The Wolf in the Fog

The smell hit him again—sharp and cold. Kael stood in the torch-lit hallway of his old castle, with no shirt or shoes, looking at the thick fog coming in under the stone door. It shouldn't be here, not this deep or fast.

Fog doesn't move like that. And it doesn't smell like blood, moonfire, and a girl who should be dead.

He stepped forward, the old floor creaking. The fog wrapped around his ankles like an animal that wasn't scared of him. He couldn't stop thinking about the girl since he put her in the healer's bed—her skin too cold, her body too light, with a crescent mark that glowed briefly on her collarbone. It was the same mark that burned on his chest every full moon. The curse he'd carried for years.

"She shouldn't have that mark. She shouldn't have found him. And she shouldn't have known his name." His words, more like a whisper.

He felt a pull behind his ribs. It was her. Even while she was asleep, he could feel her. Kael's inner wolf became restless. It hadn't reacted to anyone this way in years. It wasn't just hunting for blood—it was seeking her. And that scared him most.

He went down the stairs quietly and walked to the healer's room. The door creaked open.

The bed was empty.

Kael's heart stopped.

The chains he'd hidden under the sheets weren't used. She was gone with no signs of struggle—just the outline of her body in the dusty sheets and a strange smear of moonlight on the floor.

"Shit."

He raced back upstairs. Outside, the fog was thick. She was in the woods.

---

He changed into a wolf when he reached the trees.

His bones cracked, muscles stretched, and fur burst through his skin. In seconds, he became a huge black wolf with golden eyes and scars in his fur.

He ran into the woods, his paws pounding the frozen ground. Trees passed in a blur. The fog smelled of rot and old magic.

And under that—her scent. Lyra.

She was moving too fast for someone who said she had no powers. And she was running toward the cursed part of the forest—where even Kael's loyal wolves wouldn't go. His instincts told him to stop, but he ran faster.

He saw a flash of white between the trees—low, quick, and silent.

Not a wolf. Her.

She was running on all fours, moving in a strange, smooth way. She looked partly like a shadow, partly like a dream. Her skin glowed faintly in the moonlight, her hair flowing behind her like silver fire.

She didn't look back.

Kael jumped forward, cutting through the trees at terrifying speed. He got closer with every step, feeling angry, confused, and something worse. He should have let her die. Instead, he brought her into his home, and now the curse was changing.

Waking up.

He jumped over a fallen tree and landed just behind her.

"Lyra!" he shouted—half growl, half roar.

She didn't stop, but she slowed.

For a moment, her body flickered like a flame about to go out. Kael changed back to human form as he ran. He stopped and caught her just before she fell.

Her skin was freezing. Her lips were blue. But her eyes were wide open.

...And they weren't her eyes.

They glowed silver with black edges. Kael stared into them and felt the weight of centuries.

Then she spoke, but it wasn't Lyra's voice.

"She will return," she whispered, tilting her head oddly. "Through fire and fang. Through the cursed blood of the one you love most."

Kael's stomach dropped. "No," he whispered.

The wind howled through the trees like a scream.

Lyra blinked and fell limp in his arms.

---

He carried her back through the fog, each step heavier than the last. The forest seemed alive and watching. The trees bent as if they remembered her. Or feared her.

She didn't move at all, not even when he put her in the healer's bed again. Not even when he cleaned the dirt and blood from her hands—blood that didn't come from any wound on her body. She had killed something out there. Or someone.

Kael stepped back and watched her silently. Her chest rose and fell slowly. Human.

But something was terribly wrong. He didn't understand or trust her. But he couldn't bring himself to chain her. Not yet.

Not when his own curse had turned cold when she touched him. Not when his wolf had gone quiet when she looked at him with someone else's eyes.

The prophecy. The voice. The mark.

The way she said his name when he never told it to her. He didn't know what she was.

But Kael knew this: She wasn't just a girl with a death wish. She was a storm in a girl's skin. And if he didn't stop her, she would destroy him first.

---

As Kael turned to leave the room, Lyra’s lips parted in her sleep. Her voice came soft. Strained. Barely audible.

“Don’t let her out... She’ll kill you, Kael.”

He froze.

The candle flickered.

And a chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Because no one—no one—had called him by name in years.