Prologue
GRAYSON
I knelt, arms bound, held tightly by the guards of Alpha, the ground beneath me cold and hard like a verdict. Around me, the entire pack had gathered—faces lit by fire, whispers and sharper sighs; my father stood with a stony expression, my mother leaned forward, tears streaming down her cheeks. I scanned the crowd and stopped on her—the one through whom all of this had happened. She stood beside Alpha, her face indifferent, eyes full of disgust, and her silence weighed more than any accusation.
Then Alpha spoke.
“I, Cliff Cassidy, Alpha of the Silver Creek pack, strip you, Grayson Reeves, of your right to be part of it and brand you an outcast. You will join no pack, bond with no wolf, sire no child. By this silver, I mark you as a pariah.”
The hot metal touched my skin. Pain spread like fire, like an animal tearing through flesh. In my mind, a howl surged—raw, broken, my wolf Ash, as if the very core of my being screamed in agony. The smell of burning flesh invaded my nostrils; the taste of iron and ash replaced everything else. For a moment, the world shrank to that one piece of scorching silver and Cliff’s face above me.
“I could have killed you,” Alpha added with contempt, “but that would have been too merciful. The guards will escort you to the border.”
Those who had been my friends yesterday pushed me forward. With each step toward exile, I felt something inside me shrink—not just my future, but the last remnants of hope that had barely held me together. The crowd parted like a sea, and in my eyes remained only one thing—the image of her who had rejected me, and the scar that from this moment on would remind everyone that I was an outcast.
As I walked—or rather, was pushed by Alpha’s guards—my mother, all in tears, ran up and pressed into my arms a large bundle wrapped in a blanket. Instinctively, I grasped it, pressing it to my chest. I wanted to speak, but my mother was already behind me. I tried to thank her in my mind, but I couldn’t: dead silence ruled my head. Where once I had heard the pack’s thoughts, there was nothing. I was cut off. Even my wolf fell silent.
I jolted awake, a scream stuck in my throat. My heart pounded, my body trembled as if I still felt the heat of the silver on my skin. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was—only smoke, fire, Alpha’s voice. Then the darkness of the room settled into familiar shapes.
The dream again.
That night again.
Sweat ran down my neck, the scar pulsing as if dreaming with me.
I touched it with my fingertips—the raised, smooth, almost slippery crescent. Broken crescent: a symbol of rejection by the pack and the entire wolf community. It sat exactly where I should have worn my mate’s mark. The partner destined for me. The one who had rejected me for being only a warrior. The one who chose Alpha’s son and denied fate.
I sighed and fell back onto the bed, the boards creaking warningly. I muttered something unintelligible, turned onto my side, and pulled the blanket up to my chin.
In my thoughts, I whispered a short prayer to Selene, asking for a peaceful sleep, free from past nightmares. I doubted the Goddess could hear me.
No one heard me. And I heard no one. Not even Ash. My wolf had gone silent that day—deep, unnatural, like a dream without end. Sometimes I wondered if Ash still existed at all, but I knew it did—my wounds healed quickly, and I was still stronger than any ordinary human.
For eight years, I had lived alone in an old trapper’s cabin, which I had stumbled upon while wandering aimlessly. I found it—and stayed. Back then, I hoped I would die there, but I did not. Even death despised me.
I opened my eyes again to daylight outside and, for a moment, thanked the Goddess that I had managed to sleep without nightmares. The sounds of the forest filled the air, bringing peace. I got up, stretched, and walked toward the river, listening carefully for any predators nearby. I had no desire to fight. Not at all. I was no longer a warrior. I was nothing.
When I reached the water, I shed my clothes and slipped into the slowly flowing river. Immersed completely, the water embraced me with icy grip. I surfaced, snorted, and the cold pricked my skin like needles. I climbed out, shook off the water, and wrung my long hair dry. I sat in the sun for a moment, letting my body dry before dressing and heading back into the forest.
I followed paths I had worn myself. I checked traps; from one, I pulled a plump hare. Holding it by the ears, I climbed the hill. It was my daily ritual—repeated without change for years, as if the earth itself demanded this discipline.
