The night was unnaturally quiet in Silverpine Valley, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you like a warning. The full moon hung low in the sky, glowing with a strange, reddish hue.
Eighteen-year-old Lyra Quinn crouched at the edge of the Whispering Forest, heart pounding in her chest. Her long auburn hair blew around her face as the wind shifted, carrying a strange scent—earthy, wild, and... alluring. It wasn't just the forest she was drawn to. It was something inside it.
She felt it again—a tug at her soul, as if invisible threads were pulling her forward. Ever since her birthday two nights ago, her senses had heightened unnaturally. She could hear whispers from miles away, see in near-total darkness, and feel the heartbeat of the forest itself.
They said her family was cursed, that the Quinn bloodline was tainted by wolves. Lyra never believed in the old stories, not until her skin began to burn beneath the moonlight and a strange crescent mark appeared on her shoulder. Now, the stories felt like warnings too late.
As she stepped past the first line of trees, the world shifted. Shadows moved on their own, and the air turned heavy with ancient magic.
A growl cut through the silence.
Lyra froze.
From the shadows emerged a tall figure—half-man, half-beast—his silver eyes glowing like frostfire. He was beautiful in a terrifying way: wild black hair, sharp jawline, and a body rippling with power. Clawed hands. Bare chest. And the unmistakable aura of alpha.
"You crossed into our land, Moonborn," he said, voice low and rough like gravel soaked in honey.
Lyra swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to—"
"Lies don't sit well with wolves," he growled, stepping closer. "Especially not with me."
Her breath caught as their eyes met. The pull between them was electric. Like gravity had turned sideways and he was the only center she knew.
He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "You're one of us. The blood sings in you."
"No... I'm human. I don't—"
"Not anymore. Not with that mark."
Lyra's hand flew to her shoulder. The crescent burned hotter.
He extended his hand, claws retracting, palm open.
"Come with me, and I'll teach you what the others won't. Deny me, and the forest will eat you alive."
The moon pulsed overhead.
And Lyra—confused, terrified, and impossibly intrigued—took his hand.