Dreams of Teeth

The scratches on the windowsill didn't vanish with the morning sun. If anything, the harsh, unapologetic light of day made them look more violent—three jagged gashes in the solid oak that mocked Kaelira’s attempt to find a "rational" explanation.

She spent the next forty-eight hours in a fugue state. To her professors, she was the diligent Kaelira, her nose buried in Lehninger Principles of Biochemistry. But beneath the surface, she was a woman drowning in a sea of impossibility. Every time she closed her eyes, she didn't see chemical structures; she saw the silver flash of fur and the heavy, muscular grace of the man who called himself Zayden.

That night, the exhaustion finally won. Kaelira collapsed into bed, her mind heavy with the scent of pine that seemed to have permeated her very pillows.

The dream didn't start like a dream. It started with a sensation.

Cold. Wet. Primal.

She wasn't lying in her twin-XL dorm bed. She was standing on the forest floor, her bare feet sinking into the damp moss. The air was thick with the smell of decay and rebirth—the copper tang of old blood and the sweet, heavy scent of blooming nightshade.

But she wasn't Kaelira. Or rather, she was more than Kaelira.

Her vision was different. The world wasn't a collection of shapes and colors; it was a map of heat and vibration. She could see the pulse of a field mouse burrowing beneath a fallen log fifty yards away. She could hear the rustle of an owl’s wings a mile above.

Then, she felt the shift.

A surge of power, hot and liquid like molten lead, tore through her limbs. Her bones didn't break; they reshaped themselves with a rhythmic, sickening crunch that felt like a symphony. She dropped to all fours, her hands becoming paws, her skin erupting in a coat of thick, silver-grey fur.

A growl started deep in her chest—not a sound of anger, but a sound of being.

Run, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. It wasn't her voice. It was deeper, more ancient. It sounded like the wind through the pines. Run, Little Moon.

She bolted.

The forest was a blur of silver and shadow. She wasn't running from something; she was running to it. Every muscle in her body worked in perfect, lethal harmony. She felt the snap of twigs beneath her weight, the cool rush of air against her snout. She was powerful. She was a god of the undergrowth.

Beside her, a shadow emerged.

A massive black wolf, larger and darker than the night itself, drew level with her. Zayden. Even in this form, she knew him. His golden eyes were twin suns in the darkness, watching her with a mixture of pride and a terrifying, possessive hunger.

He lunged toward her, not to attack, but to play—a brutal, beautiful dance of teeth and fur. They spiraled through the trees, their breath mingling in the frozen air. For the first time in her life, Kaelira felt no fear. She felt right. She felt like she had finally come home to a house she hadn't known she owned.

Suddenly, the black wolf stopped. His ears flattened, and a low, earth-shaking snarl erupted from his throat.

From the darkness beyond the ancient oaks, a different pair of eyes emerged. These weren't gold. They were the color of a fresh wound—a jagged, pulsing red.

The red-eyed wolf was smaller than Zayden but leaner, scarred, and radiating a malice that made the very trees seem to recoil. Behind him, a dozen more shadows shifted. A pack. A hungry, vengeful pack.

Zayden stepped in front of Kaelira, his hackles rising, a wall of midnight muscle shielding her from the crimson gaze.

“Mine,” the thought vibrated through the air, projected from Zayden with the force of a physical blow.

The red-eyed wolf threw back his head and let out a laugh—a sound that was half-human, half-beast, and entirely chilling. “Not for long, Alpha. The Blood Moon is thirsty.”

The red wolf lunged.

Kaelira screamed—or tried to. The sound that came out was a high-pitched, desperate yelp.

She sat bolt upright in bed, her chest heaving, her nightshirt drenched in cold sweat. The morning light was gray and dismal, filtering through the curtains of her dorm room.

"Just a dream," she gasped, clutching her throat. "Just a vivid, terrifying, insane dream."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her muscles aching as if she had actually run miles through the brush. Her feet hit the floor, and she winced.

She looked down.

Her feet were caked in dried, dark mud. Small hemlock needles were wedged between her toes. And there, lying on her white duvet, was a single, perfect crow’s feather—snapped in half, as if by a predator’s tooth.

Panic, cold and sharp as a scalpel, sliced through her. She scrambled to the window, throwing the curtains wide.

The quad was quiet, but on the television in the common area down the hall, she could hear the muffled voice of a news anchor.

"...authorities are baffled by the discovery this morning. Over forty head of cattle were found dead at the Grayson farm. Local law enforcement is advising residents to stay indoors after dark, describing the scene as a 'feeding frenzy' unlike anything seen in the state’s history..."

Kaelira backed away from the window, her hand shaking as she touched her own shoulder. There, just beneath the collar of her shirt, was a faint, red smudge.

It wasn't blood. It was a bruise in the shape of a large, powerful thumb.

As Kaelira stared at the mark in the mirror, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was an unknown number. One text message. One sentence that made her heart stop: "He’s coming for you, Kaelira. Don’t let him mark you first.”