All Chapters of Feral Hearts Book 1: Awakening the Feral: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

XAVIER The forest shouldn't have felt alive. Not like that. Not at midnight. But it did. The leaves didn't just rustle — they whispered. Branches creaked overhead like ribs stretching around a restless heart. The wind slid between the trees carrying more than cold; it carried warning. Every shadow bent wrong. Every snap beneath my worn sneakers sounded too loud, too close. I'd been running long enough that my lungs burned raw. Still, I didn't slow. I couldn't. Something in me urged me forward and I couldn't shake it off... or I didn't try. Then I smelled him. Not fear. Not blood. Not the metallic bite of danger. Something hotter. Something feral. Aaron. His name didn't enter my mind gently — it branded itself there. My pulse stumbled. My skin tightened as if it recognized him before I did. Instinct surged hard and violent: run. Hide. Bury yourself deep enough that even he couldn't find you. But my body wouldn't obey. He stepped from the dark like he belonged to it. Just

Warmth was the first thing I noticed. Not numbness. Not pain. Not cold, damp earth or matted leaves. Warmth. It wrapped around me like heavy wool, pressing against my skin, seeping into every one of my bones. My body felt weightless and impossibly heavy at the same time. Then the pain returned. Duller now. Blunted. But entirely still there. The more my mind cleared the fog, the more I realized just how bad a shape my body was in. Deep, dark bruises littered my pale, scarred, freckled skin from my shoulders to my ankles. Scratches and a couple of gashes sprinkled my feet, as I had lost my shoes at some point during my escape. My head throbbed dully in the back, probably from hitting it on the ground when I fell. I inhaled sharply—and instead of wet earth and blood, I smelled herbs. Crushed leaves. Something bitter and medicinal layered over wood smoke. I wasn't in the forest anymore. And looking around, it was clear this wasn't Kansas either. Sorry, Toto. My eyes snapped open.

The clearing emptied slowly. Wolves drifted back toward training circles and patrol routes, the rhythm of the territory resuming as if nothing beneath it trembled. I didn't realize how long I had been standing there watching the clearing, observing true pack life, until the ache in my ribs sharpened again. "You look like you're about to collapse." Fiorella's voice came from behind me—warm, steady, mildly concerned. I didn't turn immediately. "I'm fine." "You're not," she replied calmly. "And you're pretty terrible at pretending that you are." There was no accusation in it. Just observation. I finally glanced over my shoulder. She was dressed more simply that day—dark leggings, a loose moss green sweater with sleeves pushed to her elbows. Her braid had been redone too; it was messier this time, practical, more real. "I was told to return to the cottage," I said. "Yes," she answered. "And it would seem you ignored that." "Is that punishable here?" A wave of fear passed through

The training grounds were alive by the time we stepped into them. Wolves sparred in controlled pairs, bodies colliding with calculated force. Commands snapped through the air. Dust kicked up beneath boots. Conversations were quiet as we crossed the clearing. Not fully, but enough. They noticed him. And they noticed me. Aaron stopped in the center of the circle. "Light movement," he said. "No impact." "I can handle more than that." His gaze hardened. "You will do as instructed." A murmur rippled faintly through the wolves nearby. Dominance display. Public. Intentional. I stepped into the ring opposite him. "Show me what you can do, pup," Aaron smirked. "I'm not a pup." I huffed. "Then prove it." He retorted. The challenge landed cleanly. I moved first. Fast. Testing. He shifted easily, intercepting without effort. His forearm blocked my strike, grip closing briefly around my wrist. Heat shot up my arm as his thumb pressed against my pulse point without meaning to. My

I was standing in the forest. But it wasn't our forest. The trees were taller, thicker. Their branches stretched overhead like cathedral arches, and silver light spilled through them as if the moon had multiplied into a thousand fractured pieces. The air smelled different. Stronger. Warmer. I inhaled. Pine. Spices. Something darker beneath it. My chest tightened. I knew that scent. I turned slowly. He was standing across the clearing. Aaron. But not quite... His eyes glowed faintly—not the sharp dominance they usually carried, but something deeper. Softer. Older. His wolf was closer to the surface here. I could see it in the way he held himself—fluid, predatory, certain. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The air hummed between us. I took a step forward. The ground felt alive beneath my bare feet. Soft moss gave way to warm earth. My skin felt too sensitive—like everything was heightened. Every breath, every shift of wind. He stepped toward me, too. Slow. Measure