Beauty can Be in a Wolf (Book 1)

They say that the Moon Goddess was the one who brought everything into existence. She shaped life itself—creating humans, werewolves, and werecats. She even forged the sacred bond that ties these beings to their destined mates, ensuring that every soul would have someone to find and love for eternity. But there is something few know, a secret buried in myth and legend: she created guardians, beings born to protect those souls, guiding them to their true love and keeping them from straying. These guardians, however, were never revered. Instead, they were feared. They were known as demons, monsters, and outsiders, shunned and misunderstood by those they were meant to protect. No one realized that they had been sent by the Moon Goddess herself.

These guardians were given the title of Harpies—immortal beings, some of the Moon Goddess’s first creations. They no longer walked openly among her children, their presence lost to time and tragedy. For centuries, the Moon Goddess watched as her beloved Harpy children perished from the land, all because of those who rebelled against the bond she had woven for them. Many Harpies died defending the bond between destined mates, slain by those who feared them or by those who sought to disrupt the fated connections.

Each Harpy’s soul was bound to two destined souls. It was their sacred duty to ensure those souls would unite in love, protecting them from harm or from breaking the bond. If a Harpy succeeded, they were freed from the bond, their Guardian Bond severed, allowing them to ascend to something greater—a chance to become a god or goddess themselves. There was even the faint hope that, through this ascension, they might one day bring back their kin. But if they failed, their fate was grim. Their body and magic would slowly deteriorate, and their soul would scatter into nothingness, forgotten and lost forever.

Over time, it became nearly impossible to sense the presence of Harpies. They had faded from the world, almost entirely lost. Until one day, the Moon Goddess discovered that one still remained. Hidden among the beings of the land, this last Harpy had no Guardian Bond, no souls to protect. She lived quietly, unnoticed, moving among humans, werewolves, and werecats without revealing her true nature.

The Moon Goddess gazed into her sacred pond, the water glowing with soft light, revealing the lone Harpy who had survived the centuries. As she watched the woman walk among the crowd, blending in, her heart swelled with a bittersweet pride. Her last Harpy still lived. Still, there was sadness in her smile, knowing that this child of hers, despite her strength, was still alone.

Harpies were forbidden from forming connections with others, for revealing their true identity would mean disaster. They could never marry or love openly, not even if they fell for someone outside their kind. The rules had been clear for generations, and most Harpies had accepted their lonely fates. But as the Moon Goddess watched, her heart heavy, she knew the last Harpy’s fate would change.

The Moon Goddess’s smile faded into sorrow as she realized what needed to be done. She saw three children in desperate need of help, their cries reaching across the distance, tugging at her soul. The Goddess had no choice but to bind her last Harpy to them, forming a new Guardian Bond. She knew the risks. Binding her child to these souls could lead to her death, her last Harpy’s soul dissolving into nothing if she failed. But there was no one else left.

Tears filled the Moon Goddess’s eyes as she stretched out her hand over the pond, the shimmering water rippling under her touch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling with sorrow. With a soft glow, the bond was forged, linking the last Harpy’s soul to the three children who needed her protection.

In the reflection of the water, the Moon Goddess watched the woman—the last of her kind—walking among the unsuspecting crowd, unaware of the great burden that had just been placed on her. The Goddess’s heart ached, knowing that she had placed her beloved child in danger. All she could do now was watch and hope that, somehow, her Harpy would succeed where so many others had failed.

Walking along the bustling streets filled with humans, werewolves, and werecats, she moved with purpose, ignoring everyone who didn’t directly cross her path. This town, with its strange mix of tension and peace, had become her temporary refuge. It was far from perfect, but for now, it suited her needs. The balance here was delicate—werewolves, werecats, and humans coexisted uneasily, each group cautious of the others. Yet, despite the simmering unease, everyone in the town had a common goal: avoid war. It made for an unusual, but relatively peaceful place, especially for those who sought a quiet life or just wanted to enjoy their freedom without interference.

This town had its protectors—a council known as the Union, tasked with keeping political disputes at bay and maintaining the fragile peace. But she paid little attention to them. The council’s actions rarely affected her, and after all these years, she had learned not to involve herself in matters that didn’t concern her directly.

Dressed warmly against the cold, she wore a thick winter jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, snug pants made for harsh weather, sunglasses, and a hood to shield herself from the falling snow. The streets of Maystone, her current home, were blanketed in fresh snow. It had been snowing for days, the town perpetually wrapped in winter’s quiet chill. As she walked, she watched the people around her—humans, werewolves, and werecats alike—moving about, seemingly unfazed by the cold. Despite the occasional tension, it was a place where young, single folk could enjoy life without fear of conflict.

‘This place isn’t so bad,’ she thought, taking in the scene. She had lived in many towns over the years, never staying long enough to form any attachments. Being the last of her kind, she had no interest in relationships, friendships, or ties of any kind—unless, of course, she was given a Guardian Bond.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, back to her past. ‘I’ve lived for thousands of years, watched this land change and grow with technology. I’ve lost all of my kin... and now, I’m the last.’ It was a lonely existence, and she had come to accept that. The idea of ever forming a Guardian Bond felt distant, almost impossible. ‘They all say I’ll never have one,’ she reminded herself, her thoughts tinged with a quiet resignation.

