The forest of Silverpine never slept. It breathed—a slow, living rhythm that hummed beneath the hush of night. Mist curled along the roots, and every leaf glistened under the weight of the rising moon.
Gabriela padded softly across the undergrowth, her bare feet leaving almost no sound. The pack would call her reckless again. Maybe she was. But she couldn't ignore the stories—rumours of a rogue who moved like smoke, killing hunters who dared cross the borders. Tonight, she would see for herself.
Her wolf stirred restlessly inside her. *We shouldn't be here*, it warned.
"I'll be careful," she whispered aloud, though the words vanished into the fog.
She paused beside a fallen log, sniffing the damp air. Rain, pine sap, and… something else. Musk, rich and wild. Not Shadowmoon, not Nightclaw. Unfamiliar. The scent tightened her pulse.
A twig snapped behind her.
Gabriela spun, claws sliding from her fingertips before she thought about it. Nothing. Only the rustle of leaves. Then another sound—steady, deliberate footfalls. Whoever it was, they weren't hiding.
"Show yourself," she called, her voice sharper than she felt.
A man stepped from the mist. The moonlight struck him first—tall frame, dark coat dusted with silver droplets, eyes glowing faint gold. He looked human at a glance, but something about him bent the air, a quiet force that made her breath catch.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, his tone calm, deep. "But you shouldn't wander here alone."
Gabriela lifted her chin. "You're the one trespassing. This is Shadowmoon territory."
He smiled, faint and unreadable. "So it is." His gaze flicked over her, quick and assessing. "You're brave to patrol without backup."
"I don't need backup."
A low rumble of thunder rolled somewhere beyond the hills. The forest seemed to shrink around them, the mist closing like curtains. Gabriela's heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears. The stranger stepped closer—one pace, then another—until she could see the edge of a scar tracing his jaw.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Alex." Just that. The name hung heavy, as though it carried meaning she should recognise. "And you, little wolf?"
"Gabriela."
The way he said it—slow, tasting each syllable—sent an unwanted heat across her skin. His scent filled her lungs now: dark pine, rain, and something metallic, like the moment before lightning struck.
Then the wind shifted. Both of them froze. New scents rushed in—human sweat, gun oil. Hunters.
Alex's expression changed instantly. "Stay behind me."
She bristled. "I can handle—"
The crack of a rifle split the night. Bark exploded from the tree beside her. Alex moved faster than thought, dragging her down as another bullet hissed through the mist. They hit the ground hard; his body shielded hers, muscles tense, breath hot against her ear.
"Still want to handle it?" he murmured, voice edged with dark amusement.
Gabriela's answer was lost in the next shot. Alex's eyes flashed gold, and a shimmer of energy rippled through him. For a heartbeat, she saw the wolf beneath his skin—massive, powerful, restrained only by will.
He stood, pulling her with him. "Run north," he ordered. "I'll hold them off."
"Not a chance," she snapped, baring her own fangs. "I'm not leaving you to—"
A shadow lunged from the trees. She slashed, claws tearing through fabric and flesh. A human cry followed; the scent of blood hit her nose. More figures emerged—three, maybe four hunters—silver knives gleaming.
Alex leapt, shifting mid-air in a blur of bone and fur. His wolf was larger than any she had ever seen, black as night with streaks of silver across its shoulders. He landed on one hunter, sending him sprawling, then turned toward another with a growl that shook the branches.
Gabriela fought beside him, favoring furious. It wasn't until the last hunter fled screaming into the mist that she realised the forest had gone silent again. Only their breath filled the air.
Alex shifted back, blood streaking his chest, eyes still glowing. "You shouldn't have come," he said quietly.
"I saved your life," she countered.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the pulse in his throat. "Maybe. But now you've tied your fate to mine."
Before she could ask what he meant, pain seared through her wrist. She gasped and looked down—the faint outline of a crescent moon burned into her skin, glowing with eerie silver light.
Alex's gaze darkened. "No," he whispered, almost to himself. "Not you."
The mark pulsed once, then dimmed, leaving silence and the taste of storm in the air.