Standing atop the hill, I looked into the distance, following the narrow, winding corridor among the treetops—an old, nearly forgotten road, a shortcut to the interstate, with a crumbling, hole-riddled surface.
Then I looked further, at the faint outline of a town in the distance. Roofs no larger than the fingernail of a little finger, sunlight reflecting off a large clock on the town hall. I saw nothing more, yet even that little bit hurt. There was my past, my life, my family and friends. A world that had rejected me.
I returned to the cabin, pausing at the edge of the clearing with the hare in hand. I laid the prey on a flat stone and deftly drew a sharp knife from my belt. The hare’s skin tightened under my fingers; I cut the meat precisely, then carefully tanned the fur and hung it to dry—every little scrap of skin would be useful come winter.
The air was crisp, the scent of damp earth mingling with metallic blood as I butchered and portioned the meat. The knife sliced through tendons and joints; my hands worked with years of practiced skill, requiring no concentration.
Only when the meat was in the pot over the fire did I attend to the most important task. The bed frame was ready; now I chose boards for the mattress. Each I slid, adjusted, trimmed, and hammered into place using old nails. The wood creaked, dust settled on my face and hair, some particles falling into my eyes.
I tapped a board with the hammer, pressing it perfectly into the frame. After a pause, I set down the hammer and nail: this board did not need to be perfectly fastened; it would not budge. I glanced at the pot—the hare meat simmered, releasing steam that made my stomach tighten with hunger. I added herbs and a pinch of salt, saving what little remained, and stepped outside.
I walked to the patch of wild oats I had sown in spring in the sunniest part of the clearing. I ran my hand over the stalks, checking if they were healthy, fully ripe. Standing there among the simple rows of plants, I realized that in eight years of solitary life, I had transformed from a warrior into a farmer—or rather, a settler. Time seemed to roll back centuries—nothing resembled the old days.
I was no longer a boy with a phone, scrolling TikTok reels, trying to learn a viral dance to impress girls on a Friday night. I had long stopped missing TV, gaming, clubs, or flirting. I wasn’t sure I could ever go back. Here, with a stalk of wild oats between my fingers and the rhythm of my own day, life was raw and simple, though devoid of meaning.
I simply tried to survive—and that was my only goal. I did not know why, but I endured. Like a tree that no one sees, yet still puts out leaves. But one day its sap will dry, and it will fall dead. I too, like a tree, will one day fall and find no strength to rise. And maybe, years later, someone will stumble upon my remains, if wild animals haven’t scattered them first.
LIZZIE
The car sped down the empty road that wound through the forest like a river of gray ash. Music flowed from the speakers while sunlight pierced the branches, flashing on the hood and windshield.
I held the wheel with one hand and scrolled through the map on my phone with the other.
“Where the hell am I?” I muttered, tapping the center-on-me icon. A thread of road appeared, with a bright dot pulsing in the middle.
I gripped the wheel tighter and reached for the vape on the passenger seat. I took a long drag, exhaling two white streams that vanished instantly into the pine-scented wind.
About twenty miles back, guided by the cheerful male GPS voice, I had turned onto a road that was supposed to lead me to the interstate. It was supposed to—but didn’t. Around me, only forests: dense, wild, full of smells that drove Ingrid, my wolf, insane. She wanted to break free, to chase, to run until her paws gave out. But I held her back. There’d be time for hunting once we got where we were going.
If we ever did. Hopefully, I wasn’t lost somewhere in Maine, running late while all the unmatched wolves had already dispersed. Alone. Again.
Or maybe, just maybe, fate would finally ease up this year, and I’d find him. Maybe he, too, had been waiting all these years, and for the first time, he’d decided to come to the gathering of the lone wolves.
“I know, I know. I could’ve flown and we’d already be there,” I sighed, talking to my other self.
I’d wanted to prove something—to be independent, to face the challenge. Driving across three states to northern Maine was supposed to show I could do it. Maybe I even believed that if I endured the hardship, the Goddess would reward me, finally sending me the one she’d made for me.
Something pulled me out of my daydream. I squinted and saw what Ingrid had sensed earlier—a sign in the distance, barely visible through the trees. I couldn’t read it yet, but even the sight of something man-made gave me hope.
