This Loves Got Teeth

I’m running through the woods, my white dress ripped and tattered and covered in blood—it’s not mine. It can’t be mine. I woke up like this, next to a dead body. The image flashes in my mind no matter how hard I try to shove it away. Other than the endless stretch of trees around me, I have no idea how I got here, or why. I keep running, even though my legs feel like they’re about to give out beneath me. My chest burns, each breath sharp and desperate, like I’m inhaling knives instead of air. I don’t dare stop. I don’t want to stop. I glance over my shoulder, heart hammering, certain something is chasing me—something I just can’t see— And I slam into something solid. A strangled gasp tears from my throat as I stumble backward, the world tilting— “Woah, there,” a voice says, low and steady, as strong arms wrap around my waist and catch me before I hit the ground. For a split second, I freeze. My chest heaves, rising and falling too fast, too uneven, as I slowly look up. Black, wolf-like hair frames his face, and his emerald green eyes lock onto mine—sharp, alert, unsettling. He smells like earth… and something darker. Something dangerous. Fear spikes through me. I shove his arms off me like I’ve been burned, stumbling back a step, putting space between us. “If you ran any farther, you would’ve run right off the cliff,” he says, pointing past me. My stomach drops. I turn, following his gesture—and my breath catches. The ground disappears just a few feet away, falling into a steep, dizzying drop. My knees threaten to buckle. I didn’t even see it. I turn back to him, really looking now. He’s tall—around 6’2—and built in a way that makes him seem almost unreal, like he walked straight out of some half-forgotten dream… or nightmare. “Not much of a talker, huh?” he asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, like this is all some kind of joke. My mouth opens, but for a second, no words come out. My throat feels tight, like it’s closing in on itself. “Uh—um—th-there is a dead body back that way,” I finally choke out, my voice shaking as I point in the direction I came from, my hand trembling despite me trying to steady it. “There’s a what?” he says, his expression shifting as his eyes rake over me—really seeing me now. The torn fabric, the dirt, the blood. His jaw tightens slightly. “What happened to you?” “I… I don’t know, but there’s a—” He cuts me off. “Stop—just…” he lifts a hand, signaling me to pause. The sudden sharpness in his voice makes me flinch. He goes completely still, head tilting slightly, eyes unfocused as if he’s listening to something I can’t hear. The air around us feels tighter somehow, like the forest itself is holding its breath. Then, more quietly but with authority, he says, “Come out, Lowell. I can hear you.” A stick snaps behind me. The sound is small, but it hits me like a gunshot. I spin around so fast I almost lose my footing, heart slamming against my ribs. There—just beyond a cluster of trees—a wolf cub steps out. My breath catches. I’ve never seen one this close before… at least, I don’t think I have. My mind feels scrambled, unreliable. The cub’s blue eyes lock onto mine— —and then everything twists. My stomach lurches as the wolf’s body shifts, stretches—bones cracking, reshaping—and suddenly there’s a boy standing there instead. Young. Blonde hair, messy like he’s just crawled out of the woods, bright blue eyes glinting with something almost playful. I stumble back a step, a choked sound escaping me before I can stop it. “No fair, you always know when I’m coming,” he whines, like this is normal—like any of this is normal. He casually reaches behind a tree, grabbing a pair of shorts and pulling them on like it’s something he’s done a hundred times. My pulse roars in my ears. “Then start masking your scent, Lowell. Think about it,” the man behind me says, his voice firm, edged with quiet impatience. I glance back at him, my fear spiking all over again. “Y-Yes, Alpha Silas,” the boy—Lowell—murmurs, his earlier teasing gone, replaced with something more subdued. Alpha. The word lands heavy in my chest. “Good. Now go back to the house,” Silas says. House? My gaze flickers between them, panic curling tighter in my stomach, because nothing about this feels safe anymore. Before the kid leaves, his eyes flick back to me, lingering this time—studying me in a way that makes my skin prickle. “Why do you have blood all over you?” Lowell asks. The question hits harder than it should. There’s something in the way he says it… like he’s not just curious. Like he’s trying to place me. Like he knows me. A cold knot tightens