The rain always makes me feel less alone.

It whispers against the windowpane like a lullaby only I can hear, tracing ghostly fingers down the glass as if to remind me that the world still exists outside my silence. I sit curled in the corner of my dorm room, knees tucked under my chin, a half-finished textbook in my lap and a steaming mug of black tea on the desk beside me.

I don't need the caffeine, not really. Sleep has always been a luxury I can't afford.

Even now, with a full scholarship to one of the top universities in the country, with my name already circling among professors as a "rising star," I feel like an intruder in my own life. I'm just good at pretending I belong.

Brilliant? Maybe. I've never gotten less than an A. Never missed a deadline. Never let anyone close enough to see the cracks underneath.

Because I have no family. No past. No safety net.

I aged out of the system at eighteen, taking with me little more than a duffel bag, a social security number, and a deep, bone-aching loneliness. No one knows where I came from. No birth certificate. No baby pictures. Just the records from the fire where I'd been found, naked, covered in ash, and completely unharmed.

Sometimes, late at night, I still smell smoke.

Most days, though, I bury myself in knowledge. Biology. Genetics. The mechanics of the human body. I think if I can decode the way humans are built—bone by bone, gene by gene—maybe I'll figure out what's wrong with me.

Because something is wrong.

I move too fast sometimes. Hear things I shouldn't. Smell things no one else notices. I write it off as anxiety, a hyperactive nervous system. Explain away the hunger in my blood, the fire that burns under my skin when I'm angry or scared.

But lately, the dreams are getting worse.

They're not even dreams anymore. They're vivid, violent visions of running—no, hunting—beneath a full moon, chasing shadows with a pack that feels realer than anything I know. I always wake with my heart racing and my throat dry, feeling like something inside me is trying to break free.

A knock at the door jolts me.

I blink, heart stuttering.

Nobody ever knocks.

Cautiously, I rise, padding barefoot across the carpet and glancing at the time—10:42 PM. The rain has picked up, tapping more insistently against the glass. I look through the peephole. No one there.

I open it anyway.

The hallway is empty.

But on the floor is a single envelope. No address. No stamp. Just my name scrawled in messy black ink: ARIA.

My pulse jumps.

I crouch and pick it up, fingers trembling just slightly. The paper is thick and warm, like it's been held recently. My skin prickles as I slide my thumb under the flap.

Inside is a single card. No message—just a symbol. A crescent moon carved through the center of a paw print.

I stare at it for a long time, my breath caught somewhere in my throat.

I don't know why... but I understand what it means.

Something has found me.

And whatever it is... it wants me back.

My breath hitched.

The symbol on the card burned into my mind like a brand. Crescent moon. Paw print. I didn't know how I knew—but I knew. This wasn't some fraternity prank or a piece of cryptic campus mail. This was a warning. A message.

And it meant they'd found me.

The ones from the dreams.

The ones with blood in their eyes and teeth too sharp for any human mouth.

I dropped the card like it had scalded me, my heart hammering in my chest. Every instinct screamed run.

I stumbled backward, shaking. This didn't make sense. It couldn't be real—how could it be real? I'd spent my whole life convincing myself that the dreams were nothing more than trauma-fueled hallucinations. Nightmares leftover from a life I couldn't remember.

But the mark on that envelope... it was exactly the one I'd seen in my dreams. Worn on the skin of the wolves who circled me in the fire. The ones who howled when I screamed. The ones who looked at me like I wasn't a person... but a possession.

Property.

Breed stock.

My legs moved before my mind could catch up. I grabbed my coat, my wallet, my keys—threw my laptop in my backpack, then froze.

I'd planned on finishing my pre-med track early. Maybe going to grad school. Finally building a life that was mine. Safe. Logical. Controlled.

But there was no safety anymore.

The moment I'd opened that envelope, my illusion of a normal life shattered.

