Chapter 1 ~ Vivaldi's POV~

SO, HERE I AM, SPRAWLED OUT on this cold, damp cave floor, naked and vulnerable. My small hands are cuffed with massive chains, and as I try to move, I let out a groan that bounces off the cave walls like a wounded animal’s cry. My flesh and bones scream in unison, each one throbbing in agony.

The keys to my freedom lay temptingly close on the gritty cave floor, but my hands are shaking, weighed down by the heavy chains and pulsating pain.

I have to tough it out, waiting for my secret superpowers to kick in and patch me up. They’ll knit my broken bones, stitch my torn flesh, and ease that relentless, shrieking pain.

The cave walls are splattered with dried blood, like some twisted abstract art gone haywire. Deep claw marks scar the stone surface, evidence of my, "Wolf" abilities.

Finally, sweet relief washes over me! The pain ebbs away as my body miraculously knits itself back together. With a triumphant grunt, I grab the keys, fumble with the locks of the chains until they fall off, and push open the metal doors guarding the cave.

As I step out of the cave, a cool breeze slaps me in the face, carrying the refreshing scent of pine and earth from the sea of green trees stretching in every direction.

The sun slowly dips below the horizon, painting the sky with dazzling streaks of pink and orange. A cool breeze playfully rustles the trees, making them sway and dance as everything in the distance fades into shades of grey with the arrival of twilight.

In a corner, a tidy pile of clothes awaits my grand re-entrance into the world of the clothed. I slip them on, relishing the comforting feel of fabric against my skin.

To test out my newly repaired body, I flex my muscles, anticipating a twinge of pain to rear its ugly head. But nope! Not even a hint of discomfort—I'm good as new, baby!

Just then, my stomach lets out a growl—a not-so-gentle reminder that I haven't eaten in, roughly a month. Time to vamoose and hunt down some mouthwatering eats to tame the inner beast.

With a speed that could rival a red-caped superhero, I dart through the trees, leaving nothing but a trail of blurred colors in my wake. The world around me transforms into one of those abstract paintings where everything just smears together in a dizzying vortex of hues.

In no time, I burst out from the leafy grip of the forest and onto a quiet, deserted road. Cars are scarce, as rare as a snowstorm in the Sahara, but hey, it's my stomach calling the shots now, and it's screaming for food!

Lady Luck smiles down on me as I spot a beacon of hope across the road—a neon sign flashing the words "COCO'S BAR." A lopsided grin spreads across my face, and I skip across the street like a sugar-hyped kid. I give a quick nod of approval to the bar's glitzy, colorful lights and the warm glow of the streetlights around the doorway. I mean, a swig of Jack Daniel's before a real meal never hurt anyone, right? Not that I really give a hoot either way.

Shrugging it off, I grab the door handle, prepping for my grand entrance. But hold up—what's this? My eyes land on a note taped to the weathered door: "We are closed. Come back tomorrow for more booze. Thank you, and God bless you." God bless me? Yeah, right. A sarcastic laugh escapes me. As if some silly human sign could stand between me and my thirst for a drink!

Ignoring the warning, I shove the door open with a dramatic flair, an unrestrained cackle bursting from my lips. Take that, puny humans! I step inside, basking in the cozy warmth and leaving the frigid, judgmental world behind. The bar may be closed, but there's no way it's stopping me from getting what I want. No sir, not today!

I can't help but let out a satisfied "hmph." The entire place is a veritable shrine to wood—gleaming, brown wood. It's practically everywhere! The building, the tables, chairs, counter, even the mugs—all made of wood. I mean, seriously, who even makes wooden mugs? I wouldn't be shocked if the bar owner was secretly married to a wooden mannequin.

My eyes widen as I lay eyes on the motherlode—glass bottles of booze, all neatly lined up on wooden shelves behind the counter. "Ooo," I murmur, a hint of admiration in my voice. Well, at least they had the sense not to make wooden bottles. A chuckle escapes me, my mischief meter spiking into the red zone.

I saunter over to the counter where a line of stools stand at attention. Hopping onto the one in the center, I plop my elbows on the smooth wooden surface and rest my chin on my hands. Sure, I had my heart set on Jack Daniel's when I came in, but now, faced with this dazzling array of bottles—all different shapes and sizes, filled with vibrant liquids, and sporting fancy names—I feel like a kid in a candy store. So many options, so little time!

Just as I'm settling in, something catches my eye—a gleaming, bald head poking out from behind the counter. This thing shines brighter than a polished mirror! I clear my throat and drop my voice a few octaves. "Hello there, my good man," I call out, trying to get the owner of this peculiar noggin to notice me. "Mind fetching me the strongest brew you've got hidden back there?"

But, alas, my words fall on deaf ears. The enigmatic head continues to bob around behind the counter, completely ignoring my existence. My eyes roll so hard I nearly glimpse my own brain. Time to crank it up a notch.

"Hello, are you deaf?" I bellow, my voice reverberating off the wooden walls. The bar falls silent, save for the sound of my heavy breathing. At last, the bobbing bean head comes to a halt and ever so slowly turns in my direction. In a voice as deep as the Mariana Trench, the mysterious barkeep intones, "We are closed. Come back tomorrow for more booze. Thank you, and God bless you."

I mean, seriously? That's the exact same spiel as the note on the door! This guy is really starting to tick me off. God bless me, my foot!

"Listen, man," I plead, attempting to be the voice of reason. "I get it; you're probably beat after a long day, but how about just one wooden mug of your strongest brew? I mean, you're still here, and I'm in desperate need of some liquid courage."

But this guy is a real stickler for the rules. "No," he grunts, all business. "Rules are rules, and we're closed."

"Please," I beg, my voice quivering like a hesitant schoolkid. "Just one tiny drop of liquor?" I hold up a single, trembling finger, hoping to sway his resolve.

"Still no," he growls, shutting me down with the force of a wrecking ball.

"Okay, okay," I scramble for a compromise. "What if I just sniff it?"

"No." His answer hits me like a sledgehammer to the face.

Defeated, I groan and grit my teeth. Anger churns inside me like a raging storm. What the heck is this guy's deal? I lean forward, attempting to get a better view of what he's doing behind the counter. Maybe if I can just figure out what's so darn important...

And that's when I spot it. This dude is hunched over the sink, furiously scrubbing wooden mugs like they hold the secret to eternal life. I mean, seriously? Is he really choosing dirty dishes over a paying customer?

"Hey, Mr. Bean Head!" I bellow, my voice cutting through the air like a lightning strike. The guy jolts like he's been electrocuted, his head jerking up in surprise. "Get that shiny dome of yours over here and serve me some beer!" I punctuate each word with a jab of my finger on the counter, leaving no room for doubt about my irritation.

His head stops bobbing, and he slowly turns to face me, his glare as frigid as the Arctic tundra. I watch, wide-eyed, as he begins to rise, unfolding like a Transformer in slow-motion. And let me tell you, this guy is a towering mountain of a man! If Bruce Banner morphed into the Hulk right then and there, I wouldn't be half as stunned.

His arms are mountains of muscle, and his chest bulges so much that I fear it might burst open any second. The guy is a living, breathing Greek myth, a hulking giant that would make even the Incredible Hulk and Mr. Olympia tremble in awe.

But as I sit there, spellbound by this marvel of a man, he leans in, his words slicing through me like a hot knife through butter: "What did you just call me?"