PROLOUGE

The first thing I learned about silence is that it is never truly empty.

It breathes. It stretches. It presses against the walls until it feels like a living thing, crawling under your skin, whispering all the words you’re too afraid to speak. Silence was my constant companion inside the Veyra estate… an old house perched on a cliffside that smelled of damp stone and iron, as if the sea winds carried the ghosts of those who once lived and died here.

I had grown used to it.

Silence when my father came home past midnight, his boots leaving mud across the floor, his coat dripping rain and blood, his jaw set in a line sharp enough to cut. Silence when he cleaned his weapons in the kitchen, the metallic scrape of silver against stone louder than any scream. Silence when he locked himself in his study and I was left wandering hallways that always seemed too big, too hollow, too hungry.

My father never raised his voice at me. He didn’t have to. The weight of his presence was enough, a shadow that swallowed light. People called him the Wolf Slayer. Some revered him. Some feared him. I, his only daughter, called him Father but never felt like his child.

At night, I would sit by my window, staring at the forest that stretched beyond the cliff’s edge. The moon would hang low, silver and swollen, painting the leaves with its glow. Sometimes, I thought I saw eyes staring back from between the trees, amber, feral, unblinking. But when I blinked, they were gone, leaving only the echo of my imagination.

Fairy tales. That’s what I told myself. Wolves that walk like men, men that bare fangs under the moon. Monsters. Beasts. They existed only in the pages of the novels I secretly read under my flashlight, while my father’s voice in my head insisted they were nothing more than prey to be hunted.

But fairy tales are dangerous things. They carry truths in their teeth.

I came to the mountain because I needed quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around the walls of my father’s estate, heavy and suffocating, but the kind that lived in the wild, where no one knew my name, where no one remembered the blood that clung to my family.

Here, the silence was alive. The forest hummed with insects, the wind carried the sharp scent of pine, and the distant rush of a waterfall whispered like a secret you were never meant to hear.

I pitched my tent at the edge of a clearing where the grass bent under the weight of the evening air. The sun had slipped behind the ridge, bleeding its last gold into the horizon, and the mountain was already folding into shadow. I should have been afraid, but fear was not new to me. It lived with me, slept beside me, and sometimes even walked in my reflection.

I opened the book I had carried all the way up here… a novel about wolves. Not the kind my father swore were nothing but beasts to be hunted, but the kind that lived in fairy tales and half-remembered myths. Wolves that shifted into men, men who wore hunger in their eyes and shadows in their bones.

I traced the words with my fingers, the firelight flickering across the page. How ridiculous, I thought, to romanticize monsters. To imagine them as more than killers. And yet… something in me wanted to believe.

A sip from the flask of whiskey beside me warmed my chest. I hated the taste, sharp and bitter, but it dulled the thoughts that clawed at me when the world was too quiet. It was my father’s drink, not mine, but tonight I wanted to borrow his way of forgetting.

The night deepened. Stars spilled across the sky in silver dust, and the mountain stretched around me like a sleeping beast. I closed my book, resting it on my lap, and leaned back against the log I had dragged near the fire.

That was when I saw her.

A figure, walking past the edge of my campfire’s glow. At first I thought the whiskey was playing tricks on me, but then she stepped closer, and the firelight caught her face.

An old woman. Skin weathered like cracked parchment, hair white as ash, eyes glowing faintly green as if the mountain itself had carved them from jade.

My heart lurched. How could she be here? I had hiked for hours and seen no one, no cabins, no houses, nothing but endless forest.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching the book to my chest like a shield. “Wait! Who are you? How did you get up here?”

The woman didn’t answer. She walked with a strange grace, her feet not quite disturbing the earth, her gaze steady on me as though she had been searching. In her hand, something glimmered.

A bracelet. Jade, smooth and dark, etched with markings I couldn’t read.

Before I could move, she reached for me. Her fingers, cold as river stone, closed around my wrist and slid the bracelet onto it with startling ease.

“Wait, no!” I stammered, trying to pull back. “I—I don’t have money. I can’t buy this!” My voice cracked with panic. The last thing I expected in the middle of a mountain was some strange barter with an old woman who seemed to appear out of thin air.

But she only smiled, the kind of smile that held no mirth, only mystery.

“It is not for sale,” she said softly. Her voice was rough, ancient, as though it had traveled centuries to reach me.

I stared down at the jade circling my wrist. It was cold, impossibly cold, yet it pulsed faintly against my skin like a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.

“Then what is it?” I asked, my voice trembling.

