001 | IN COLOUR

I could smell blood in the air. It hung thick in the barren clearing, curdling in the pervasive heat. The slash of claws and the ring of bone against bone shuddered through the space, rolling in hard waves against the trees.

Sweat rolled down my back, matting my wolven fur. My lips pulled back from my teeth in a snarl, and I eyed the Winterpaw Warrior wolves, our deadliest, cruellest enemies, with sheer, seething hatred. They were everything my pack, my parents’ pack, were not.

And then I was moving, hurtling through the undergrowth in a flash of grey and black and white. It was hard to pick out enemies even in the thin cover the smattering of trees provided when everything I saw was painted in shades of grey. I focused on texture, hunting for a ripple of muscle or a shift of fur. I sniffed, hard. I despised the smell of blood, despised the truth of death that clung to its scent, but I needed it if the Blue Moon Pack were to have any chance of surviving this.

Until I met my fated mate, I was cursed to see the world in black and white. It was the same for all werewolves – but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. I ached to see the world in colour, to see the sunrises that broke across the dawn. I wanted to see my family, truly see them, to know their faces as well as they knew mine. 

And, sometimes even more than that, I wanted to feel the pure love of the mate bond. It was a quiet desire, one shoved aside by my duty to my pack, but it was ever-present.

I followed the curve of the clearing, darting alongside the main formation of the battle to pick off stragglers. We knew Winterpaw all too well, now; they attacked our pack regularly, unhappy with our luck – and theirs – in the terms of a treaty written hundreds of years ago. This meant we knew how they fought, and of their penchant to hide their most skilled warriors just out of sight. I was the best young fighter in the pack so, greyscale vision or not, it was down to me to pick off Winterpaw’s best.

‘Haile,’ Mum called through our mindlink.

Years of experience made it easy to pick her out amongst the swathes of black and white wolves tearing and clawing at one another on the battlefield. She had a distinctive white patch on the centre of her forehead, which Dad had told me was actually a very pale shade of rust-toned red. As Alpha and Luna of our pack, my parents both stood a good half a foot taller than the other wolves, too – a trait which carried over to their, and my, human forms as well.

‘Yes?’ I shot back, paws skidding in the dry dirt to narrowly avoid smacking into a tree. I nearly added that I was a little busy, but I didn’t want to deal with being chided after the battle was won. I swallowed. That was the only outcome I could envision.

‘On your left.’

I turned. My eyes widened. A wolf lunged at me, black as night and canines stained dark. Those teeth dug deep into the fur and skin of my neck. I yanked free, spitting a hiss through my teeth, my blood hot as it pooled and seeped from the wound. I roared.

Rising to my full height, I let the now-cowering wolf see every facet of my rage. I saw my reflection in their black, shining eye: a dark shade of grey against the black, glowing in the bright sunlight as though my fury had been made manifest as shrouding fire. One quick snap of my jaws and the wolf was down, writhing on the ground. I took no pleasure in it, but I was the daughter of the Alpha and Luna of the Blue Moon Pack. Protecting our wolves was my duty – and that meant fighting our enemies.

‘A little more warning next time would be great.’ There was no malice in my words – only heady, searing relief.

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

My mouth hung open in a wolfish grin. I licked my lips, wincing at the taste of blood. I spat.

Only to be knocked sideways by a scrawny, snappy wolf. It looked white to me, with the shining, wet darkness that I knew to be blood marring its shoulder and chest. It wobbled unsteadily, and I recognised her as our youngest Warrior Wolf. I glanced around nervously, scanning the sparse trees for movement.

‘Elena!’ I mindlinked, panic making my tone sharper than intended. ‘Get back to the others.’

She stumbled. I looked around again, seeing only the ruffle of grey leaves against the paler grey sky. The battle wore on in the centre of the clearing, a heaving mess of blood-slick fur and saliva-wet canines. Would she be safer here? Or there?

Mum would leave her. Dad would help her. Quick and decisive, I nudged her with my snout and shoved her back towards the rest of the pack. On trembling legs she broke into a jog, wincing every time her weight fell on the side of her injured shoulder. I followed her into the heart of the battle.

The metallic stench of blood hung thick and heavy in the air. The dry earth crumbled beneath my paws as I pounced, turning and swiping and slashing my way through row after row of enemy wolves. Another wolf fell into step with me; this one I recognised easily as Blue Moon’s Young Beta, Etta – and my best friend.

‘Glad to see you’re still alive,’ I mindlinked dryly, even as relief twisted my heart.

She tore a chunk of flesh from a prone neck, pausing to spit it out before replying with a huff. ‘As if I wouldn’t be.’

We clawed and tore and ripped our way through the frontlines of the battlefield. Hope sunk like an anchor in my chest. I had never before worried that we would be forced to submit. It was always the Winterpaw Warrior Pack that would slither away, running with their tails between their legs back to their frozen, mountainous territory – only to begin plotting their next attack.

But our numbers had depleted, and they had only grown stronger in their misled rage. For the first time, I feared that Blue Moon would have to bend to their will if we wanted to live to see another day. Fear tried to choke me, but I trampled it down. I would wake, and I would rise, and, one day, I would see the sunrise in colour with my mate by my side.

The burning pain of the tear in my own neck spurned me on. My pack meant everything to me. I would not see them fall. Not like this.

And then more wolves – wolves I did not recognise, wolves fighting for Winterpaw, not for us – spilled into the clearing. We were outnumbered three, if not four, to one. My hope turned to despair, but still I fought on. I kept my focus on one wolf at a time, giving my all to each individual battle. I smelt the blood all around, felt the heat of it blurring with the sun. I ignored it. I became nothing but a flash of fur and eyes and claws and teeth, drawing what little hope I could from every enemy wolf that fell.

We were surrounded on all sides. The blur of grey was dark with blood, dark with torn flesh and spattered gore, but worse than that was the predatory way the Winterpaw wolves circled around us like sharks.

We were outnumbered. We were surrounded. My heart was in my throat; I could feel its every thud, feel the heat burning through my skin. I stared at the wolves, my wolves, behind me desperately. I would give my life for any one of theirs in a heartbeat, but I had no way to do so.

‘Fall back!’ Dad’s voice cried. It rung in my ears, and I was sure the mindlink had been sent to every member of our pack. I could not see him amongst the muddle of black and white and grey. My breaths came fast and shallow. Where was he? Was he injured? Was he safe?

Then claws dug into the muscle banding my front leg. It ripped clean through my shoulder, catching on the fold of skin where it became my foreleg and yanking straight through it. Nausea rose in my throat. I swung, growling, desperate. Etta took down the culpable wolf with a swift swipe of her own claws, a half-second too late. I limped forward, locking my jaw against the waves of red-hot pain.

I was so focused on the shuddering pain that, when the sky no longer looked white-grey, and when the wolves in front of me became more distinctive, distinguished in new ways from one another, I did not entirely realise. I still snarled and snapped and, leaning heavily on my good leg, hobbled further into enemy lines. I could not fall back as my father wished. I was too far forward. I had to protect those that could.

Suddenly it struck me, as hard and fast as any blow.

I could see in colour.

My mate was here.