about in the locker rooms and stared at from the bleachers on Friday nights. And somehow… he always made me feel painfully aware of myself. As I walked away, questions tugged at my thoughts. Why was he here? Had he lost someone too? I told myself it was none of my business, but the image of him standing among the gravestones lingered as I headed toward school. The walk was quiet, broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath my boots. Black Hollow High rose ahead—brick walls steeped in age, stories whispered through its halls for generations. Inside, the corridors buzzed with laughter and nervous excitement. Lockers slammed. Voices overlapped. Near the entrance, a boy with sandy hair lingered awkwardly by the lockers. ed Across the corridor, I felt it before I saw it. Dean’s gaze. Watching. For just a moment, his attention lingered on me—and something warm and dangerous fluttered in my chest before I looked away. The first day of senior year had begun.