BITE BACK

They buried him on a Monday. The sky was overcast, colorless, like someone had drained the warmth from the world. The wind didn't move. The trees stood still. And I stood next to a hole in the ground trying to remember how to breathe.

Calen Draven. Twenty-eight years old. My fiancé. My almost-husband. Now, just a name on a headstone and a silence I can't fill.

I didn't cry. Not because I wasn't broken-I was. But the grief didn't come in tears. It came like smoke. Thick in my lungs, sour in my mouth. It settled behind my eyes and burned, but nothing fell.

They said it was an animal attack. A bear, maybe. Some freak encounter him in the woods where he liked to run. The sheriff said there were claw marks. Deep ones. That was all they told me.

They didn't mention the symbols. The ones scorched into the bark of the trees where he died. They didn't say anything about the way his body was found-not just torn, but arranged. I read that part in the report I wasn't supposed to see. I wish I hadn't.

The funeral was small. Calen never liked big crowds. The Dravens were there, dressed like the grief was tailored onto their bones. His mother wore black lace and pearls, but her face was sharp. She looked at me like I was the crack in the picture. Like I didn't belong next to the hole they were putting him in.

I wore the ring.

It felt heavy. Not like a symbol of love, but like a question no one would answer. The silver was warm against my skin, but my fingers felt cold.

Jez stood next to me. She didn't speak. Just slid her hand into mine and held it, solid and still. She smelled like citrus and old smoke. Her buzzed hair was dyed electric blue again. It clashed hard with her black funeral shirt, but that was the point. Jez never blended in, and Calen liked that about her.

"You okay?" she whispered, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I nodded. Lie number one of many.

The minister said something about eternal rest. About peace and memory and letting go. I stopped listening. My eyes stayed locked on the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. The finality of it didn't hit. It didn't feel like he was down there. It felt like he was somewhere else, stuck between.

When the ropes tightened and the wood disappeared below the earth, something cold ran down my spine. My skin pulled tight. I wasn't alone.

I turned slowly, like looking too fast might scare it away. At the edge of the cemetery, just past the crooked gate and half-dead trees, there was someone standing in the woods. Far enough that I couldn't see a face, but close enough to know they were watching.

Tall. Still. Like they belonged to the forest. Like the trees grew around them.

I blinked.

Gone.

"Did you see that?" I asked. Jez looked where I pointed, but the space was empty.

"See what?"

"Nothing," I said, swallowing the unease. "I thought-nevermind."

The crowd began to thin. The Dravens didn't speak to me. Calen's mother laid a hand on the casket before she left and whispered something I couldn't hear. His father wasn't there. He never liked me. Maybe that was mutual.

Jez walked me back to my car. The gravel crunched under our feet like bones breaking. My hands were shaking and I didn't know when that had started.

"Do you want me to come over?" she asked. "I could make tea. Or pour whiskey."

"I think I need to be alone. Just for a bit."

She nodded. Jez always knew when to push and when not to. She hugged me, tight and fast, then stepped back.

"Text me when you get home. If you don't, I'm calling the cops. Then probably breaking in."

"Noted."

She left. I sat in the car for a long time with the engine off, hands in my lap, staring at nothing. The ring caught the light once. It looked too bright.

I thought about Calen. The way he used to run his fingers through my hair when he thought I was asleep. The way he would hum under his breath when he cooked. The way he smiled when he looked at me, like I was the one thing in the world that made sense.

I thought about how the sheriff wouldn't look me in the eyes when he handed me the death certificate. About the scorch marks on the trees. About the shadow I saw at the funeral.

This wasn't over.

It didn't feel like an ending.

It felt like the start of something worse.

And deep in my gut, something whispered:

This wasn't an accident.

Whoever did it?

They're not finished.

The apartment didn't feel like home without his boots by the door.

It felt too clean. Too staged. Like someone had scrubbed away the evidence that Calen ever lived here. Except they missed the drawer in the hallway - second one down, where he used to toss his receipts and tangled headphones and notes he never looked at again.