As she turned down an alleyway, a sudden, sharp pain stabbed through her chest, stopping her in her tracks. Her heart ached, as if pierced by an unseen force. ‘W-What is this?’ She stood still, her breath catching in her throat. It was a feeling she had heard about before—something her kin had spoken of long ago. Her eyes scanned the alley, her attention drawn to a tightly sealed box tucked in the corner, nearly hidden from sight.

Curiosity and an odd sense of urgency compelled her forward. Kneeling down beside the box, she hesitated for a moment before carefully peeling off the tape that sealed it shut. As she lifted the lid, her breath caught in her chest. Inside was a young girl, no older than five, battered and broken, her small body covered in cuts, bruises, and scratches. The sight was horrifying. The child was unconscious, her face pale and streaked with dried tears, her tiny body trembling even in sleep.

Without hesitation, she reached out, lifting the girl gently into her arms. The little one whimpered softly, her pain evident even in her unconscious state, tears slipping from her eyes. ‘This... this must be what they meant,’ she thought, her heart pounding. The stories her kin had shared with her, about the overwhelming pull of the Guardian Bond, were coming to life before her eyes. The connection was strong, undeniable. After so many years of believing she would never experience it, the bond had finally found her.

Cradling the girl in her arms, she whispered softly, “Don’t worry. Your Guardian is finally here.” The girl whimpered again, her small body wracked with pain. Wasting no time, the woman’s wings burst from her back, shimmering in the dim light of the alley. In a swift, practiced motion, she turned herself invisible, blending into the shadows. Her hands glowed softly as she touched the girl’s skin, sending a healing light over her, trying to ease the worst of her pain.

It wasn’t easy. The drain on her magic was immediate, her strength fading quickly as she worked to heal the child’s injuries. Still, she pressed on, determined to help the girl. “I will take you to the doctor,” she whispered, her voice soft but resolute. Being a Harpy came with its challenges, but in moments like this, her powers were invaluable.

Taking the girl to the hospital, she moved quickly and purposefully, her heart pounding with urgency. The staff took one look at the injured child in her arms and immediately rushed the girl to the emergency room without question. But as they hurried away, she could feel the weight of their assumptions—glances exchanged between the nurses and doctors, suspicion lingering in the air. They likely believed that she was the one responsible for the child’s injuries, though they hadn’t yet called the police. There wasn’t time for that. Still, she could sense their doubt, and it gnawed at her.

Before the tension could escalate, she spoke calmly to the nurse, explaining what had happened as best she could. Her voice was steady, though her heart ached for the little girl. After all, this wasn’t about her. The child’s safety was the priority.

Once the girl was in the doctors’ care, she sat down in a nearby chair, her body finally relaxing, but her mind still racing. As she sat there, images began to flood her mind—fragments of the little girl’s memories. It wasn’t uncommon for her to experience these flashes, the result of her Guardian Bond. She could feel the pain, the fear, the terror that the girl had endured.

In her mind’s eye, she saw a woman. Disheveled, unsteady, reeking of alcohol. The woman’s face twisted in anger, resentment clear in her eyes. The child’s mother—she despised the girl, for reasons that weren’t entirely clear, but the hatred was undeniable. One vivid memory stood out: the woman, intoxicated and furious, waking from her drunken stupor, grabbed the girl roughly and shoved her into the box where she was later found. The woman had fled, abandoning her own daughter, attempting to hide the cruelty and hoping that no one would find out.

The vision faded, leaving her drained and sickened by what she had seen. She glanced up just as the doctor arrived, his expression serious, though there was something else—concern, perhaps even suspicion.

“May we talk in my office?” He asked, his tone professional but laced with curiosity.

“Yes, please lead the way,” she replied, her voice calm, though she braced herself for what was to come.

Once inside the doctor’s office, he closed the door behind them. She sat across from him, sensing that this conversation wasn’t going to be easy. The doctor took his seat and looked at her carefully before asking the inevitable question.

“Are you the girl’s mother?” His voice was gentle, but the question was loaded. It felt like the right thing for him to ask, but also a necessary one given the circumstances.

She paused for a moment, thinking quickly. ‘I don’t think I should claim to be her mother. That doesn’t suit me, and I don’t look the part anyway. I need to handle this carefully.’ After a brief moment of reflection, she spoke clearly. “I’m her aunt. How is she?”

The doctor’s expression softened slightly at her response, though the concern in his eyes remained. “She’s stable now,” he said, his voice tinged with relief. “It’s a good thing you brought her in when you did. Her ribs were shattered, and her skull was severely fractured. If you hadn’t acted when you did, she wouldn’t have survived much longer.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words sinking in. The severity of the girl’s injuries was worse than she had imagined. Relief washed over her, knowing she had gotten her to safety just in time.

“How did this happen?” The doctor asked, his gaze sharpening as he leaned forward slightly. There was a subtle edge to his question, a need to understand the situation fully.