in my stomach. Why is he acting like that? I open my mouth, desperate to answer—desperate to explain something I don’t even understand myself— “I—” “Lowell. House. Now. Go.” Silas’ voice slices through the moment, sharp and final. Lowell hesitates, his brows pulling together. “But—” Silas moves. It’s subtle, almost nothing—but everything changes. Those emerald green eyes darken, swallowing the light until they look like endless black depths, cold and suffocating. The shift is so sudden, so unnatural, it steals the air from my lungs. “Now.” The single word lands like a command, heavy and absolute. I feel it. Not just hear it—feel it. It presses down on me, wraps around my limbs, sinks into my bones. My body goes rigid, like something unseen has taken hold of me, rooting me to the forest floor. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. Lowell stiffened too, whatever protest he had dying instantly. His expression flickers—annoyance, maybe, or something sharper—but he doesn’t argue again. Without another word, he turns and disappears into the trees. And just like that, the pressure lifts. But I don’t move. I can’t. Silas walks toward me, closing the distance before I can even think to step back. My breath catches as his hands wrap around my wrists, firm but not rough, turning them slightly as he looks me over like he’s searching for something—recognizing something. Like he knows me. “Your head is bleeding,” he says, his voice lower now, edged with something I can’t quite place. Concern? Frustration? “And you have blood under your nails.” His grip tightens just slightly, his thumb brushing against my skin, sending a strange, electric feeling shooting up my arms. “Wynter… what happened out there?” The name hits me like a blow. I stare at him, my thoughts stuttering, tangling over themselves. The places where he’s touching me feel… wrong. Not painful—just too much. Like my skin is suddenly too sensitive, every nerve lit up and buzzing. He’s still looking at me, waiting. Those eyes—no longer black, but that deep, piercing emerald again—soften as if he’s searching my face for answers I don’t have. “Wynter?” he says again, quieter this time. My lips part, but the only thing that comes out is confusion. “Wynter?” I echo, my voice small, uncertain. “What… are you talking about?” The word feels foreign in my mouth. Is he talking about the season? Or… is he calling me that? A name. My name? The thought hits—and everything inside me seems to drop. Wait. What… is my name? My stomach twists violently as I search for it—for anything—but there’s nothing there. Just empty space where something so basic, so important, should be. Panic claws its way up my chest. “I—” My breath hitches, my pulse racing faster, louder. “I don’t…” My hands start to tremble in his grip, my voice cracking under the weight of it. “I don’t know.” The words feel wrong. Impossible. But they’re the only truth I have. “I don’t know my name.” Silas’ hands move from my wrists to my face, large and warm as they cup my cheeks, forcing me to focus on him. “Wynter,” he says, more gently now, but there’s urgency beneath it. “What do you remember?” The heat of his touch spreads instantly, that same strange, electric sensation sparking across my skin, sharper now—almost overwhelming. It crawls down my spine, settles somewhere deep in my chest. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand him. Part of me wants to shove him away, to put distance between us, to run— Another part… …doesn’t. I freeze instead, caught between both instincts, my breath uneven as I try to grab onto his question—onto anything that makes sense. “I… I don’t remember anything,” I whisper, the words trembling as they leave me. My mind scrambles, reaching, searching, finding nothing but fragments and darkness. “Other than waking up next to—” My gaze drops, drawn to my hands. The blood. It’s dried in places, smeared in others, caked beneath my nails like something I tried to claw away… or hold onto. A wave of nausea crashes over me. Did I…? My stomach twists violently. “Oh my God…” The words come out barely audible, horror seeping into every syllable. Silas’ grip tightens, his thumbs pressing slightly into my cheeks as he tilts my face back up, forcing me to look at him. “Tell me,” he says, his voice harder now. Not unkind—but firm. Grounding. Demanding. My chest heaves, panic clawing its way up my throat. “The dead body…” My voice breaks, shaking uncontrollably now. My vision blurs as tears well, spilling over before I can stop them. “I—I think I…” The thought won’t fully form—but it’s there. Heavy. Suffocating. “I think I killed them.”