The air grew thicker with resin and moisture. My eyes stung; my neck ached from tension. I focused on the white rectangle ahead.
Silver Creek — 20 miles.
A sigh of relief slipped out. Finally, something sensible, something human. For a moment, it even felt like the engine sounded happier, as if the car itself were relieved to see civilization.
Fifteen minutes later, another sign appeared: Silver Creek — 10 miles. I smiled, lifting an eyebrow in satisfaction. Ingrid felt it too—she relaxed, no longer coiled under my skin like a taut bowstring. The forest smelled tamer now, as if yielding to roads, houses, and people.
I slowed when I saw the bridge and another sign:
"Welcome to Silver Creek — the Friendliest Town in All of Maine.
Population: 1,043
Wolves: 511 | Humans: 532
Make yourself at home."
A shiver ran through me—not fear, exactly, but the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
I pulled into a small turnout before the bridge and got out, moving slowly, pretending calm. My eyes scanned the shadows until I spotted them—two male figures half-hidden in the trees.
Wolves. I felt their presence, the tension in their muscles, the careful precision of their movements. As they stepped out of the shade, I caught a glimpse of olive-toned skin, sharp features, black hair. Wild, but handsome—not my type.
For a moment, we just measured each other with our eyes. Then they exchanged a glance, probably speaking mind-to-mind. The older one, wearing the bond symbol around his neck, stepped toward me and inhaled sharply.
Ingrid relaxed, and so did I. The guards dropped their hands to their sides, away from their weapons.
“From afar?” the older one asked, his voice brisk, commanding.
“Pennsylvania. I’m headed to the singles’ meet. I was supposed to fly, but I wanted to drive and… took a wrong turn.”
The older one whistled through his teeth and gestured toward my car. The younger one walked over and peered inside. I didn’t protest as he pulled the documents from the glove box, compared the photo to my face, then checked my luggage—even under the dress hanging on the hook.
“Clean,” he said. “Elizabeth Montgomery. Lightfall Pack.”
“The meet’s tomorrow. Half a day’s drive from here.” The older one looked at me again.
“If there’s a hotel in town, I’d like to stay overnight and leave in the morning.”
“Hotel?” The younger one snorted. “Only a guesthouse. Go straight, third exit at the roundabout.”
I nodded, got back in, and drove across the bridge. The tires squealed on the planks as if the town itself were judging me before letting me in.
Silver Creek was exactly what its name promised—quiet, quaint, with silvery rooftops and sunlit windows. Cobblestone streets, shops, a bakery, a bar. Over one house, a flag waved with the image of a wolf beneath a crescent moon.
Not crowded, but alive. Humans and wolves moved side by side on the sidewalks. Their gazes were alert but not hostile. The wolves knew I was there; the humans barely noticed.
At the roundabout, I turned as directed. After a few minutes, the Creekside Inn sign appeared—a white building with a porch, a few cars, and planters full of lavender.
I stopped and closed my eyes for a moment, listening. The town’s silence was thick, but calm. Ingrid was quiet. This place smelled safe.
A bell jingled as I stepped inside. The air smelled of coffee, detergent, and old wood—the kind of scent that says nothing changes here, and that’s just fine.
Behind the counter sat a woman in her fifties, glasses perched on the tip of a freckled nose.
“One night?” she asked flatly.
“If that’s not a problem.”
“Nothing’s a problem, as long as you pay upfront.”
I signed the ledger, took the key, and went upstairs. The room was plain—a bed with a plaid cover, a small desk, a mirror with a cracked corner. Perfect for pausing the road.
Hot water washed away the dust and tension. Ingrid purred softly.
That evening, I went to the bar on the corner. Loud country music, the smell of beer and fried food. Still, I felt calm—and so did my wolf.
I sat at the counter, ordered something simple. Only when the plate arrived did I notice them—a pair at the next table. Too still. Too watchful.
“New?” the girl asked.
“Just passing through.”
“Passing through Silver Creek? That’s rare.”
I smiled faintly. “GPS told me to turn. Meant well.”
