Chapter 1: Awakening

Hugo ran through the dense forest, the moonlight casting silver shadows on the ground and painting the foliage in shades of grey. The sharp scent of pine filled his lungs with each ragged breath, mingling with the coppery tang of his own blood. Branches clawed at his arms like skeletal fingers, leaving thin, stinging scratches, and the damp earth squelched beneath his pounding footsteps. The distant hoot of an owl cut through the stillness, an eerie reminder of how alive the forest was, even in the dead of night. Fear twisted in his chest, tightening like a vice, as every nerve in his body screamed at him to keep running. Behind him, the bushes rustled, though the night was unnervingly still. He turned, heart pounding, to see a pair of glowing red eyes watching him from the darkness.

A low growl echoed, freezing him in place. The sound was guttural, primal, resonating deep within the hollow of his chest. He tried to run, but his legs felt like lead, as though the earth itself conspired to hold him in place. The beast lunged, a mass of fur and claws illuminated briefly by the silvery light, and Hugo’s world went dark.

He awoke with a start, his chest heaving, his sheets soaked with sweat. The faint orange glow of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows across his room and painting the walls in muted, warm tones. His heart still raced, the echo of the dream lingering like a shadow just out of reach. It was the same nightmare, recurring for two years since Damien—the former Alpha of Ocean Crest Pack—had bitten him. The memory was vivid, etched into his mind with painful clarity: Damien’s wild eyes, the sharp, piercing pain of teeth breaking skin, and the overwhelming surge of power that came with the bite. Damien’s death from wolfsbane poisoning left Hugo to inherit a mantle he never asked for, a role that felt more like a curse than a gift.

Hugo ran a hand through his dark hair, the strands damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. He leaned against the headboard, his sea-green eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks that seemed to form a chaotic map above him. The responsibilities of leading the pack weighed heavily on him, compounded by the dead-end job he kept to maintain a façade of normalcy for his family. The scent of his sweat mixed with the faint tang of iron, a reminder of how real the dream felt, how the boundary between reality and memory blurred with every passing night.

His mother’s sharp words from the night that he had left home still echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than he cared to admit.

“You’re wasting your life, Hugo,” she had said, her tone sharp and unyielding, like the crack of a whip. “You’re supposed to be the man of this house, not some overgrown child.”

The kitchen light had flickered as she spoke, casting strange shadows on her face, emphasizing the lines of disappointment etched into her features. Her words weren’t new, but they struck a nerve every time. He had clenched his jaw, swallowing the retort that bubbled up, and walked away, leaving her words to hang in the air like smoke.

Now, sitting on the edge of his bed, he swung his legs over, his bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. The chill seeped into his skin, grounding him momentarily. Hugo inhaled deeply, the scent of salt from the nearby ocean faintly drifting through the open window, mixing with the earthy aroma of the forest beyond. He steeled himself for another day of pretending to be fine, of wearing the mask that kept his world intact, even as it felt like it was crumbling beneath him.