The woman’s gaze deepened, and for the briefest moment I swore I saw shadows moving in her eyes, wolves running beneath a full moon, silver and wild.

“A key,” she whispered.

And before I could ask what she meant, she was gone.

One blink, she stood before me. The next, the night swallowed her whole, leaving only the whisper of her words hanging heavy in the air.

I looked down at the bracelet again, my breath uneven.

A key to what?

The forest stretched endlessly around me, stars watching from above, and the fire crackled as though mocking my confusion. Somewhere in the distance, a howl rose, low, mournful, carrying across the mountain like a warning.

I gripped my wrist tighter, the jade biting into my skin, and realized I was no longer alone in this silence.

The bracelet was still there, biting cool against my skin, no matter how many times I tugged at it. I tried twisting it, pulling until my wrist burned red, but it wouldn’t come off. It clung to me like a shackle, like it knew it belonged.

A shiver ran down my spine. I shook my head hard, muttering under my breath, It’s the alcohol. Just the alcohol. Nothing is real. You’ve had too much.

My flask was empty now, the taste still clinging bitterly to my mouth, and maybe that was enough explanation for everything, the old woman, the jade, the shadows whispering my name. Maybe it was just another dream spun from whiskey and exhaustion.

My laugh came out shaky, brittle. I pressed my hands to my face and let the mountain’s cold air sting my cheeks. The fire was dying down to embers, the book forgotten at my feet, and all I wanted was the safety of my tent. To curl up inside, zip it closed, and convince myself that tomorrow this would all make sense.

I stood, brushing dirt off my jeans, and turned toward the tent. My hand had just gripped the zipper when the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

A sound. A weight.

The distinct crunch of a heavy footstep on the earth behind me.

My pulse stuttered. Slowly, my eyes caught the faint outline stretching across the fabric of my tent, an enormous shadow, broad-shouldered, towering. Male.

Every muscle in me locked. The mountains were supposed to be empty. I hadn’t seen a soul in miles.

Swallowing hard, I turned.

And my breath stopped.

He stood at the edge of my firelight, close enough that the flames gilded the edges of his form. He was shirtless, his chest bare and carved with strength, skin kissed bronze by the sun. Dark pants hung low on his hips, and every line of him radiated danger and something primal.

But it wasn’t his body that froze me… it was his face.

He was beautiful, devastatingly so, yet there was nothing soft about it. His jaw was sharp, his mouth set in a scowl that promised violence, and his eyes, God, his eyes… glowed faintly silver, catching the firelight in a way no human eyes should.

And then there was his body, blurring at the edges, as though smoke curled from his skin. I blinked hard, certain I was hallucinating, but when I opened my eyes, the vision sharpened. He was real. Too real.

I thought of the book I had been reading just hours ago, of words describing men who were not men, monsters who wore beauty like a disguise.

And for a wild, reckless moment, I thought… I’ve conjured him.

A laugh bubbled out of me, breathless, unsteady. My heart should have been hammering with fear, but instead, something dizzying swept through me, like starlight had flooded my veins.

Excitement.

My feet moved before my brain caught up. I was jumping, like a child too eager for a dream to stay still. “Oh my God!” The words tumbled out, half-crazed. “You’re real. You’re actually—”

And then I threw myself at him.

Arms circling his neck, cheek brushing the heat of his bare shoulder, I clung to him as if I’d been waiting for this moment my entire life. Without thinking, without breathing. I tilted my face up and pressed my lips to his.

The jade on my wrist seared with sudden heat, burning against my skin as the world tilted, the fire flaring brighter as though it recognized something that I didn’t.

But all I knew in that single, impossible moment was this… I had kissed a monster straight out of my novels, and instead of terror, I felt alive.

The jade burned against my skin, light flaring so bright it made me blink and squint. My breath came in ragged gasps, heart hammering like it wanted to leap straight out of my chest.

And then, unexpectedly I laughed. A wild, broken sound, half hysteria, half disbelief. My lips tingled from the kiss, my body trembling from his looming presence, and yet all I could think was, God, I really am insane. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was both.

I stumbled back, clutching my wrist as the bracelet pulsed against my skin. My laughter bubbled, shaky and absurd. The silver-eyed stranger froze, his face a perfect canvas of shock, like he had no idea how the hell he got here.

Then it happened.

His body shifted, smoke curling around him, bones cracking and stretching with sounds that made my stomach flip. Skin rippled, muscles elongated, and in the space of a heartbeat, the man dissolved. In his place rose a massive wolf, black fur like liquid shadows, silver eyes glowing with a light that should not exist, fangs flashing in the moonlight.

