Kael didn't notice the moon at first.
He was too busy trying not to bleed on the sidewalk.
The cut above his eyebrow stung like someone had poured salt in it, and every time his heart slammed, fresh blood slid into his eye and turned the streetlights red. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his hoodie—third hoodie this month ruined—and kept walking. Fast. Not running. Running looks guilty. Walking fast just looks angry. And angry was safer than scared.
The guy from the bar had followed him for three blocks now.
Not close enough to grab. Close enough to hear the boots scraping pavement. Kael didn't turn around. He knew the type: shaved head, cheap leather jacket, the kind of smile that says *I'm doing you a favor by teaching you respect*. Earlier, inside the dive on 7th, the guy had bumped Kael's shoulder hard enough to spill beer, then laughed like it was funny. Kael had stared back too long. That was the mistake. Staring back always costs something.
Now the night felt heavier than it should.
His skin prickled. Not cold. Something else. Like static crawling under his ribs. He clenched his fists inside his pockets and felt his nails dig into palms—too sharp, too long. He'd clipped them yesterday. Hadn't he?
He turned down the alley behind the old warehouse district. Stupid move, maybe. But the main street had too many lights, too many cameras, too many people who might remember his face. The alley was dark. Dark was better when you wanted to disappear.
Boots echoed behind him. Closer now.
Kael stopped. Leaned one shoulder against the brick wall like he was just catching his breath. The air smelled of rust and old piss and something metallic he couldn't place. His own blood, probably.
"Hey, kid," the voice came, low and amused. "You walk away from me like that again, we're gonna have a real conversation."
Kael didn't answer. He counted the seconds instead. One. Two. Three. The guy was maybe ten steps back. Big. Slow. Drunk enough to be sloppy, not drunk enough to fall over.
Kael's stomach twisted. Not fear. Something hotter. Deeper. Like a fist opening inside his guts.
He pushed off the wall and started walking again.
The guy laughed. "That's it? You're just gonna—"
Kael spun.
He didn't plan it. His body moved before his brain caught up. One second he was walking, the next he was crossing the distance in two strides, hand already curling into a fist. The punch landed clean—cheekbone, not nose. The crack was loud in the quiet alley. The guy staggered, surprised more than hurt.
Then the guy smiled. Blood on his teeth. "Oh. You want to play."
He lunged.
Kael ducked the first swing, felt the second clip his ear. Pain flared white-hot. Something snapped in his hearing—like a rubber band stretched too far—and suddenly the alley was too loud. The guy's heartbeat thumped in Kael's skull. His own pulse roared back twice as hard. Louder. Wrong.
He shoved. Hard.
The guy flew backward—more than he should have—slammed into the dumpster with a metal clang that echoed off the walls. Trash bags split. Glass shattered somewhere inside.
Kael stared at his hands.
They weren't shaking.
They were *wrong*.
Fingers longer. Knuckles thicker. Nails curved and dark at the tips. He blinked. Blinked again. The claws retracted—slow, reluctant—like they didn't want to leave.
His breath came in short bursts. Chest burning. Skin too tight. Bones aching like they were trying to stretch.
The guy groaned, pushed himself up. "What the fuck are you?"
Kael didn't answer. Couldn't. His throat felt full of gravel.
The guy pulled a knife. Small. Switchblade. Moonlight caught the edge and made it wink.
Kael felt it before he saw it—the shift inside him again. Hot. Violent. Like something waking up after years of being chained.
He took one step back.
Then another.
Then he wasn't stepping anymore.
He was *moving*.
Fast. Too fast.
The knife flashed. Kael caught the wrist mid-swing—too easy, too strong—and twisted. Bone snapped. The guy screamed. The knife clattered to the ground.
Kael didn't let go.
He couldn't.
The thing inside him didn't want to.
Blood roared in his ears. His vision tunneled—red at the edges. The guy's face blurred into fear, then pain, then nothing. Kael felt teeth—his teeth—bare. Longer. Sharper.
He slammed the guy against the wall. Once. Twice.
The third time the guy went limp.
Kael dropped him.
Silence rushed back in. Only his breathing now. Harsh. Animal.
He looked down.
The guy's chest rose once. Twice. Stopped.
Kael's hands were red. Not just blood. Something darker. Thicker.
He stumbled backward until his spine hit the opposite wall.
The moon was full tonight.
He hadn't noticed until now.
It stared down at him like it had been waiting.
A low sound came out of his throat—half growl, half sob.
Footsteps.
Not the guy's.
Someone else.
Slow. Calm. Deliberate.
Kael lifted his head.
A woman stood at the mouth of the alley.
Tall. Dark hair. Leather jacket. Eyes that caught the moonlight and held it.
She didn't look surprised.
She looked… tired.
"Kael," she said quietly.
He froze.
He'd never told anyone his name. Not here. Not tonight.
She took one step forward.
"You can't stay in the city anymore."
Her voice was soft. Almost kind.
But her eyes were hard.
"They've already scented you."
Kael's legs wanted to run.
His body wouldn't move.
The woman tilted her head, studying the body on the ground, then him.
"The first change is always messy," she said.
She looked straight into his eyes.
"But this one… this one's going to cost you everything."
She turned to leave.
Then stopped.
Looked back over her shoulder.
"Your mother sends her regards."
Kael's heart slammed once—hard enough to bruise ribs.
Then the alley went black at the edges.
And the wolf inside him finally spoke.
*Run.*
He didn't.
He couldn't.
Because the moon was still watching.
And somewhere deeper in the city, more footsteps were already moving his way.