Chapter One
I lay on the ground beneath the quiet stretch of the early morning sky, staring up as the last pieces of night began to loosen their hold. Above me, the darkness was no longer black, but softening at the edges, fading into a deep blue that seemed to breathe with the world below. Slowly, almost secretly, a dusky pink crept across the horizon. It spread in gentle streaks, brushing the clouds with colour until they looked as though they had been dipped in rose water. Then came the yellowy gold, warm and thin at first, glowing just behind the rooftops and treetops, promising that the sun was close. This was my favourite time of day, the small, silent moment before everything properly began. Before the new reality of life came crashing back down, before the weight of it all found me again. For now, it belonged only to me.
I wished I could lie there forever, tucked away beneath the changing sky, pretending the world could wait for me just a little longer. But wishing did not fill an empty stomach. If I wanted to eat today, I needed to get up, brush the dirt from my clothes, and start walking towards the next town before the sun climbed too high.
It had not always been like this. There had been a time when the woods were only woods, dark and tangled and full of ordinary things that snapped twigs underfoot or howled at the moon from somewhere far away. Then the beasts came out of hiding.
At first, people called them wild animals, monsters, nightmares with teeth. Giant wolves, bigger than any creature had a right to be, stormed from the forests and tore through towns as if the roads, the houses, and the people in them had never belonged to us at all. But they were not only beasts. They were people too. Men and women who could shift their bones, shed their human skin, and become something larger, stronger, and hungrier.
They had spent generations hiding in the shadows, pretending to be legends, letting humans believe we were alone at the top of the food chain. Then, one day, they decided they had hidden long enough. They wanted the world to know exactly what we were to them: weaker, slower, inferior.
If you were rich enough, lucky enough, or born behind the right walls, life could almost pretend to carry on. Some people stayed sealed inside their beautiful homes with stocked cupboards, guarded gates, and windows that never had to open. They did not have to feel the hunger gnawing at their insides or wonder whether the next town would turn them away.
For the rest of us, everything became harder. Food grew scarce. Work became something you begged for, fought for, proved yourself worthy of. People lowered their eyes in the streets and whispered instead of spoke, because fear had settled over humanity like a second sky.
We tried to fight, of course we did. Humans always did when something came to take what they loved. There were armies, barricades, fires in the roads, weapons raised by trembling hands. But what chance did ordinary people have against men who could become giant wolves? Against creatures who could outrun bullets, break doors from their hinges, and turn a battlefield into a hunting ground.
The town I was heading for was supposed to be one of the better ones. That was what people said, anyway. It had not been ripped apart as badly as some of the places I had passed through, where roofs sagged inward, windows gaped like broken teeth, and the streets smelled of smoke long after the fires had died. From what I had heard, this town still had walls that stood straight, a market that opened when there was enough to sell, and people who had not completely forgotten how to look each other in the eye.
But better did not mean easy. Food was scarce everywhere now, and a town with standing walls only meant more hungry people crowded behind them, all trying to prove they deserved the same scraps. I knew it would be a challenge before I even reached it. I would have to find work, bargain hard, keep my head down, and hope no one decided I looked too desperate to be worth helping.
The thought made something bitter twist inside me. I hated this world. I hated what it had become, hated the beasts for dragging us beneath them, hated the fear that lived in every doorway and every whispered conversation. Most of all, I hated everything it had taken from me. My home. My certainty. The people I used to believe would always be there. Some mornings, that hate was the only thing strong enough to get me back on my feet.
I pushed myself up before the memories could swallow me whole and reached for what little I had. My makeshift camp barely deserved the name: a thin blanket, a battered bag, the last of my water, and a few pieces of cloth I had tied between branches to keep off the worst of the night air. I packed it all quickly, hands moving out of habit, folding and fastening and checking for anything I could not afford to lose.
That was when I thought of my parents. Not properly, not for long, because thinking of them properly hurt too much. Just flashes. My mother’s hands smoothing my hair back from my face. My father’s voice telling me to be brave, even when his own fear showed in the tightness around his eyes. The kind of memories that should have warmed me, but only made the cold settle deeper in my chest.
I shoved the memories down with the rest of the things I could not carry and pulled my bag over one shoulder. The forest was waking around me, leaves whispering above, birds calling cautiously from the trees as if even they had learned not to make too much noise. I stepped out from between the trunks and onto the main road, the one that led towards the town, its pale dirt stretching ahead of me like a promise I did not trust.
A few abandoned houses lined the road as I walked, set back behind collapsed gates and gardens that had grown wild enough to swallow the paths. They had been empty for a long time; I could tell by the broken windows, the doors hanging loose from their hinges, the thick dust gathered where footsteps no longer bothered it. Whatever had once been useful inside was gone now. Food, blankets, tools, candles, even scraps of wood had been taken by people desperate enough to leave nothing behind but cracked walls and hollow rooms.
By the time the town gates came into view, the sun had lifted enough to turn the road a dull, dusty gold. The walls rose ahead of me, taller than I remembered, patched in places with newer wood and sheets of metal hammered over old gaps. For one brief, foolish second, relief loosened something in my chest. Then I saw the queue.
People stretched back from the gate in a long, restless line, their bags clutched close, their faces pale with waiting. At first I thought it was just another shortage check, another delay caused by too many hungry bodies trying to get behind the same walls. But when I looked closer, my steps slowed. The Alpha unit stood at the front.
