CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

Before it happened, before the impossible became my reality, I should probably warn you… I’m not exactly the heroine type. I’m messy… I spill whiskey on my shirts, I trip over my own feet, and I have a habit of talking to myself when no one is around. You might think that’s cute, or maybe pathetic. Honestly… it’s a little of both.

It all started when my mother died. I was fifteen… and she was ripped away from me by something people called a beast in the forest. Which sounds way too fairytale-ish when you’re actually staring at its teeth. I’m not exaggerating… the kind of teeth that could chew through your nightmares and leave you wondering why your bedtime story lied to you.

Our lovely, cheerful home instantly turned into a house of horrors, complete with shadows that whispered, you’re on your own, kid.

My father… well, he didn’t exactly adapt gracefully. He drank like a fish who discovered alcohol yesterday, prowled the forest like a man auditioning for a horror movie, and generally forgot that I was still alive. Not that I minded… much. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wanted him to look at me and remember that I existed, that I was still his daughter… not just some ghost haunting the hallways, quietly holding my bruised knees while he cleaned blood off his weapons like it was laundry.

And now… eight years later… I’m twenty-three. Still alive, still somehow functioning, mostly surviving. University is out of reach, my dreams are dusty old books gathering cobwebs in the corners of my mind. I work a lot just to make ends meet. My father? A gorgeous disaster of a man… still alive, still terrible, and still technically my dad.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking about what I really needed from him… not that it matters. The comfort of a hand, a hug, a word of reassurance that maybe life didn’t suck completely. But I got… whiskey, weapons, silence, a lot of silence… and that’s it.

Yet… he is my father. Flawed, infuriating, sometimes terrifying, but still mine. I can’t rewrite that, and I can’t unlove the idea of him… even if he deserves it.

So… here I am. Twenty-three, alive, fragile, sarcastic… human. A girl with too many questions, too many fears, and way too many scars stitched into her soul. Yet… stubbornly, ridiculously, I keep walking forward. Step by step, heart hammering, mind screaming, hoping, praying for something, anything, to remind me that I’m still more than pain.

“Alaric, chill down,” a calm, commanding voice cut through the chaos, and I blinked hard, my brain struggling to process the scene in front of me.

A man had appeared, tall, lean, impossibly composed even with the utter insanity happening around him. And I just… stared. Because, really… did no one in this pack own clothes? Not a single shirt, not a hint of modesty, and here I was, squinting at what could easily qualify as the Mount Olympus of male bodies. My cheeks burned hotter than the fire I had left smoldering outside my tent. And why, for the love of all sanity, was there a gigantic wolf too? A wolf that looked like it had been photoshopped from a nightmare and then given a silver-eye glow for good measure.

“Help! Help me, please!” I squealed, raising my hands in surrender as if that would somehow make the shirtless, muscular men and the terrifying beast vanish into smoke. My voice quivered like I was auditioning for the lead in some horror-comedy nobody asked for.

The newcomer, green-eyed, disturbingly calm, and clearly immune to the chaos, took a step forward. “Relax, he’s fine, he just needs…” He gestured vaguely at Alaric, who was still huffing and glaring like a furious storm incarnate.

And then… it happened. The impossible, the kind of thing that could make an adult human lose all sense of reality in one heartbeat. His massive, furred body convulsed. Smoke seemed to rise off his skin, muscles rippled and shrank like molten metal being poured into a mold, and in a heartbeat that felt like hours, the monstrous wolf dissolved into something horrifyingly, incomparably human.

My brain froze. My stomach did a flip-flop that would have made Olympic divers jealous. My eyes widened, my hands froze halfway to my mouth, and my heart, a traitor that it clearly was, decided to launch into a sprint of terror and excitement all at once.

And it hit me!

Holy wolf… it’s him. It’s really him. I’m not dreaming. I’m not hallucinating from the alcohol. He’s real. My knees might give out any second. I might die. I might simultaneously swoon and scream. I might… faint.

“W-Wow…” I managed, my voice more like a squeak, more like a mouse caught in the headlights of death and maybe desire. I couldn’t even form coherent words. There he stood, massive, impossible, terrifying, and somehow achingly familiar. It’s him, alcohol-fueled haze was now human, no fur, no glowing eyes, but still…the face. The same jaw, the same piercing silver gaze, the same… ugh… everything.