The boy laughed. “GPS—the voice of a passionate lover, directions from your ass.”
“It got me here, not at the bottom of a lake, so miracle enough.”
The girl eyed me openly, from head to toe.
“Going to the meet?” she asked.
“Yes. Fourth year in a row.”
“No partner yet?”
I flushed and shrugged. “Maybe this time.”
“You’re beautiful. Shiny. Your guy will lose his mind when he sees you.”
I felt awkward. The wolf inside me shifted uneasily.
“That’s from the ancestors. Scandinavia—snow, pale skin, light eyes.”
“We’re hitting the club tonight. Want to join?” she asked suddenly.
I sipped my drink, tempted for a second, but the hairs on my neck rose without reason. The muscles in my back tensed—Ingrid didn’t trust them.
“Think I’ll crash early. Been driving all day,” I said finally.
“Shame. We’d make great friends.”
I gave her a cool smile and left. Outside the inn, I let Ingrid sniff the air—hoping, maybe, she’d finally catch the scent of our mate. But no. Another miss.
Morning greeted me with sun and the smell of the forest. After a quick shower and breakfast at a café, I filled up at the gas station.
“Warm for May, huh?” said the clerk, a man in plaid and overalls who looked like he’d walked out of a ’70s movie.
“Sunny but humid. The forest traps everything,” I replied. “How do I get to the highway? I’m heading northeast.”
“Straight north, then the highway south a bit to the junction, then north again. But… if you want, there’s a shortcut through the forest. No one uses it, but it’ll save you three hours. Hard to get lost.”
“Shortcut? Three hours?” I raised an eyebrow. “Safe?”
“Drove it three days ago. Fine, if you don’t drive like a maniac. Couple potholes, a few roots, one fallen tree—but you can get around it.”
“I’ll take it,” I said, smiling as I paid.
“Seven miles out of town, there’s a huge oak. Half a mile past that, turn right. Unmarked road.”
For a second, I half expected the usual horror-movie line from a gas station attendant to clueless tourists:This road is death.OrIf you see a woman in white, don’t stop—spit three times over your left shoulder through the right window.But the man just went back to his newspaper.
The shortcut appeared just past the oak. The forest loomed close, shadows stretching over the cracked asphalt. The road was narrow but passable. Old, scarred, alive.
I turned up the volume, and Måneskin filled the car. I sang at the top of my lungs, off-key and reckless, probably scaring half the forest wildlife. Knowing I’d reach my destination faster lifted my mood.
The miles passed slowly but steady. Just a few bumps, a few places where the road squeezed tight. After about an hour, I reached the fallen tree—it blocked half the road. I eased past it, branches scraping the car’s side. Ahead stretched a long straightaway. I pressed the gas.
And then it hit.
In an instant, my body froze—muscles locking, breath caught. I clenched the wheel, foot slipping off the pedal, and the car rolled to a stop with one wheel on the grass.
Ingrid went wild inside me—howling, thrashing, fighting. I had no idea what was happening to her… to us. I wasn’t in control. My body flickered, shifting and retreating. Fur rippled along my arms, vanished before it could grow. Fangs pressed against my lips; I bit down, blood mixing with saliva and dripping down my chin.
I screamed, and the scream broke into a growl, ending in a desperate whine. Before I knew it, I was outside, stumbling into the woods. My body jerked between two forms—half-wolf, half-human.
I stopped, trembling, ready to leap. The air shifted—and I smelled it.
A wild, foreign scent, sharp as lightning, slicing through my senses until my heart stopped.
Ingrid stilled. Her growl wasn’t anger now but tension, surprise… fascination. I didn’t know this scent, had never smelled it before, yet every muscle in my body trembled as if everything that had ever mattered suddenly didn’t.
Instinct roared one word: him.
The scent needed no memory, no thought. It was a summons I had waited for years to hear. I had found him—my mate, my other half.
I didn’t ask why here, in this godforsaken forest, and not at the gathering or anywhere else. Logic meant nothing.
There was only one truth left: I had to go to him.
My breath quickened, blood burned in my veins, and a single primal whisper echoed in my mind—find him.
