Cold.
That was the first thing that pierced the haze—not just the surface kind, but the bone-deep frost that bit into marrow and made muscles lock tight. My skin felt raw, as if the night itself was gnawing at it.
The second thing was the smell.
Blood. Not faint, not lingering—fresh. It clung to my face, to my hands, to the inside of my throat. Metallic, sharp and almost... sweet. My tongue ran over my teeth and caught on something jagged. Not the smooth enamel I knew. Too long. Too sharp. My jaw ached, the muscles sore like I'd been biting through stone.
I tried to spit it out. Something heavy and wet hit the snow with a muted splat. I glanced down.
A hand.
Human.
The bile rose fast, choking me — but before it could spill, something else hit me harder. Hunger. Not the hollow, polite ache of an empty stomach. No, this was way deeper . A gnawing that pulsed with my heartbeat, demanding I feed.
Snow whispered under my palms as I pushed myself upright. My breath came out in clouds, steaming in the frigid air. The night sky above was swollen with clouds, their underbellies bruised black. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled, long and low.
The sound made my skin prickle.
I dragged in a breath and the air lit up with scents. Pine sap, wet bark, old leather, the musk of fur. And under it all, the heart-stopping richness of meat—close, warm and ALIVE. My stomach clenched. My nails—claws? dug into the frozen earth without my telling them to.
The world swam as I pushed myself upright. My arms trembled at first, then steadied, but they felt too strong for me. My eyes adjusted to the dark unnaturally fast, painting every snowflake, every shift of shadow, in sharp detail.
Then I saw them.
Bodies.
They lay scattered across the clearing like a butcher's scraps, steam rising from torn flesh into the frigid night. Imperial armor gleamed in broken pieces, dented and slick with blood. One man was missing his head entirely. Another had his ribs laid open like cracked shutters.
I stepped back—my heel caught on something—and fell. My hand landed on fur. Coarse.
Thick and warm.
Not a pelt on the ground.
My arm.
It was mine. Covered in matted grey fur that bristled against the cold. The fingers were longer, knotted with sinew, ending in black claws hooked and deadly. My pulse thundered in my ears, so loud it drowned the wind.
I stared until my breathing grew ragged. It was too much—the smell, the blood, the alien weight of my own body. My vision blurred, and a sound ripped from my throat. A low, guttural growl.
Memories stabbed through the panic. This was not where I was. I was home.
A cramped apartment glowing blue in the dark. The click of a keyboard under my fingers. A half-finished drink beside me. Then... pain. White-hot, tearing through my spine like a molten hook. A shadow with eyes of molten gold. Teeth. Darkness.
A howl cut the night. Long, mournful, carrying over the treetops.
Something in me stilled. My head turned toward it, unbidden. Ears—longer, sharper, twitched, catching the faintest echoes. The sound was beautiful and terrible, and it felt like a thread pulling tight in my chest.
The whisper came then. Not in words, not really. More like an instinct curling through bone.
Run.
I moved. No—bounded. Snow kicked up in sprays under my feet. The trees blurred, their needles brushing past my face. The cold air tore down my throat and it felt good. My body moved like it knew how, muscles coiling and uncoiling in perfect rhythm. Every scent and every shift of wind, painted some kind of map in my mind.
A heartbeat.
I stopped.
The clearing ahead was silvered in moonlight. A stream cut through it, frozen over in jagged sheets. On the far bank stood a man — leather jerkin, bow in hand, hunting knife at his hip. His breath clouded the air in short, sharp bursts. His eyes locked onto me, wide and startled.
He moved for his bowstring. Too slow.
I was across the ice before I even thought to move. The ground shattered under my weight as I closed the distance. My hand—claw... clamped around his throat. His skin was hot under my grip. The pulse beat frantically against my palm.
The hunger roared.
He tried to speak. A plea, a curse maybe—I couldn't hear it over the pounding in my skull. My jaw opened, my teeth found the place where his heartbeat was strongest, and everything else dissolved.
The first bite was heat and salt and life. Blood surged over my tongue, thick and intoxicating. My body shuddered as it poured down my throat, each swallow fanning the fire in my chest. The man kicked once, twice, then went slack.
When it was done, I let him fall. His body crumpled into the snow, steam rising faintly where warmth bled away.
The whisper returned. Louder now. Clearer.
Hunt.
And gods help me—I wanted to obey.