Chapter 1: The Wolves' Eyes

Prologue

The woods are a living nightmare.

The towering trees, cloaked in shadow, block out almost all the moonlight. Their gnarled branches stretch toward me like claws. The air feels suffocating, damp, and heavy, making it harder to breathe with every step. My legs tremble as though they're refusing to move, but I push forward, even as each crunch of leaves beneath my feet feels like a scream in the stillness.

Then I see them. Four massive Lycans.

They’re unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. Their sheer size dwarfs even the biggest wolves back home. Their glowing eyes lock on us, burning with raw fury. A chill races down my spine. I can’t understand what we’ve done to provoke them. All we were doing was traveling, following the path Dad had laid out for us. I’ve been good—haven’t I? So why are they here, their murderous gazes piercing through the darkness?

“Agatha, behind me. Now,” Dad orders, his voice tight and edged with urgency.

I obey instantly, my trembling hands clutching his jacket as though it’s the only thing tethering me to safety. My heart pounds so violently it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. I keep my eyes on the ground, terrified to meet the gaze of the monstrous creatures circling us. Their growls are low and menacing, a sound that vibrates deep in my bones.

“Dad, what do they want?” I whisper, my voice breaking.

“Quiet,” he says sharply. His posture is rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. He’s trying to appear brave, but I see the tension in his shoulders. The way his breath hitches. He’s as scared as I am.

One of the werewolves steps closer, its fur matted and dirty. Its green eyes glint with malice, and its lips curl back to reveal long, razor-sharp fangs. It snarls, and my stomach churns violently. This can’t be real. This kind of terror only exists in stories.

“Sho,” Dad says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. “Why are you doing this? I don’t have what you’re looking for. Leave us alone.”

Sho.   Dad knows him? My grip tightens on his jacket as my confusion deepens. My father’s words are met with a chilling silence until a voice slithers out from the darkness. It’s calm and cold, sending icy shivers down my spine.

“Then you’re no longer useful.”

I freeze, the words slicing through the night like a blade. I can’t stop the tears from pooling in my eyes. Dad’s hand falls on my head, his fingers trembling.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Stay close. Don’t move.”

The wolves begin to circle us, their glowing eyes narrowing. I can feel the weight of more predatory stares all around the forest; their so many.  Dad raises his hand, his voice stronger now, commanding.

“Stay back!”

They don’t listen. The growling crescendos, a deafening roar that drowns out my thoughts. They lunge.

“No!” Dad’s shout is the last thing I hear before chaos erupts. The wolves are on him in an instant, their claws slashing, and their jaws sinking deep. Blood sprays into the air, hot and metallic.

“Dad!” I scream, but my voice is swallowed by the horrific sounds of tearing flesh and growls. I try to run to him, but something yanks me back—a hand, strong and unyielding.

“Stop it!” I cry, thrashing against the grip holding me. “Please, stop! Dad!”

The wolves don’t stop. They rip into him over and over, his body twisting and contorting under their assault. Blood pools beneath him, soaking the ground, the smell suffocating me. I can’t look away, even though every fiber of my being wants to.

And then he’s gone.

A broken, bloodied mess remains where my father stood moments ago. My knees give out, and I collapse.

The hand gripping me doesn’t loosen. Instead, I’m dragged backward. I don’t fight anymore. I can’t. My mind is blank, my body trembling violently. The world blurs as tears stream down my face, but I don’t wipe them away. I don’t care. Everything feels like it’s falling apart.

By the time I come back to myself, I’m thrown into a dark, damp cell. The air is freezing, the walls rough and unwelcoming. I curl into a ball on the wet floor, the scent of my father’s blood still clinging to me. It’s in my hair, on my skin. No matter how hard I scrub, it won’t come off. I cry until my body feels hollow, every sob ripping through me.

Then, I hear the soft creak of the cell door.

I don’t move. I don’t care who’s there. But a voice whispers, low and steady, “Are you okay?”

I force myself to look up. A boy stands there, his dark hair falling over intense brown eyes that seem impossibly out of place in this nightmare. He crouches down, his face softening as he studies me.

“You’re covered in blood,” he says, his voice quieter now.

I flinch as he reaches out, but his touch is gentle. He wipes some of the blood off my cheek with his sleeve.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a sliver of hope.