CHAPTER 1

Rain lashed the pavement like handfuls of gravel, stinging her cheeks as she ran. Evelyn Hart didn't dare look back. Not at the church disappearing behind her, not at the small crowd of horrified wedding guests calling her name, and definitely not at the groom standing frozen at the altar - face red, jaw clenched, eyes full of a fury she knew all too well.

Her heels slapped the sidewalk, slipping on the wet stone. The white satin dress—his choice, not hers—was heavy with rain, dragging behind her like a drowned ghost. Her lungs burned. Her mind screamed. But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Because today was supposed to be her wedding day.

And she had just run.

She didn't know where she was going, only that the city had thinned behind her, replaced by the dirt path she'd wandered once as a child. It led straight into Briarwood Forest. Locals whispered about strange things there, animals that didn't act like animals, shapes in the dark. But right now, superstition was safer than the life she had almost been trapped in.

She stumbled into the tree line; her dress clawed by branches. The deeper she went, the darker it became—like the forest swallowed sound itself. The rain softened under the canopy, but cold, digging through her soaked dress, numbed her fingers.

Evelyn pushed on, anyway. Anywhere but back.

Minutes or maybe hours passed - time was a meaningless blur - before her foot caught on a root, and she crashed to the ground. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the gray sky through the leaves.

“Good job, Eve,” she muttered. “Lost, freezing, in the woods wearing a wedding dress. Very practical.”

Her laugh was shaky, half hysteria, half bitter relief.

A twig snapped.

Evelyn tensed. “Hello?”

No answer. Just the wind.

"Probably a deer," she whispered.

Another snap-closer this time.

Definitely not a deer.

Evelyn scrambled to her feet, clutching the torn skirt. She backed away until her spine pressed against a tree. Her heart hammered in her throat.

A low growl rolled through the air.

Her thoughts scattered. The stories about Briarwood weren't just stories. People saw things. Heard things. Swore wolves too large to be wolves stalked these trees.

Evelyn whispered, "Please be normal wildlife. Please don't eat brides."

Leaves rustled again—and then a shape emerged from between two firs.

A huge wolf padded into the clearing.

Not normal wildlife.

Its fur was silver-black, glistening even in the dim light. Eyes gold, and uncomfortably intelligent. Its body was huge—larger than any wolf she’d ever seen in documentaries. Its gaze locked on her, sharp as a blade.

Evelyn froze. She wanted to scream, but fear strangled her voice.

The wolf drew near.

Her shaking hand closed over a branch that had fallen to the ground. She picked it up. “Stay back,” she whispered, though she knew how ridiculous she sounded.

The wolf did stop. It cocked its head, regarding her. Not as prey. More like… confusion? Curiosity?

The eyes weren't wild; they were aware.

“Good wolf,” she attempted. “Sweet wolf. Gentle—”

A second wolf lunged out of the trees behind her.

Evelyn didn't even have time to turn before a snarl ripped through the clearing-so powerful it vibrated her bones. The silver-black wolf launched forward, slamming into the attacker. The two beasts crashed onto the ground, snapping, tearing-a blur of fur and teeth.

Evelyn stumbled backward, horrified.

It was a quick, vicious fight. The silver-black wolf overpowered the other, sending it whimpering into the shadows. The victor turned back toward her.

Panting. Bleeding.

And watching her with those burning golden eyes.

Evelyn took a step back, clutching at the torn skirt so hard her knuckles whitened. “Y-you're hurt. I—I need to leave.”

The wolf stepped toward her.

She stepped back.

Its paw touched the edge of her dress.

She froze.

The wolf lowered its head—and nudged her hand.

Gently.

As if urging her to follow.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” she whispered.

A branch snapped elsewhere in the forest, followed by a distant chorus of howls. Not wolves—something deeper. Something hunting.

The silver-black wolf's ears flicked toward the sound. It pressed against her again, more urgent this time.

“Are you… protecting me?” Evelyn breathed.

Another howl cut through the forest.

The wolf growled low and warningly. Then it pushed her hard enough that she stumbled toward a narrow path.

"You want me to go?"

The wolf then stepped in front of her, blocking the way she had come from, and again nudged her on her way—forward, down the darker path.

The path deeper into Briarwood.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’ll trust you for now. But please don’t eat me later.”

The wolf huffed as if offended.

They moved swiftly through the trees. The forest grew denser, quieter, colder. Several times she almost fell, but every time the wolf was there, brushing against her, steadying her.

Eventually, they came into a clearing illuminated by moonlight filtering through the storm clouds. In the center of this stood a small, weathered cabin.

Smoke rose from the chimney.

"What is this place?" Evelyn whispered.

The wolf did not respond, naturally enough, but it went to the door and opened it with its head.

Evelyn hesitated. Every instinct in her body screamed not to enter some cabin in the middle of nowhere, especially one that she was being herded into by some mysterious giant wolf.

But something in her chest tugged her forward.

She stepped inside.

The cabin was warm. There was a fire crackling in the stone hearth. A coat hung on a hook. A mug sat half-finished on a table. Someone lived here. Recently.

“Who lives—?”

She whirled back to the wolf.

But the wolf was gone.

Instead, a man was standing in the doorway, rain dripping from his hair, blood streaking his shoulder.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Barefoot. Shirt torn. Eyes gold.

The same gold.

Evelyn's breath caught.

“You—You were the wolf.”

His eyes fastened on hers, intense and unyielding. And then he said, voice low and rough: “Close the door, Evelyn. They’re coming