CHAPTER 3 — THE HOWL BENEATH THE SKIN

The world shattered into noise and motion.

  Glass crunched beneath Ayla’s bare feet as the night howled its way inside. The creature lunged through the doorway, a blur of muscle, fur, and eyes that burned gold like wildfire. Kian was already moving—blade flashing in a silver arc that sang against the dark.

  The air rippled. The smell of rain and iron filled Ayla’s lungs. She froze—every instinct screaming to run, but her body wouldn’t obey.

  “Kian!” she gasped.

  “Stay behind me!”

  The beast struck. Claws tore through the countertop where she’d been tattooing just hours ago. Ink splattered across the floor, mixing with blood as Kian’s blade met the creature’s hide. Sparks of blue light flared where metal met magic.

  It wasn’t just a wolf—it was something older, its skin etched with glowing sigils, each one pulsing in rhythm with the moonlight that poured through the shattered window.

  Kian snarled as the creature knocked him back into a wall. “Damn it—they marked it with binding runes!”

  “Runes? What does that even—”

  Ayla stopped mid-sentence. The mark on her forearm blazed white-hot. She cried out, clutching it, and the same sigils burning across the beast’s chest answered.

  It turned toward her instantly.

  Their eyes met—and the world fractured.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t in her shop anymore. She stood in a field of silver grass beneath a black sky streaked with stars. Dozens of wolves circled her, all marked with the same glowing ink. In the center, one lifted its head and howled. The sound was deep enough to vibrate through her bones, through time itself.

  “Reborn under ink and moonlight…” a voice whispered. “Find the Alpha Rune before the Shadow Mark claims you.”

  The vision snapped. She was back in her shop, gasping, heart hammering. The wolf-creature was inches away now—its snout dripping with blood, eyes locked on her arm.

  Kian shouted, “Ayla! Focus on the mark! Let it guide you!”

  “I don’t—”

  “Do it!”

  Something inside her broke open. The mark on her arm began to shift, lines of ink unfurling and spiraling up her skin like living vines. The glowing crescent extended into new shapes—runes she didn’t recognize, pulsing with rhythm like a heartbeat.

  The air around her shimmered. Every tattoo in the room—the roses, daggers, moons, wings—lifted from the walls as faint silhouettes of light. They moved, gathering around her like spirits summoned from ink.

  Ayla raised her arm. “I don’t know what this is, but—stay the hell away from me!”

  The words came from instinct, but the effect was anything but ordinary.

  A blast of silvery energy erupted from her palm, striking the wolf square in the chest. It flew backward, crashing through the front wall and into the street. The light faded, leaving only silence and the smell of ozone.

  Ayla stared at her trembling hand. “What… what did I just do?”

  Kian stepped toward her, breathing hard, blood dripping from a cut across his cheek. His eyes were still wolf-bright. “You awakened it. The ink answered you.”

  “I—didn’t mean to!”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s in your blood.” He reached out, but she flinched. His voice softened. “Ayla… that was no ordinary shifter. They sent a bound wolf, runed by the Shadow Clan. They know you’re alive now.”

  Her knees nearly buckled. “Alive now? What are you saying?”

  He hesitated. The storm outside deepened, wind howling through the broken glass. “You died once, Ayla. Years ago. The mark on your arm—it wasn’t just art. It was a seal. A rebirth rune.”

  She stared at him, unable to breathe. “You’re lying.”

  Kian met her gaze, and for the first time, there was sorrow there. “I wish I were.”

  Thunder rolled overhead. Somewhere in the distance, another howl rose—longer, closer.

  “They’ve found our scent,” he said. “We need to move.”

  Ayla grabbed her leather jacket, though her hands shook. “Go where?”

  “To someone who can explain what the hell you are,” he said. “And why the moon chose you.”

  He turned toward the door, blade still wet with silver light. Ayla hesitated, looking back at her shop—the cracked glass, the scattered ink bottles, the faint glow still lingering on her skin.

  Her whole life was in that room. And yet, it already felt like a memory.

  “Fine,” she said quietly. “But you’re explaining everything. Every word.”

  Kian’s lips curved into something between a promise and a warning. “I will. But first—we survive the night.”

  He stepped out into the rain.

  Ayla followed, the door creaking shut behind her. The neon sign flickered once, the last light of her old life dying in the storm.

  As they disappeared into the alley’s darkness, the broken glass on the floor began to hum faintly—forming, slowly, into a new symbol.

  One Ayla hadn’t seen before.

  A symbol that looked like an eye, weeping ink.