The forest howled with hunger.
Frost clung to the air like breath caught in a snarl. The full moon hung heavy above Frostmere Valley, its silver light spilling over the trees and painting the snow in bloodless glow.
Kael crouched at the ridge, his wolf's eyes scanning the valley below. The scent of prey drifted through the wind—iron, sweat, and fear. Humans. Trespassers.
His pack waited in silence behind him, muscles coiled, teeth glinting in the pale light. They had tracked the scent for hours. Now the hunt was ready.
"Wait for my mark," Kael growled, his voice a low rumble.
The moon shimmered. The curse pulsed through his veins, ancient and wild. His heartbeat synced with the rhythm of the forest—the drums of the night.
When he leapt, the world turned to motion and blood.
---
Kael struck like lightning through the snow. His claws caught one of the intruders by the throat before the man even screamed. The others fled, crashing through branches and frost, their breath tearing the air.
He didn't chase for hunger. He chased for balance. The humans had crossed into sacred ground again, defying the old warnings carved into stone.
When the last scream faded, the night grew quiet again. Kael wiped the blood from his jaw and looked to the moon.
"Why won't you rest?" he whispered.
The answer came as a whisper in the wind: Because neither will you.
---
In the shadows beyond the clearing, a woman watched. Cloaked in black, her eyes glowed faintly violet beneath the hood.
Lyra.
The witch of Frostmere.
She had come not to hunt, but to watch the Alpha who could not die.