That drawer still smelled like him. Like pine soap and peppermints and something faintly electric, the way the air smells before a storm.

I didn't mean to open it. I just wanted to do something with my hands. Instead, I found the notebook.

Small. Black. Edges frayed from being shoved in pockets. No name on the front, just a deep crease down the middle. I hesitated, then opened it.

The first few pages were normal. Grocery lists. Routines. "Thursday – pick up wine." Then the handwriting shifted. Sharper. More cramped. More paranoid.

Symbols.

Circles layered inside triangles. Jagged lines that curled like hooks. One page was nothing but a spiral, drawn over and over until the paper almost tore. My fingers traced it. Something about the shape itched behind my eyes.

I flipped to the last page.

There was a drawing of a tree. Tall. Split down the middle like it had been struck by lightning. And at the base of it, a ring of fire. No caption. Just the symbol again, carved into the bark.

I'd seen that tree.

At the edge of the cemetery. Behind the shadow in the woods.

I slammed the notebook shut. My breath was too loud. My heart felt wrong in my chest - like it was skipping steps or trying to climb up my throat.

They said it was a bear.

I put the notebook down, grabbed my coat, and walked out the door.

---

I parked near the old hiking trail. No one else was there. The forest loomed like it remembered something I didn't. Cold air bit at my cheeks as I walked deeper, past the warning signs and into the quieter dark.

The sun was starting to dip. Shadows stretched longer than they should've.

I used to come here with Calen. We'd hike until our legs gave out and sit on that moss-covered log he always swore had "the best ass contour for nature's seat." I almost smiled thinking about it.

Then I saw the first tree.

The bark was scorched in a perfect spiral. Black, crisp lines like it had been branded. I reached out to touch it. The moment my fingers made contact, the wind shifted.

It wasn't normal wind.

It whispered.

Not with words, but with weight. Like it moved around me, through me, cataloging me.

I pulled my hand back.

"Don't turn around," a voice said.

I froze.

It was behind me. Male. Low. Calm in a way that made my pulse spike - not like a threat, but like something that shouldn't be that close without making a sound.

I turned anyway.

He was tall. Shadowed. Dressed in black from collar to boots, with a tattered jacket that looked like it had claw marks across the sleeve. His face was half in shadow, but I saw the scar that cut from his temple down to his jaw. Old. Pale. Like someone had tried to peel him open once.

His eyes weren't natural.

Gray, with a ring of gold burning under the surface.

He looked at me like he knew me. Like I was familiar, or maybe just expected.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said.

"I could say the same to you."

"I wasn't talking about the woods."

I didn't understand, but I didn't ask. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

"You knew Calen."

It wasn't a question. He didn't answer.

"You were at the funeral," I said. "In the trees."

He nodded once. No guilt. No fear. Like being seen wasn't a problem.

"Why?"

He took a step forward. I held my ground.

"Because the pack that killed him will come for you next," he said.

I felt the words before I understood them. "The... pack?"

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed it," he said. "The dreams. The cold. The pull."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do. You just haven't admitted it yet."

"I'm not like you."

He smiled - not kind. Not cruel. Just tired.

"No. But you will be."

I should've run. I should've screamed or backed away or pulled out my phone and called Jez, even if it was just to have someone hear me die. But I didn't.

I looked him in the eyes and said, "Then tell me what they are. What they did to him."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

"If you want answers, you need to stop pretending the world works the way you were told."

"Then show me."

He turned and walked deeper into the trees, not looking back.

And I followed.

The girl followed me.

That should've worried me.

It didn't.

She moved like a human - stiff from fear, impulsive with grief. But her scent said otherwise. Not fully turned, not awakened, but close. Too close.

The night air carried her in waves. Ash. Silver. Burned salt and bone-deep sorrow. It clung to her like old smoke.

And underneath all that?

Blood. Not Calen's. Hers. Old bloodline. Hunted bloodline. The kind of scent that wakes a sleeping pack.

