The wind whispered through the pines like a lullaby mourning the dead. Selene Ryder tightened her grip on the steering wheel as her car wound up the gravel road leading to Hollowridge—a village so small it didn't show up on most maps, yet it haunted the edges of her dreams like a shadow she couldn't outrun.
She hadn't been here since she was six. That was the year her mother died.
Now, thirteen years later, she was returning for another funeral.
Her aunt's.
The ancient gates of the Ryder estate creaked open as if pushed by unseen hands. The mansion loomed ahead, wrapped in ivy and silence. As she stepped out, the air hit her like a wall—cool, scented with pine, smoke, and something more primal. Wild. Alive.
"Selene."
She turned.
An older woman stood on the porch, gray-haired with fierce eyes that shimmered golden in the dying light.
"Aunt Miren?" Selene asked, heart pounding.
"No," the woman said. "Miren passed last week. I'm Elder Rowan. Your guardian until the rites are complete."
"Rites?" Selene echoed. "I thought this was just a funeral."
Rowan gave her a look that said nothing is ever just anything in Hollowridge.
"Come inside. You have a legacy to face."
The mansion smelled of sage and candlewax. Antique portraits lined the walls—strange-eyed people with regal postures and names she didn't recognize. In the sitting room, a fire crackled, and shadows danced on the walls.
"She left you everything," Rowan said. "The house, the land… and your birthright."
Selene frowned. "What birthright? I barely knew her. My father—"
"Your father was human. Your mother was not. That blood runs through you now, awakening."
"Awakening?" Selene's voice shook. "I'm sorry, but are you saying I'm—"
A howl pierced the silence outside. Long, low, mournful.
Rowan smiled grimly. "That you're not entirely human? Yes."
Selene's blood turned cold.
⸻
Later that night, she wandered outside. The moon hung full and red like an open eye in the sky. She heard footsteps behind her.
"Shouldn't be out alone," a deep voice warned.
She spun around.
He was tall—easily over six feet—with midnight-black hair and eyes like molten silver. His presence was magnetic, primal. Dangerous.
"Who are you?" Selene asked, heart slamming against her ribs.
"Luca Thorne," he said, stepping closer. "Alpha of the Nightfang Pack."
Selene swallowed hard. "And what do you want with me?"
His eyes glowed.
"You."