She sighed, her eyes drifting to the room where the girl was now resting, surrounded by medical staff. She hesitated for a moment, knowing that her next words were critical.

The doctor must have noticed her pause because he followed up with another question, his voice more direct this time. “Did you... perhaps abuse her?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.

“No, her mother is an alcoholic,” Mayu began, her voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of sadness. It could be possible or there was more, but there was only so much she could do now. “I never imagined she could be this sick.” She didn’t know the girl’s mother personally, but from the memories she had seen, she knew enough to understand how terrible a mother she had been.

The doctor, still sitting across from her, nodded as he made notes in his file. “What is your name?” He asked, preparing to add her information to the medical records.

“Mayu Nakano,” she replied, pulling off her glasses to reveal her striking golden eyes, and lowering her hood to show her rose-red hair. The doctor’s pen paused in mid-air, and his eyes widened. He was clearly star-struck. It wasn’t every day you met Mayu Nakano—a renowned, best-selling author known throughout the world. For a moment, he seemed to forget where he was, amazed at the chance to meet someone so famous.

Mayu’s expression remained serious. “Please, refrain from mentioning this to anyone. I’ll make a donation to the hospital if you can keep this quiet. My niece has suffered enough already, and I’m ready to take her home and care for her.” As she stood from her chair, her tone made it clear she wasn’t making a casual offer. This was her way of ensuring her privacy, and more importantly, the little girl’s.

The doctor blinked, snapping back to reality. “Y-Yes! Of course! It would be bad for your reputation, and your family as well,” he stammered, hurriedly agreeing. He understood the gravity of the situation, and the last thing he wanted was to cause further distress.

With the conversation over, Mayu left his office and made her way down the hall to check on the girl. She paused at the hospital room door, peering through the small window to see if the child was awake. The girl lay motionless, still unconscious, her small body wrapped in bandages and blankets. Mayu sighed, relieved that the child hadn’t stirred yet. ‘Let’s not startle her if she’s awake,’ she thought, carefully opening the door.

The room was quiet, save for the soft beeping of the monitors. Mayu approached the bed, her heart heavy as she looked down at the child. The girl’s small face was pale, her breathing shallow but steady. ‘Your mother is human. I’ve heard that humans are supposed to be the kindest creatures,’ Mayu thought to herself, her eyes soft with sadness. ‘Why must your mother do this to you?’

Bending down, Mayu gently kissed the girl on the forehead. As her lips brushed the child’s skin, a soft spark of light flickered, and some of the smaller wounds began to heal. It wasn’t much, but it would ease the girl’s pain, helping her recover faster. ‘There, that should help a bit,’ Mayu thought, smiling gently.

The little girl woke up with a jolt, her body trembling uncontrollably. Fear gripped her as memories of her mother, always drunk and unpredictable, flooded her mind. ‘I-It’s okay. This happens all the time. I must have done something wrong,’ she told herself, trying to make sense of the situation. Her small, fragile mind had been conditioned to believe that any pain or punishment she received was her fault.

She looked around the room, her eyes wide and darting from corner to corner, searching for anything familiar. But this place was unlike her home—a place of neglect and disarray. The hospital room was clean, quiet, and unfamiliar. Her heart raced faster, and she felt panic rising in her chest.

Then, she saw her—a woman sitting nearby, who seemed to have just woken up. The woman’s eyes softened as she saw the girl trembling in fear. Slowly, the woman reached out a hand toward her, but the girl whimpered and shrank back, retreating from the touch.

“I’m not going to hurt you, sweetie,” the woman said softly, her voice gentle and reassuring. “My name is Mayu Nakano. I’m your aunt.”

Mayu spoke carefully, her tone light and full of warmth. She knew the girl had been through so much, and any harshness in her voice could break the fragile trust they hadn’t yet built. ‘I have to be soft,’ Mayu thought to herself. ‘Let her get used to kindness.’

The girl hesitated, her wide eyes watching Mayu closely. There was something about the woman’s voice—it was calm, loving, a tone the girl wasn’t used to. ‘My aunt?’ She thought, confused. ‘Mom never mentioned anything about her. I... I don’t remember ever hearing about an aunt.’

Mayu could see the confusion in the little girl’s face, the hesitation as she processed this new information. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she was committed to helping the child heal, no matter how long it took.

“You must be confused,” Mayu continued, her smile soft and genuine. “Don’t worry, I won’t let your mom hurt you anymore. Auntie will take care of you from now on.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at Mayu’s face. There was no anger or cruelty in her expression, only warmth and love. It was something the girl had never felt from her own mother, and it stirred something deep inside her.

Uncontrollable tears began to fall, her little body shaking as she cried out, “Uuuggghhh!!! Waaaahhh!!!” The weight of her pain and fear finally broke free.

Mayu couldn’t stand to see the girl suffering. Without hesitation, she pulled her into a gentle, comforting embrace. The girl, for the first time, didn’t flinch away. Instead, she leaned into Mayu’s warmth, seeking the comfort and safety she had always longed for.