I yanked open my dorm window. Third floor. I didn't hesitate. I slipped out onto the fire escape, rain soaking through my sweatshirt in seconds. Cold wind slapped my cheeks as I gripped the rusted metal rail and began climbing down, bare feet slick against the steps. My breath came in sharp, ragged bursts.

I had to disappear.

I didn't know how they found me—after all these years, after I'd buried myself so deep—but they had.

And I knew what they wanted.

I didn't know their names. Only flashes of faces in the dark. Feral. Hungry. Bred for domination. I remembered one in particular—amber eyes and a voice that dripped like venom:
"When she comes of age, she'll return. She'll bear the bloodline forward. She is ours."

I hit the alley pavement and bolted into the night.

I didn't stop until I was half a mile from campus, chest heaving, shoes forgotten, soaked to the bone. The rain blurred the edges of the streetlights, and my vision pulsed with adrenaline.

I found a gas station. Lit, empty. I ducked into the bathroom and locked the door. My reflection in the cracked mirror startled me—wild eyes, wet hair clinging to my cheeks, a streak of dirt on my neck like a smear of ash.

I looked like the girl from the fire again. The one with no past.

No.

This time, I wasn't waiting to be taken.

This time, I would run until my feet bled—until my lungs gave out—because I knew what came next if they caught me.

They didn't want my love.
They wanted my womb.

To breed power. To bind my blood to theirs. To create something monstrous.

I shoved my hair back, palms flat on the sink.

And in that moment, something in me shifted.

Not just fear.

Rage.

A growl—not imagined, not dreamt, but low and real—vibrated in my throat. I swallowed it down fast, shaking. My skin felt hot, like it didn't quite fit. Like something beneath it wanted to break free.

But I couldn't afford to break. Not now.

I had to disappear.

I turned from the mirror, face set with new steel.

If they wanted to hunt me...
They'd better be ready to bleed.

I caught her scent the moment the rain touched her skin.

Sweet. Wild. Unmistakable.

I froze at the edge of the gas station lot, cloaked in shadows, my heartbeat syncing with the pounding storm. I'd followed the whispers for weeks. Tracked her from the edge of dreams, through half-glimpsed visions and broken trails. I hadn't been sure—until now.

But there she was.

Aria.

The girl who should never have survived.
The one they thought they'd lost forever.
The one they were looking for, too.

My lip curled. I could smell them on the air—just a trace, but enough to set every instinct in me howling. The Blackfangs. The rival pack. Twisted, corrupted. Obsessed with bloodlines and power. They wanted Aria for one thing and one thing only: to bind her womb to their legacy.

Breed her. Break her. Own her.

Not. A. Fucking. Chance.

I paced along the back of the gas station, boots silent on wet asphalt. The run had brought me miles from the ridge, through cold woods and broken towns. Ryker had wanted to come with me, but this wasn't a mission for the warhound. Not yet. Not until I knew she was real.

Now, though—watching her stumble out of the bathroom in a soaked hoodie, eyes wide, jaw clenched—I knew.

She was more than real. She was awakening.

The wild was in her eyes. The kind of fire you couldn't fake.

She didn't even know what she was yet.

My jaw tightened. The fact that she'd run—barefoot, in the rain, with no hesitation—that meant her instincts had kicked in. The mark must've found her. I'd warned the others it would happen soon. The Blackfangs had always believed she'd return to them when her blood ripened.

But I knew better.

The girl had survived without them. That meant her soul was stronger than they thought. Stronger than they could control.

She just didn't know there was another option.

Us, I thought. She has us.

A flicker of movement caught my eye—Aria disappearing around the back of the station, backpack slung over one shoulder, soaked hair clinging to her skin like copper wire.

She was leaving.

Good.

I could follow her into the trees. Farther from eyes, from cameras, from potential witnesses. Safer that way.

Still, I didn't move yet.

Because the second she stepped beyond the parking lot, they would sense her again. The Blackfangs had a way of smelling desperation. Of tracking fear.

I had to time this perfectly.