And then I noticed his human body was still ridiculously imposing. No shorts, no shirt, just skin that seemed to mock the very idea of modesty. My mind went blank. My cheeks were on fire. I think I may have even contemplated hiding behind a nearby tree, but that was not an option in a cramped cabin.

And, yeah. He’s blessed.

Long…

Jumbo…

Hotdog…

Before I could turn to flee, or faint, another figure, the green-eyed man, stepped forward. He held himself with a calm authority, and despite the utter chaos, there was a sense of control about him that made my knees wobble in an entirely different way.

“I’m Damon,” he said, voice smooth and steady, almost like honey wrapped around steel. “And this,” he gestured at Alaric, who was now glaring at me like I personally owed him my life, “is Alaric, your soon-to-be groom.”

My brain short-circuited. Groom? Did he just say… groom? My lips parted, my hands flailed slightly, and my heart threatened to jump out of my chest. “Groom? Wait… w-what? My groom? No! No, we’re not! Duh!”

Alaric blinked at me, silver eyes glinting like liquid moonlight, and I swear I heard him growl in human words that were far too low and dangerous for any sane woman to hear.

“He is,” Damon said, and there it was again, that calm, unshakable confidence that made the situation even more absurd.

Yeah! He is! He is going to eat me!

I looked back at Alaric, my heart threatening mutiny, and then at Damon, whose expression screamed patience that I was certain I did not deserve. I opened my mouth to argue, to protest, to plead for sanity, but nothing coherent came out. Only a squeak. Only a gasp. Only… “I… I’m human! I… I—”

Damon gave me a small, dry smile, like he had seen this reaction a hundred times and still found it amusing. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, “eventually.”

I blinked. Blinked again. Looked at Alaric. Looked at Damon. Looked back at Alaric. My brain refused to process. My stomach threatened to dissolve into jelly. And somewhere deep in my chest, a ridiculous, insane, fluttering part of me wanted to laugh, or scream, or maybe both at the same time.

I was surrounded by two impossibly beautiful, terrifying men. One was my literal nightmare and accidental fantasy wrapped into a single silver-eyed package. The other was supposed to be the calm, the sane, the one I could maybe trust.

And somewhere deep down, just beneath the layer of terror and awe, I realized… I had no idea what I had signed up for. Yet… the jade bracelet pulsed against my wrist, warm and mocking, as if reminding me that whatever was coming next, there was no turning back.

I didn’t think I could move, but my brain finally screamed at my legs to cooperate. Without thinking, I bolted, my feet pounding against the floor, my hands clutching my wrist like the jade bracelet might somehow save me… or at least stop me from dying in utter embarrassment.

I threw open the cabin door and ran outside… and froze.

Oh God… no. No, no, no…

The clearing was… full. Full of men. Shirtless men.

 Some wore only pants, some had those tiny, tight sandos that left nothing to the imagination. Muscles glinting, chests heaving, silver-eyed glances flashing as though they had been waiting for me all their lives. And the wolf from before, still massive, perched at the edge, silver eyes glimmering with amusement or hunger...I couldn’t tell which.

My knees went weak. My hands flew to cover my face, but it was too late. My stomach twisted, my cheeks burned hotter than the midsummer sun, and my brain screamed a single coherent thought… I am going to die but still can comments on how they style!

“W-What… what is this?” I stammered, voice quivering like I had just seen a parade of literal Adonises, and I wasn’t invited. “Why… why are they… are they all… shirtless?”

The green-eyed man, Damon, appeared calmly behind me, shaking his head like I was the problem, as if my squeaky, panicked, human existence were the real disaster. “Relax,” he said. “They are… normal for us. Well, mostly. You’ll get used to it.”

I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a strangled, high-pitched squeak. My mind flashed back to every single wolf novel I had read under the covers, every fantasy scene I had laughed at thinking it was ridiculous, and now I was living it… and it was terrifying, overwhelming, and… somehow hilarious in its absurdity.