They were impossible to mistake. Broad-shouldered, uniformed, and still as statues until they moved, each of them carrying that quiet, awful confidence of people who knew the world would bend around them if they pushed hard enough. One by one, they checked IDs before allowing anyone through the gates. My stomach tightened so sharply I almost stopped breathing. I did not have a valid ID anymore. Not after being off grid for so long. Not after learning that paper records mattered less than staying alive.
The last time I had come here, there had been no Alpha unit stationed at the gates. People had moved in and out as they pleased, watched only by tired human guards who cared more about bribes than rules. Now every person was being stopped, questioned, studied. The town that was supposed to be safer suddenly felt like a trap with its mouth open.
Every part of me wanted to turn away, slip back into the trees, and find another road before any of them noticed me. Then my stomach growled, loud enough that the woman nearest the back of the line glanced over her shoulder. Heat crept up my neck. I had no food rations left, not even crumbs at the bottom of my bag, and the next town was miles away. Reluctance would not keep me alive. So I forced myself towards the back of the queue, keeping my head down as I joined behind a woman with a patched shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. After a moment, I leaned closer and kept my voice low. “Why are they here? How long has it been like this?”
The woman glanced towards the gate before answering, as if the Alpha unit might hear her from all the way back here. “Over a month,” she muttered. “They were stationed here after an Alpha came into the area. He’s searching for his mate, they say.”
My blood went cold. The woman nodded towards the hill beyond the walls, where the mayor’s guest house sat above the town like it had been placed there to look down on everyone else. “He’s staying up there,” she said. “Mayor’s guest home. Until he finds her.”
I went pale at the word mate. If you were human and a wolf decided you belonged to him, it might as well have been a death sentence. I remembered the stories too clearly: women dragged from their homes by men who stood in doorways and claimed them as if they were property, as if one word could strip a person of every choice they had left. They were never seen again. Not really. Maybe their bodies lived somewhere behind guarded walls and locked doors, but the women they had been disappeared the moment a wolf called them his. That was why I had stayed off grid for so long. No records, no fixed place, no easy trail for anyone to follow. It was why I rarely bathed unless I had to. Dirt, sweat, smoke, old clothes—anything that might confuse my scent was better than smelling clean enough for a wolf to notice. Let them think I stank. I would rather be disgusting and free than clean and caught. The thought made bile rise in my throat. I loathed the idea of being claimed by an animal, of having my life stolen by teeth and muscle and some twisted instinct they dressed up as fate. I would sooner die than let that happen to me. If I got through those gates at all, I was staying far, far away from the mayor’s guest house.
The queue shuffled forward, one slow step at a time, and I moved with it, my fingers tightening around the old ID tucked in my pocket. It would have to be enough. I planned to hand it over, keep my head bowed, and avoid looking any of them in the eyes. You never looked a wolf in the eyes unless you wanted to die. They saw it as disrespect, a challenge, something worth punishing. I had learned that quickly, the way humans learned most things now: by watching someone else suffer for getting it wrong.
“Next.”
The word snapped through the air, sharp enough to make my spine lock. I stepped forward, keeping my eyes fixed on the dirt between my boots as I pulled the old ID from my pocket and held it out. Please do not notice the date, I thought. Please just take it, glance at it, and let me through.
The guard took it from me without a word. Seconds stretched. I heard the scrape of his thumb over the card, the faint shift of leather as he turned it in his hand. He studied it for so long that my mouth went dry.
“This is out of date,” he said at last.
My heart dropped. “I know, but I—”
“I do not care for excuses.” His voice lowered, and I hated the way he seemed to enjoy the fear that crossed my face. “Question is, how badly do you want into this town?”
The way he said it made my skin crawl. Shock jolted through me, and I made the mistake of looking up. His mouth curved into a sly smile, like he had been waiting for exactly that. Waiting for me to understand what he meant.
“I have nothing of value,” I said, my voice thin. “A few food tokens. You can have them.”
He stepped closer, close enough that I had to fight the urge to back away. His eyes moved over me slowly, studying me in a way that made me feel smaller with every passing second. “I do not need your tokens,” he murmured. “But I am sure there is something else you could offer.”
For one wild moment, I thought about retreating. Snatching my ID from his hand and running back down the road, past the queue, past the fields, back into the trees where at least the dangers were honest.
“What is taking so long?” another guard snapped.
The second guard stepped in, his gaze flicking from my terrified face to the guard blocking me. Annoyance hardened his expression. Before the first one could answer, he snatched the ID from his hand, inspected it, then looked at me for a long moment.
“Go,” he said, jerking his chin towards the gate.
I did not wait for him to change his mind. I took my ID back with shaking fingers and hurried through, feeling the first guard’s stare burn between my shoulder blades.
Behind me, he laughed. “I was just having some fun,” he said to the guard who had let me through. “Live a little.”
Only when the gate was behind me did I let myself breathe properly, though it came out thin and unsteady. My hands were still trembling, so I curled them into fists and shoved them close to my sides, pretending I was calmer than I felt. I could not afford to look shaken. Not here. Not with wolves watching from the gate and the mayor’s guest house looming somewhere above the town. I needed to keep my head down, keep a low profile, and get what I had come for before anyone had a reason to remember my face. Food first. Maybe information, if I was lucky. Then I would leave as quietly as I had arrived. I had already run into more wolves than I could stomach for one day, and I had no intention of crossing paths with another.