I slipped into the tree line, keeping low, a blur between the trunks. I shifted just slightly—nothing too visible, just enough to let my inner wolf rise to the surface. Sharpened senses. Strength at the ready.

She was heading for the forest trail. Smart girl. She knew she had to vanish.

I could feel her pulse in the air. See the way her body moved—light on her feet, quicker than most humans. Her change hadn't started yet, not fully, but it was close.

My chest tightened. She had no idea what she was, but she was running straight into a war.

And she was alone.

Not for long.

I moved. Silent. Fast. Shadow to shadow.

Until she stopped.

Spun.

And locked eyes with me.

Big blue eyes, glowing faintly in the dark. Not human. Not anymore.

She didn't scream.

She didn't run.

She just whispered, "Are you one of them?"

I stepped into the clearing, soaked in moonlight, letting the wolf show just enough to answer.

"No," I growled softly. "I'm the one that's going to keep you alive."

He was beautiful—dangerous, soaked in shadow and moonlight—but that didn't matter.

Because the moment he stepped out of the trees, something in my body screamed. Not a whisper. Not a warning. A full-body, adrenaline-fueled command.

Run.

And I did.

My bare feet slammed into wet leaves and slick mud as I pivoted, bolting away from the clearing, away from the stranger who looked at me like he knew me. Like I was already his.

Hell. No.

He moved like a predator, sure. Spoke like a promise. But I'd heard those promises before—whispers in the dark, in the dreams, from the monsters who watched me with eyes that glowed like fire and breathed my name like a prophecy.

You'll come back. You were made for us. You'll carry our future.

Screw that.

My lungs burned as I sprinted through the trees, my backpack slamming against my spine. Branches clawed at my arms, and the night came alive around me, the forest thick with sound and tension and something just underneath the surface.

I didn't know where I was going. Didn't care.

Every cell in my body was on fire. My blood felt electric. My vision sharpened, catching things I shouldn't have seen—an owl blinking on a high branch, a fox darting through the underbrush, the breath of the man behind me without even looking back.

He was following me.

Not crashing through the woods like a human. Gliding. Silent. Like something used to the wild.

Panic and instinct warred in my chest.

I was fast—faster than I'd ever been. My body moved like it remembered something my brain didn't. But he was gaining.

No. Not gaining.

Shadowing.

Holding back.

I vaulted over a fallen tree, slid down a slope slick with moss, and tore through a narrow ravine. My foot caught a root and I nearly went down—but I caught myself, heart hammering.

The moment I hit the edge of a stream, I stopped. Not because I was tired. Because I could feel him.

Right behind me.

I spun, fists clenched, breath ragged. "Don't come any closer."

He didn't. He stood just beyond the treeline, not even panting, as if he'd expected me to run. As if he'd let me.

Tall. Wet black hair. Golden eyes like firelight. And a voice that wasn't human when he finally spoke.

"You don't have to run from me, Aria."

"You know my name," I snapped. "So what? That just makes this creepier. You think cornering me in the woods is going to make me trust you?"

His gaze softened. "No. I didn't expect you to trust me. I expected you to survive. Which is exactly what you're doing."

The calm in his voice only pissed me off more.

"What do you want?" I shouted, chest heaving. "You working with them? You trying to drag me back so they can turn me into some kind of... baby factory?"

Something flickered in his eyes then—pure rage, but not aimed at me.

"I'm trying to stop that from happening," he said, voice low and deadly. "They want you for your blood. Your power. But you're not theirs. You never were."

My heart thudded.

"I don't believe you," I whispered.

"I know. That's why I followed you instead of stopping you."

A tense silence stretched between us. The rain slowed, mist rising around the stream like breath. My fists trembled.

I didn't want to believe him.

But something in my bones—something ancient—told me he was telling the truth.

I swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

His answer was a name wrapped in warmth and warning.

"Kael."

I stared. "And what are you?"

He took a step forward. Just one. Careful. Controlled.

