Prologue
London, England
February 8th, 2032
The moon was full, high above the battlefield, its pale light casting long shadows over the destruction below. The air was thick with smoke, a heavy scent of burned flesh and metal mixing with the cold night breeze. Locke could feel it in his bones—the shift, the pull of the wolf that had been gnawing at him ever since his 15th birthday only a month ago. The wolf inside him had grown restless, more powerful than he’d ever imagined, hungry for the chaos around them. His body trembled with the urge to shift, to run, to let the wolf take control. But Locke held back. He was still too young, still too untested. His job tonight was clean-up, not combat—there were others for that.
His father, the Alpha, led the pack. With his strength commanding respect, his presence was left unquestioned. But Locke had tasted the power, had felt the first stirrings of the role he would one day inherit. It was a feeling he couldn’t ignore, even as the blood of their enemies spilled across the dirt at his feet.
The battlefield was unlike anything Locke had ever seen. The ground beneath his boots was slick, sticky with the remnants of war. Discarded weapons—mangled knives, broken pistols, shattered gear—lay scattered across the torn earth. Human bodies littered the landscape, some lifeless, others twitching in the final throes of death. Their cries had long faded into an eerie silence, the only sound now the distant howl of his packmates and the occasional groan of the wind through broken trees.
The battle had raged for years at this point. The humans, having discovered the existence of the supernatural, were determined to eradicate them. They claimed it was for the good of the world, that the supernatural were evil, but Locke knew the truth: the humans had been the ones to unravel the fragile peace. They had declared war on everyone like him, and now the battlefield wasn’t just over survival—it was now about territory. Who would control what land? Who would claim dominance? It was a game of power, and the humans had already lost any say in the matter.
Locke’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the remains of a human unit that had dared to challenge them. The soldiers, once full of bravado, were now laying limp, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles, their blood staining the earth like a threat. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a mixture of disgust and awe. This wasn’t the world he had imagined, even as a child. The weight of the death around him was overwhelming, the reality of the war far darker than any stories his father had told him.
His father, towering beside him, spoke in a low, commanding voice. “This is the cost of their foolishness. They had a choice.”
There was no pity in his father’s voice—only cold certainty. The humans had fought valiantly, but they were outmatched, and their fight was hopeless. They had wanted to believe they could wipe out those stronger than them, but it was already clear: there was no going back now. This was the new world.
