He Shouldn’t Exist

Nyxara POV

The moment his eyes lock onto mine, I know survival is no longer guaranteed.

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Humans didn’t just win the war.

They reshaped the world so completely that creatures like me became something impossible.

A mistake.

A myth.

A ghost wearing skin.

I walk through the city beneath artificial light that never dims, never flickers, never allows true darkness to exist anymore. Humans learned quickly that monsters prefer shadow. So they built a world without it.

Or at least, that’s what they believe.

Streetlights stretch endlessly down concrete roads. Surveillance drones hover silently above crowded intersections. Cameras perch on every corner, watching, recording, analyzing.

Hunting.

Always hunting.

I keep my head down as I move with the crowd, matching their pace, matching their breathing, matching their fragile illusion of safety. Humans surround me on all sides, their heartbeats loud in my ears, their warmth radiating through thin fabric and fragile bone.

They have no idea how easily they break.

They have no idea how close they came to losing everything.

They only remember victory.

Not the cost.

A young human child laughs somewhere behind me, his voice light and careless. His mother grips his hand tighter than necessary, her eyes scanning the street with quiet paranoia.

Humans teach fear to their young early now.

They teach them monsters exist.

They just don’t teach them monsters survived.

I pass beneath a government building where a massive digital screen flickers overhead. The warning appears every hour, repeated endlessly like prayer.

CREATURE ACTIVITY REPORTED

REPORT SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS

PROTECT HUMANITY

My lips press into a thin line.

Protect humanity.

From us.

From creatures who ruled this earth long before humans learned how to wield fire and metal and fear as weapons.

The irony would be amusing if it weren’t so tragic.

My fingers drift instinctively to the pendant resting against my chest beneath my clothing. The cold iron presses into my skin, its presence both suffocating and necessary.

Iron suppresses what I am.

Iron hides me.

Iron saves me.

It burns.

Not in the way it once did. Not with physical agony. Time taught my body to tolerate it.

But my magic never forgets.

My magic recoils constantly, like a beast chained inside my bones.

I tighten my grip around the pendant briefly.

Stay buried.

Stay hidden.

Stay alive.

The abandoned theater waits ahead, its crumbling structure forgotten by the modern world. Its windows are shattered. Its doors sealed. Its purpose erased.

Humans abandoned places like this when they rebuilt their cities after the war. Too damaged. Too expensive. Too unnecessary.

Creatures learned quickly that abandoned places offered something humans feared.

Privacy.

Darkness.

Freedom.

I turn into the alley beside it.

The moment I step out of direct light, something inside me relaxes.

Shadow welcomes me.

It always has.

Darkness remembers what humans erased.

I inhale slowly, allowing my senses to expand just slightly. The city smells like oil, smoke, concrete, and fear. Humans pretend they are safe, but fear lingers in everything they build.

Fear is the only reason they survived.

Fear is the only reason we didn’t.

I close my eyes briefly.

For just a moment.

For just a breath.

And that’s when everything changes.

My instincts scream.

Predator.

Not human.

Not hunter.

Wolf.

My eyes open instantly.

My body goes perfectly still.

Not frozen.

Prepared.

Ready.

Every muscle locks into quiet readiness, every sense sharpening instantly.

I don’t turn around.

Not yet.

Turning too quickly reveals awareness.

Awareness reveals weakness.

Survival requires patience.

Heavy footsteps echo behind me.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Confident.

He isn’t hiding.

He wants me to know he’s here.

He wants to see how I react.

That alone confirms what he is.

Alpha.

Only alphas move without fear.

I turn slowly.

And the moment I see him—

Everything inside me sharpens further.

He stands at the far end of the alley like he belongs to the dark more than the city itself. Tall. Broad shoulders. Strong in a way humans rarely are anymore. His body carries the unmistakable presence of something built for survival rather than comfort.

His dark hair falls slightly across his forehead, careless and uncontained.

But his eyes—

His eyes burn amber.

Wolf.

Not myth.

Not memory.

Not extinct.

Real.

Alive.

Watching me.

My stomach tightens.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Wolves and fae once existed alongside each other as equals.

Before humans learned how to destroy us both.

“You’re not from here,” he says.

His voice is calm.

Controlled.

Powerful.

He isn’t guessing.

He knows.

I say nothing.

Silence is safer.

Silence reveals nothing.

His gaze moves slowly over me, studying, analyzing, assessing.

Predator evaluating threat.

“I can smell it,” he adds.

My fingers twitch slightly at my side.

Impossible.

The pendant suppresses my scent.

Suppresses my magic.

Suppresses everything that makes me what I am.

Unless—

Unless he is stronger than I realize.

Unless wolves adapted faster than humans expected.

Unless wolves are still evolving.

He steps closer.

My magic reacts instantly.

It presses against the iron restraint like a storm against fragile walls.

Alert.

Aware.

Recognizing him.

I suppress it immediately.

He cannot know.

No one can know.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

“Humans patrol this district heavily,” he says.

Warning.

Or threat.

“Then you should leave,” I reply calmly.

His jaw tightens.

He isn’t used to being dismissed.

Definitely Alpha.

The air between us thickens.

Heavy with tension.

Heavy with instinct.

Heavy with history neither of us fully understands.

He studies me like he’s trying to solve something that refuses to be solved.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Surviving.

Hiding.

Enduring.

“Walking,” I answer instead.

Partial truth.

Always partial truth.

Human voices echo from the street beyond the alley.

Patrol.

Flashlights sweep past the alley entrance.

Searching.

Hunting.

Always hunting.

His attention flickers briefly toward the sound, then returns to me.

Decision forming.

“Come with me,” he says.

Command.

Not invitation.

My body tenses instantly.

Absolutely not.

“I don’t go anywhere with wolves,” I reply.

The words leave before I can stop them.

His eyes sharpen instantly.

He heard that.

Understood it.

“You know what I am,” he says quietly.

Statement.

Not question.

“Everyone knows what you are,” I answer.

Survivor.

Monster.

Target.

He steps closer.

Testing.

Waiting to see if I retreat.

I don’t.

I refuse.

Weakness gets creatures killed.

Human footsteps approach.

Closer now.

Flashlights sweep across the alley entrance.

Silver will follow if they see us.

Silver always follows.

He shifts slightly, positioning himself between me and the alley entrance.

Protective.

Or controlling.

I can’t tell which.

“You won’t survive here alone,” he says quietly.

Arrogant.

Incorrect.

“I survived before you,” I reply.

His gaze locks onto mine.

“And yet you’re still here.”

Something about the way he says it unsettles me.

Not threat.

Understanding.

Recognition.

Like he knows survival comes with a cost.

Like he’s paid it too.

I consider disappearing.

Shadow would welcome me.

Shadow would hide me.

He wouldn’t stop me.

Probably.

But something holds me still.

Not trust.

Never trust.

Curiosity.

And curiosity has always been dangerous.

Because as his eyes remain locked on mine—

My magic reacts to him again.

Not with fear.

Not with resistance.

But with recognition.

And that should be impossible.

Because wolves were never meant to recognize creatures like me.

And yet—

Somehow—

He does.