Chapter 1:
Waiting at the passport check was never my favorite thing, especially when the line stretched endlessly like some cruel, slow-moving serpent. I tapped my fingers on the counter, staring at the dull gray tiles beneath my feet. Scotland. Never thought I’d set foot here after all these years.
It had been a year since my mother passed. A year of grief that refused to settle, nights filled with quiet sobs, mornings where the house felt far too empty. Mairi… she had always been my anchor, the one person who understood me, even when I didn’t fully understand myself.
I adjusted the strap of my backpack, long ginger hair falling in slightly wavy waves over my shoulders. My green eyes scanned the line, people shuffling impatiently, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere far away.
The passport control officer finally glanced at my passport, then raised an eyebrow at my name. “Caitriona… that’s very Scottish, isn’t it?”
I smiled faintly, feeling a mix of pride and sadness. “Yes, my parents are from here,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I’ve been traveling the world for the last year, trying to… find myself, I guess. And maybe trace my parents’ roots in Scotland.”
He gave a polite nod, scanning my passport again. “Well, welcome to Scotland, Caitriona. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” I replied, forcing a small smile, though a part of me still ached.
I had always known I was different. My mother never lied about it, she had whispered the truth to me countless times. She had to explain my temper. I was a werewolf. But I had never shifted, never felt the full surge of my wolf. And she had always said I was alone. That no others existed. That my father, who had vanished long before I had any memories, was a werewolf, but he had left because he couldn’t be with her. After all, she was just a human.
Sometimes I imagined him, tall, dark, fierce… maybe kind. Maybe he even knew I existed. But the house stayed quiet whenever I asked my mother. That emptiness clung to me like a shadow, fueling my longing for answers. I saw the sadness in her eyes, so after a while I just stopped asking.
My fingers grazed the small silver pendant at my neck, a keepsake from my mother. I drew a deep breath. Today marked the first step. First step into a world I’d only ever read about in books or seen in pictures. Scotland was calling. The place my mother and father were from. I was ready, or as ready as anyone could be after losing everything.
With passport stamped and luggage in tow, I wandered toward the exit, coffee in hand, steam curling in the cool airport air. The rich aroma was comforting, a tiny tether to the ordinary world I had left behind. But as I walked, a strange sensation crept through me, low and humming, like electricity under my skin. My chest tightened, my senses sharpened. Every distant sound, every subtle shift in air, seemed… amplified.
I paused for a moment, gripping the coffee cup tighter. Heart racing, a thrill I didn’t understand coursed through me. I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. Misty hills and ancient forests awaited outside these walls.
The line of taxis outside the terminal buzzed with motion, the sky stretching pale and gray above the runway. I took a sip of coffee, feeling the warmth trickle through me, and let my gaze wander over the distant mountains. My journey was beginning. And I had a feeling, hough I couldn’t yet name it, that it wasn’t just the landscapes or history that would change me. Something else was waiting. Something or someone I hadn’t yet met.