And it’s freaking making me crazy!

I backed away… then tripped over nothing, stumbled into a bush, got scratched, and somehow ended up face-first in the dirt, staring up at the stars while every bare-chested, ridiculously built man in the clearing stopped to watch me.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. And then I realized… I probably looked ridiculous. Not human ridiculous, but the kind of ridiculous that would go viral if anyone had a camera.

Damon sighed, face-palming like the world had officially gone insane. “Selene… please stop moving so much. You’re making it worse for yourself.”

I spun around, ready to scream, ready to curse, ready to apologize to literally anyone and everyone, but all I could manage was a wheezy laugh that sounded more like a dying goose. My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline surged, and yet… somewhere deep inside, a tiny, absurd, reckless part of me found it exhilarating.

I was terrified. I was humiliated. I was surrounded by dozens of impossibly attractive, shirtless men, and yet… somehow, I couldn’t run.

I was scared… they’re wolves! They have four feets! That’s not equal!

My feet betrayed me. One moment I was running, heart hammering in my chest like a furious drum, lungs burning with the exhilaration of actual survival, and the next, the world tipped sideways in a very personal, very dramatic way.

In the love of God! Why I’m always… ugh! Never mind!

I went down hard. Arms flailing, knees folding like poorly made origami, and face-first, of course.

Pain flared instantly, sharp and bright, a reminder that gravity has no mercy. Dignity, I realized, is just a rumor humans tell themselves. My hands scraped against the rough earth, stones biting my palms like tiny, vindictive dogs. I tried to push myself up, to regain some semblance of poise, but my body had its own sense of humor. Limbs refused cooperation, wobbling like gelatin left out in the sun. I thought, with bitter amusement, that my life had become a poorly written slapstick scene.

The forest around me shifted and wobbled, or maybe it was me...I could not tell. Sun is bright, and the leaves rustled with secrets I could not interpret. Somewhere in the distance, a growl rumbled low, vibrating through the ground into my bones, making me wish I had stayed home, in bed, pretending I had responsibilities that mattered.

My pulse thundered, and my chest heaved as panic clawed at me, insisting that every possible disaster was converging on this precise moment, because why not, right?

I tried to catch my breath. My voice came out small and brittle, wobbling on the edges of hysteria. “This is a nightmare, right?” I let out a shaky laugh, somewhere between hysteria and awe at how thoroughly my life could derail in mere seconds.

My head swam. The ground tilted. My vision fragmented into shadows and light, each blink a painful, dizzying roll.

Panic fought with exhaustion, my limbs tangled in their own rebellion, and I realized I might actually be passing out.

 Just a little nap, I told myself... a restorative collapse for the overworked, slightly reckless human brain. Nothing dramatic, nothing fatal. Just… fainting in style.

Somewhere in that fog, a growl rolled toward me, low and throaty, vibrating through the air, through the soil, and straight into the pit of my stomach. My heart skipped beats, then accelerated in a wild panic, and somewhere behind it all, I noticed something utterly insane. The smell. Fur, wet and earthy, musk thick and raw, something primal that made my stomach turn and my spine quiver. My brain tried to file it under normal explanations...maybe a bear, maybe a wolf, maybe a hallucination induced by alcohol and poor life decisions...but it refused to cooperate.

I twisted my head, trying to understand, trying to locate the source of the sound, but the world spun and swayed like it had a personal vendetta. Every instinct screamed run, hide, scream, flail,do literally anything to not be eaten, flattened, or humiliated further. And yet, my body would not obey. Muscles cramped, joints protested, and I surrendered to the ridiculousness of it all.

I clutched at the dirt, at roots, at the earth itself, whispering, “I-I concede. I have no dignity left to lose. You may have it all.” My laughter came unbidden, brittle, shaky, hysterical. It echoed in the morning, mingling with the growl, as if my panic and the forest were having a bizarre, private conversation.

I gave in fully, surrendering to the fall, to the world, to whatever supernatural chaos had just decided I was its entertainment for the day. And as consciousness faded, a thought flitted through the very edges of my mind, fragile, absurd.

I hope I wake up with all my clothes still on.

And then, darkness swallowed me completely.