Chapter 1: The Wolves' Eyes

Prologue

The woods are alive, and not in the Disney-princess-singing-to-animals way. No, they’re alive in the “I’m going to eat you and laugh about it” kind of way. Every shadow feels like it’s plotting my downfall. Every crunch under my foot screams, “Here I am! Come and get me!”

I’m trembling so hard I might as well be auditioning for a haunted house attraction. Dad marches ahead, calm as a cucumber—or at least trying to look like one. Me? I’m holding onto his jacket like it’s a lifeline, my nails probably leaving permanent holes.

“Stay close,” he mutters.

No problem there, Dad. I’m basically glued to you.

Then I see them.

Four Lycans. No, monsters. Each one looks like it’s been sculpted from nightmares. Muscles ripple under matted fur, and their glowing eyes fix on us like we’re the appetizer and dessert rolled into one. My legs turn to jelly. My brain says, “Run,” but my body replies, “Nope.”

“Agatha, behind me,” Dad orders. His voice is steady, but I can feel the tension radiating off him.

I shuffle behind him, peeking beside his hand covering my face because curiosity is my worst enemy. One of the Lycans steps closer, its fangs gleaming like a butcher’s knife.

“Dad, what do they want?” My voice cracks like a cheap radio.

“Shh,” he snaps, his eyes locked on the wolves.

The leader—let’s call him Captain Nightmare—tilts his head like he’s toying with us. His growl vibrates through the air, a deep, menacing sound that makes my stomach flip.

Dad speaks, his voice firm but wary. “Sho, I don’t have what you’re looking for. Leave us.”

Sho? Wait. Dad knows this guy? My grip tightens on his jacket as my confusion deepens.

Deep in the forest head of where we were a voice like ice slicing through the tension. “Then you’re no longer useful.” Before disappearing into the shadows.

Oh, great. Just what I needed: a wolf with a flair for drama.

Before I can process the threat, the Lycans begin circling us, their glowing eyes narrowing. My heart is pounding so hard it might just leap out and beg for mercy on its own.

“Stay back!” Dad shouts, but they’re not listening.

They lunge.

Everything happens too fast. Claws flash. Blood sprays. Dad shouts something, but it’s drowned out by the snarls and roars.

“Dad!” I scream, but my voice feels like a whisper in the chaos.

I try to run to him, but something grabs me—a hand covered in tattoos, strong and unyielding ; but their face is unclear because of the shadows around them. I twist and thrash, but whoever’s holding me doesn’t let go.

“Let me go!” I cry, my voice cracking. “Dad! Stop it! Someone stop them!”

The Lycans don’t stop. They tear into him like a pack of rabid animals—well, more rabid than usual. Blood pools beneath him, and the metallic stench fills the air, making me gag.

And then… silence.

Dad’s gone. Not just dead. Gone. What’s left of him doesn’t even look human.

I collapse, my knees hitting the ground hard. The hand still grips me, dragging me away from the carnage. My screams fade into sobs as I’m pulled through the forest, my mind too numb to fight anymore.

…

When I come to, I’m in a cell. The floor is wet and cold, and the walls look like they were built to house misery.

I curl up in a corner, the smell of blood still clinging to me. It’s on my skin, in my hair. I want to scrub it off, but there’s nothing to use. My tears mix with the grime on the floor as I shake uncontrollably.

Then, the door creaks open.

I don’t look up. I don’t care who it is.

“Hey,” a voice says softly.

It’s not growly or menacing. It’s… human.

I peek through my fingers. A guy stands there, maybe a 8 years older than me. Dark hair, intense brown eyes, and a face that doesn’t belong in this nightmare.

“You’re alive,” he says, crouching down. His voice is steady but gentle, like he’s trying not to spook me.

“No thanks to you,” I mumble, though my voice comes out weak and broken.

He ignores the snark, his eyes scanning me. “You’re covered in blood.”

Oh, really? Thanks, Captain Obvious.

He pulls out a cloth and reaches toward me. I flinch, but his hand is careful as he wipes the blood from my face.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he says, his voice firm now.

I stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s insane or just really bad at survival instincts. “Do you know what’s out there?” I whisper.

He smirks, the tiniest flicker of confidence breaking through. “Yeah. That’s why we’re not staying here.”

For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a spark of hope.