The White Wolf

The bonfire

The bonfire was the biggest event of the season — the night when the pack came together to celebrate the end of the harvest and the rise of the Hunter’s Moon. Everyone was there, dressed in worn denim and leather, laughter and music echoing through the forest clearing.

Everyone except Meghan, who stood at the edge of the crowd with Lila, clutching a paper cup of cider like it could protect her.

“You promised we’d only stay an hour,” she muttered.

Lila grinned. “You promised you’d at least try to talk to Brett. So, balance.”

Meghan groaned, but her heart was already thudding. Across the fire, she could see Brett leaning against a log, the glow of the flames painting his face in gold and shadow. Venus was beside him, perfect as always, her hair catching the light like spun silver.

“Come on,” Lila whispered, nudging her. “He’s not a god. He’s just a guy who plays too much basketball and thinks wearing his hoodie backwards makes him deep.”

Meghan snorted — then froze as Brett’s eyes met hers across the fire.

For a heartbeat, the noise around her faded. The crackle of wood, the chatter, even Lila’s teasing — it all vanished. He smiled. Just a small one, but real.

Then Venus leaned in and whispered something, and his attention slipped away like smoke.

Meghan looked down, cheeks burning. “Told you,” she said softly.

But Lila wasn’t listening anymore. Her expression had gone still. “Uh… Meg?”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

Meghan frowned and followed her gaze. Her cup had crumpled in her grip — and the cider was freezing. Literally. Frost crawled up the paper, spreading like veins of ice.

“What the—” She dropped it, and the cup shattered when it hit the dirt.

For a moment, no one noticed. Then one of the pack kids shouted, “What happened?” and a dozen heads turned toward her.

Venus’s voice sliced through the murmurs. “Seriously, Meghan? You can’t even hold a drink right?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Meghan felt her throat tighten. She wanted to run, to disappear into the trees. But before she could move, the fire flared — a sudden, violent gust of wind whipping through the clearing. Sparks spiraled upward, and the flames turned white.

White — like the moon.

Gasps echoed. The pack’s elders exchanged uneasy glances. White fire was sacred. Omen fire.

And at its edge, standing frozen in the glow, was Meghan Evans.

Lila grabbed her arm. “Meg, we need to go. Now.”

But Meghan couldn’t move. The light wrapped around her like a whisper, warm and wild all at once. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel small. She felt seen.

Then everything went dark