Chapter 1 The howl beneath the ice

Chapter One: The Howl Beneath the Ice

Winter, 1843. Forest of Velensk, Eastern Europe.

I should have died in that clearing.

And in many ways, I did.

They say death comes like a shadow, slow and inevitable. But mine came on four legs, fast as wind and hungrier than winter. I remember the way the snow cracked under my feet, the screams swallowed by the forest, and the smell of smoke and burning flesh in the air.

My village, Mirinov, had always whispered about the forest. They said the trees could watch. That howls at night meant a death by dawn. We mocked it as children tales to keep us from straying too far. But they weren't lies. Not all of them.

We were attacked after vespers, on the eve of Saint Brannick's feast. The whole village gathered for the procession, candles in hand, prayers on lips. That was when they struck.

They didn't come like men. They came like phantoms. Fur and fang and speed that split the world in two. Wolves, but not. Larger. Taller. Their eyes burned amber. And they didn't kill for hunger. They slaughtered for silence.

My mother had tried to shield me. I saw her arms, spread wide in front of me, as the first beast leapt. I heard the crack of bone. Her body hit the ground before I even screamed. That was the last thing I remembered-her lifeless eyes, and the heat of something ripping into my neck.

Then nothing.

Then cold.

Then fire.

I woke in a different kind of dark.

It wasn't the still black of the grave. It was loud. Alive. A darkness humming with growls, with whispers in a language my mind shouldn't understand. My skin felt tight. My bones, wrong. Like they belonged to someone else.

I was naked, wrapped in bloodied pelts. Every part of me throbbed. My teeth ached in my jaw. I could smell the snow outside. I could hear something dying in the forest beyond the walls. And worst of all, I could feel it.

Something... inside me. Breathing. Watching.

I tried to sit up, and a hand pressed me back down. Strong. Rough. Too warm.

"She's awake," a voice said.

I turned my head and saw him for the first time.

Lucien Draegor.

He stood tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark wool coat lined with fur and buckled leather. His hair, black as ravens, fell to his collar in loose curls. But it was his eyes that froze me. They were gold. Not the soft gold of sunlight, but the molten kind,dangerous, seething.

"Get away from me," I rasped.

He didn't. Instead, he crouched beside me, inspecting me like one might examine a broken weapon.

"You survived," he said, without emotion. "You shouldn't have."

"I didn't ask for this."

"No one ever does."

I thrashed, weak and desperate, but he caught my wrist in one hand. His grip was iron.

"You'll hurt yourself. Or someone else."

"I'm not one of you," I spat. "I'm not a-"

"You are now."

That was the first time I heard it. The word they whispered like a death sentence.

Werewolf.

They brought me to their stronghold-The Hollow Fang. Not a home, not a den. A fortress, carved into the bones of a mountain, veiled in mist and blood-warded trees. Fires burned in iron braziers along the cave walls. The air stank of wet fur and iron.

They kept me in a chamber alone for three days.

I screamed until I bled.

I broke my fingers against the stone trying to claw my way out.

I vomited up the remnants of a deer carcass someone forced me to eat.

Each night, the wolf inside me clawed closer to the surface.

They called it the First Howl, the first time a turned one fully shifts. For some, it takes days. For others, weeks. I lasted five before it broke me.

The pain was endless. My spine arched back until I thought it would snap. My skin tore itself apart only to heal again, slick with sweat and blood. My mouth flooded with saliva as my teeth pushed through the gums like knives.

And then, it was done.

I stood on all fours. My breath steamed in the air. I was taller than I should be, my wolf form lean and sinewy, fur dark as pitch. But my eyes... they were still mine.

For a moment, I tasted the world like never before. Every sound. Every scent. The snowstorm two miles away. The heartbeat of the guard pacing outside.

And then I shifted back, collapsed, and passed out.

Lucien was there when I woke. Again.

"I ran once too," he said, sitting in the shadows.

I didn't reply.

"I tried to starve it. Thought if I just resisted long enough, I'd die a man instead of a beast." He leaned forward. "But you don't get to choose what you become. Only who you serve."

"I don't serve anyone."

"You will. Or you'll die."

He left then. Just like that. Cold and impossible.

But the strange thing was... he hadn't locked the door.

The next night, I ran.

I wore nothing but a torn riding cloak and boots stolen from a guard's corpse. I shifted once to get past the perimeter, then again to cross the frozen river. The forest was vast and treacherous, but I knew the direction. South. Back toward Mirinov. Home.

I reached the valley ridge by dawn. I could see the church steeple rising from the frost. But the village was gone. Burned. Smoked out. Blackened stones and ash.

I dropped to my knees.

There was no home to return to.

And that's when I heard it. That low growl behind me.

Lucien.

"You really thought I wouldn't follow you?" he asked.

"Kill me," I said.

"No."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I want you to understand." He walked forward, boots crunching frost. "You're not cursed. You're chosen. You were turned for a reason."

"I didn't ask to be chosen."

"The moon doesn't care what we ask."

That night, the Hollow Fang was attacked.

It began with a scream from the northern watch. Then came the smoke. And the stink. Wet fur. Blood. Decay. Something monstrous.

The Lycans, twisted versions of us, born from old curses and dark rites had breached the gate. Towering beasts, all fangs and raw strength. They tore through our warriors with maddening hunger.

Then, like a tide behind them, came the Vampires.

Tall. Pale. Regal. Their movements too fast to follow. Eyes like rubies. Skin like porcelain. They didn't rage like the Lycans. They hunted with precision, like it was sport.

Lucien grabbed me by the arm. "Shift."

"I-I can't."

"You can. You will. Or we both die."

He shifted mid-stride. The change looked effortless. Fur exploded across his body. His jaw cracked into a snout of bone and tooth. His body rippled with muscle and dark, ancient power.

And I did it too. For the first time, I didn't fight it. I let the wolf inside me rise.

Together, we tore into the invaders. Claws met bone. Blood misted the air. I don't remember most of the fight, just flashes. A vampire's mouth too close. Lucien ripping a Lycan's throat out. My own jaws locking on something and ripping.

When it was done, we were both soaked in red.

I fell to the snow. Panting. Trembling. Changed.

Lucien knelt beside me.

"You did well," he said quietly.

"Don't lie."

"I don't." His hand brushed my cheek, rough with dried blood. "You are one of us now."

And for the first time, I didn't flinch.

I hated what I was. But I didn't hate him.

Not anymore.