She didn't know yet.

She would.

We moved deeper into the trees, where the ground was soft and wrong, like it remembered violence. The stars thinned overhead, the pines taller here, twisted slightly like they'd leaned away from something once.

She kept up. Impressive. Her boots caught on the roots, but she didn't fall. I slowed once, gave her a look.

She didn't flinch. "Where are we going?"

"You asked for the truth."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

Her eyes were sharp. Green-gold. I hadn't noticed in the dark back there - too focused on her pulse. She had Calen's fire but none of his cowardice.

That would make her dangerous.

I stopped at the clearing.

Charred ground. Circle of blackened stones. No grass had grown here in years. Not since the night Thorne gave the order and I didn't follow it.

She stepped into the circle, hesitation catching her for just a breath.

"This is where he died," I said.

She turned to look at me. "You were there?"

"No. But I saw the aftermath."

"Then how do you know?"

I crouched and touched the earth. It was cold through the gloves. "Because this is what happens when you try to run."

She looked at me like I'd spoken another language. "Calen didn't run. He died on a trail."

"He died trying to sever himself from the Draven pack. That's not something they forgive."

"He wasn't part of a pack."

"You sure about that?"

I let it hang in the air. The wind shifted. Trees groaned like bones cracking in the cold.

I stood. She hadn't moved. "You feel it yet?"

"Feel what?"

"The weight. The burn in your chest. The way the forest listens now."

She said nothing.

"You've already started changing."

"Changing into what?" she whispered.

"Whatever they made you."

She took a step back. Not away from me - from the truth. Her breath hitched.

Then it happened.

Her pupils narrowed.

Not all the way - not the full shift - but enough.

Enough to scare her.

Enough to prove me right.

Her breathing turned shallow. She shook her head. "No. This is just- I'm tired. Grieving. I haven't slept-"

"Stop lying to yourself."

"I'm not-"

"You felt it at the funeral. In your blood. When the wind shifted. You felt the bones of your name tremble."

She stared at me like I'd reached inside her head.

"I don't know who you are," she said, voice unsteady. "But I know Calen. He wasn't- He wouldn't-"

I walked toward her. Not fast. Not threatening. But her shoulders tensed like she'd hit a wall.

"I knew Calen better than you think," I said. "He was supposed to bring you in. He didn't."

She shook her head again, mouth parting.

I stepped into the edge of the circle. "He loved you. Enough to break the rules. Enough to die for it."

Tears welled, but she didn't let them fall. Good. She was stronger than most.

"But that's not the whole story," I said.

"What is?"

I didn't answer.

She stared at me. Her fists clenched. "Why me?"

"Because of what you are."

"I'm not-"

"Not a wolf yet. But you're close. You wouldn't hear the forest otherwise. Wouldn't smell me through the cold. Wouldn't have found the tree."

She blinked. "What tree?"

"The one with the mark. Spiral in the bark. Same one Calen drew."

Her lips parted. She didn't speak.

"You think he just found that symbol by accident?" I asked. "It's a hunter's mark. Old blood magic. Used to track the bloodlines they want to erase."

She looked sick. "Why would anyone want to erase me?"

I paused.

Then told her the truth.

"Because your family defied the Alpha of the Draven pack three generations ago. And they've been hunting your line ever since."

She dropped to her knees. Not like a collapse - more like her legs finally admitted they couldn't carry it all.

"What do I do?" she asked.

I looked at her - this trembling spark of someone not yet burned out. She was on the edge of two lives. I could push her either way.

But I wasn't cruel.

I crouched beside her, not touching her. Just close enough for her to hear the change in my breath when I said: "You don't run. You rise."

Her eyes flicked up. "I don't know how."

"You will."

Silence fell between us.

Then she swayed.

Eyes rolled back. Her body seized once, violently. I caught her before she hit the ground.

And in the flickering dark, with her head cradled in my arms, she whispered something that froze me.

"You were there... when they burned him."

I stared at her.

Because I had been.

Just not in the way she thought.