I blinked. And then blinked again.

The alcohol that had made me fearless evaporated instantly. My pulse slammed in my ears. This was real. This was happening.

The beast crouched, muscles coiled, claws scraping the dirt. His growl rolled from deep in his chest, low, deadly, and utterly terrifying.

“No, no, no…” I shook my head, panic flooding me. “This can’t be happening—”

A step. Another step. His claws dug into the earth, the ground trembling beneath him. My brain screamed RUN, but my legs refused. My mouth opened before my mind could catch up.

“Bad dog! Go away!” I yelled, pointing at him like a lunatic.

The world froze.

Then the jade flared again, brighter than the moon itself. Green light leapt from my wrist, streaming toward his chest. His silver eyes widened, pupils flaring, and I swear I could see his heart glow from inside him… like the universe itself had just shoved him.

And then… it happened.

He yelped. Or maybe it was a growl? More like a strangled awoo that made me choke on laughter. The glow around his chest pulsed violently, and for a second I thought he might vaporize. But instead, he flew. Literally. He shot backward as if someone had kicked him in the chest. His massive paws flailed, claws scraping the dirt and air, before he tumbled off the edge of the cliff with a surprised, indignantly horrified awoo!

I stood there, blinking. My laughter shook my body, hysterical and absurd but for a brief moment, darkness crept over my eye.

I woke to a pounding ache behind my eyes, the kind of pain that made me want to curl up and disappear. My body felt foreign, heavy, bruised, still trembling from the adrenaline and alcohol that had overpowered me hours ago. For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming, still lost in a drunken haze where the world made no sense.

Then I opened my eyes.

And froze.

I wasn’t in my tent. Not even close. The room was dim, cold, walls smooth and unfamiliar. Shadows stretched across the floor, sharp and accusing, like they knew exactly what I had done to deserve this. Did someone…try to? Thank God! My clothes are still on!

My eyes fell straight ahead.I froze for a moment. And in the middle of it all… he was there.

Not human. Not even close. A massive, black-furred werewolf, muscles coiled like steel, silver eyes sharp and unblinking, and teeth glinting wetly in the faint light. Drool dripped from his fangs, glistening as it fell toward the floor. He wasn’t just big. He was enormous. Terrifying. Pure, instinctive predation wrapped in fur and power.

My stomach churned. My chest felt hollow. My breath caught and caught again. I tried to move, to scramble backward, but my limbs refused to obey. My mind screamed, but words failed me. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I’m dead. I’m so very, very dead.

He shifted, crouching low, every muscle ready to spring, claws scraping against the floor with a sound that made my teeth clench. My heart hammered like a war drum, my palms slick with sweat. Every instinct I had screamed at me to flee, but I was frozen, trapped by fear, by awe, by the impossible reality of what stood before me.

I could smell him, the wild, raw, earthy scent of fur, of power, of hunger. It made bile rise in my throat. I swallowed, trying to stay calm, trying to breathe, but every inhale felt like fire.

“Please… don’t eat me,” I whispered, voice breaking, barely audible. “I-I’m not food. I’m… fragile. Very fragile. I’m not healthy to eat! I have galstones! Please!”

The werewolf didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His silver eyes locked onto mine with a sharp intensity that stole my breath and left me trembling. I felt small. Pathetic. Entirely exposed.

I curled my legs under me, hands pressed to the bed, praying, wishing, bargaining with every god I could name. Just don’t kill me. Please. Just don’t kill me. I’ve read enough novels to know this is how it ends for the stupid human.

And then, faintly, I felt the jade bracelet on my wrist. Warm. Alive. Humming softly against my skin like it knew the danger, like it knew I was shaking and terrified and about to cry. My pulse synced with its faint glow, and for a tiny, terrifying second, I almost thought it might save me.

Tears pricked my eyes, blurring the silver glare of his gaze. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to curl into myself and vanish. My whole body shook, a trembling mess of fear and disbelief. I couldn’t believe this was real. I couldn’t believe I was here, utterly powerless in front of a creature that should not exist.

And yet, despite the terror, despite every instinct screaming he will kill you, a tiny, ridiculous part of me, the insane part fueled by exhaustion and adrenaline, trembled into a laugh. A high, broken sound, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl under the floor and disappear.

Instead, I whispered, my voice raw, fragile: “Oh God… if this is a nightmare, please wake me up.”