And then—slowly—he shifted.

Not fully. Just enough.

Eyes golden. Teeth sharper. Shoulders broader. Something inside him rearranged, as if the man and the beast were both wearing the same skin.

"You already know," he said softly. "Because it's what you are too."

My knees went weak. My mind tried to reject it—but my body didn't. My breath synced with his. My heart pulsed in time with the earth.

And still, my voice came out as a whisper of fear.

"I'm not one of you."

Kael tilted his head. "Not yet."

She was real.

Kael's message had come through in the middle of the storm, nothing more than a pulse of intent through the tether that connected our pack—raw, urgent, and full of something I hadn't felt from him in a long time: hope.

He'd found her.

Aria.

The lost one.

I moved through the cabin like a ghost, bare feet silent on the hardwood floor, drying herbs in one hand, a folded blanket in the other. The place was already clean, but I couldn't stop myself. The nervous energy made my hands useless unless they were doing something.

I lit another candle. Rearranged the cushions on the couch. Folded the same blanket again. The hearth fire cracked low behind me, throwing amber light across the stone walls.

The cabin wasn't fancy, but it was ours—half lodge, half sanctuary. A place of safety and silence, hidden deep in the heart of the forest. Wards in the walls, symbols etched into the foundation. Protected.

It needed to feel like home.

Because Aria had never had one.

I could feel her energy already, faint and flickering, riding Kael's like a second heartbeat. She was scared. Tired. Guarded. I remembered what it was like, being that alone. Being hunted.

I'd been fifteen when Kael found me, barely clinging to life, my change incomplete and my body trying to burn itself from the inside out. Kael had saved me. Given me a place. A reason to keep breathing.

Now it was her turn.

The front door slammed.

I jumped, heart skipping.

"Easy," came a familiar voice—gruff and low and carrying just enough sarcasm to sting. "She's not even here yet and you're already twitching like a rabbit in a trap."

I turned as Ryker strode in, soaked to the knees and coated in trail mud, a bag of firewood slung over one shoulder. Taller than Kael, rougher around the edges, Ryker looked like the forest had carved him from bark and bone. Every line of his face was carved from suspicion.

"You don't have to stalk around like a wraith," I muttered. "She's not a threat."

Ryker dropped the wood with a thud. "She's a wild card. That's worse."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're already writing her off?"

"I'm not writing her off. I'm being realistic." Ryker peeled off his jacket and tossed it near the fire. "We don't know who she is, or what's in her blood. We especially don't know what Kael's doing bringing her here without warning."

"She's pack," I said, voice quiet.

"She's a myth," Ryker countered. "A girl that shouldn't exist. A stray who's got every sick bastard from the Blackfangs licking their chops to put pups in her. You know what she means to them."

I flinched. "She didn't choose any of that."

"No," Ryker said, sitting hard on the couch, eyes sharp. "But that doesn't mean she won't bring it all down on us."

We fell into silence, fire crackling between us.

I looked toward the front door, my heart aching.

"She's not just a girl," I said finally. "She's the missing thread. The one Kael's been carrying in his soul since the day we found that blood trail by the river and nothing else. He knew she was alive. He felt it."

Ryker said nothing.

I looked back down at the folded blanket in my hands.

"She doesn't even know what she is yet. What we are to her. She's probably terrified."

Ryker stood again, pacing now. "That's what worries me."

I raised a brow. "That she's scared?"

"That she's feral." Ryker met my eyes. "Kael brings her in too fast, too raw... She might tear the whole bond apart before it even forms. That's a lot of power to put in the hands of someone who doesn't know if we're her family... or her enemy."

I didn't answer. Instead, I walked to the windows, staring out into the storm, feeling the pull of Kael's approach like a distant drumbeat in my blood.

"She'll come through the trees," I murmured, almost to myself. "Wet, exhausted, angry. But she'll be here."

I placed the folded blanket on the bench beside the door.

"And we'll be waiting."