Prologue

It was quiet when my world stirred.

I streaked through the woods, a little more than a white blur through the trees as I headed for the spot I knew he would be at. The smells shifted rapidly around my heightened nose, and soon I could taste the water before I saw it.

A little more now, I thought, picturing the outcropping of rock. I might see him again today, I thought, and felt my heart go a few beats faster in a way that had nothing to do with my race through the night, before quickly pushing the image of the magnificent red-eyed wolf from my mind’s eye.

The water rippled ethereally under the glow of the full moon and I bounded over it in one leap.

He was there.

My heart fluttered in my chest, and a deep primal urge still new to me smoldered in my groin. He watched me carefully as I neared his rocky perch, eyes a piercing red and stark against the moon-bathed surroundings.

He leaped gracefully from the rock, landing beside me, then without so much as a friendly grunt turned and dashed away from me, from the park, and into the city lights.

I turned and chased after him.

His calls rang out ahead of me, low and beckoning. Unthinking, I replied, my own high pitched howls rising up into the still night and blending with his in an unearthly harmony as we raced into the city.

Underneath the traffic light, past a man in raggedy coveralls and torn boots mumbling in what appeared to be a drug-induced trance, past the city’s strays who toppled over a wastebin as they hurriedly slinked back into the shadows on our approach, letting out subdued yelps of fear as they scattered in every direction. My nose crinkled as the scent of wood and leaves and water was replaced by the less pleasant smell of the city.

Still I kept up.

He slinked through the shadows, his body blending in with the shadows and occasionally materializing form the darkness when he burst into the moonlight. He rounded a bend and I heard a muffled growl as he landed soundlessly on a nearby rooftop.

My breath came in rapid puffs of vapor before me and exhilaration coursed through me as strength flooded my body with each leap I took. My keen smell followed his trails when he disappeared into the darkness.

We were in the heart of the city now, and for a moment, I felt fear. The buildings had grown progressively tighter and taller and the increased barrage of city lights meant there was barely any shadow to serve as camouflage. Not that it would help me, I thought, since my white coat stood stark against most backgrounds.

An entire sense of dread crept over me as I took the final leap, covering the distance between us to land beside him on the rooftop of the tallest building in the city.

He was waiting, sitting silently on the edge of the building. His eyes followed me as I stepped towards him, regarding me for a moment before leaping down the edge of the building and approaching me. Maybe today was going to be the day we finally spoke.

I noticed his steps weren't that tentative, cautious steps of an Omega and held my breath, taking a few steps to the side so I circled him instead of shrinking back from him. I sensed the slightest hint of approval in his eyes as he fell in step with me, unmistakably eager to close the gap between us.

Then suddenly, the air shifted around us, way too rapidly for it to be an innocuous shifting of smells as the temperature suddenly dipped by a few degrees. An overpowering sense of dread crept over me. He’s sensed it too, but where I’d slunk into the shadows, his ears had perked up and his teeth were bared as a low guttural growl of aggression cut through the cold night air. I whirled about, desperately seeking an exit, and came face to face with it.

It stood some seven-foot tall, and might have passed for an extraordinarily ugly human, save for the six-inch canines protruding from its mouth pulled back in a rectal grin. It’s eyes were huge and protruding glassy orbs that shone in the moonlight, and it had long thin arms, stretching down to way below its knees and ending in savage-looking claws.

As macabre as it looked, it wasn’t what had stopped me in my tracks and set me stumbling a couple feet backwards. It was the solid wall of stench that preceded him. It stank of deep rotting flesh. He looked straight at me and bared his fangs, a dribble of saliva coursing down his thin lips and I shrank even further into the shadows as all the hair on my body came to stand on my body.

Then, a large black shadow, streaked through the night, and above the place I stood, I could see his red eyes looking at me and, just as quickly, they vanished. My breath came in gasps and my head ached as I stood there. What had just happened?

I drive into the mansion, greeted by the grandeur that has long ceased to awe me. The elegant architecture, a relic from the early nineteenth century, appears as familiar as my own reflection. As I stride across the intricately woven Persian rug, my footsteps resonate against the hardwood floor, a reminder of the countless times I have paced these halls, flanked by towering walls adorned with meticulously curated paintings of my ancestors, their austere gazes seemingly following my every move. I stop at one and look up at the face staring down at me.

There are some who say that I look like my father but even as I look up at the painting, I fail to see the resemblance. It amuses me a little. He was not a very handsome man.

Among the distinguished portraits, a painting of my great-grandfather, resplendent in his military uniform, presides with a stoic grace, a testament to the lineage that has etched its mark in the annals of history. The stately figures from bygone eras seem to cast a somber yet watchful eye, their presence weaving a complex tapestry of tradition and legacy that has become an immutable part of this timeless mansion.

As I make my way through the halls, sculptures from previous eras stand in silent repose, their intricate details carved with a finesse that bespeaks an era of master artisans. A marble bust, the visage of an enigmatic ancestor, emanates an air of quiet authority, its cool surface a stark contrast to the weary warmth that now permeates the surroundings. A series of ornate figurines, meticulously arranged on polished pedestals, reflect the meticulous craftsmanship that defined an era long past, each telling a silent tale of artistic prowess and cultural heritage.

Despite their intricate beauty and historical significance, these artifacts, passed down through generations, have become fixtures frozen in time, unable to offer the solace they once did. The paintings that once held the allure of ancestral pride now seem like faded echoes of a distant past, and the sculptures, though exquisite, fail to evoke the wonder they once inspired. As I navigate through this mansion of familial heritage, the weight of tradition and legacy seems to loom heavier, blending with the weariness that has settled within these hallowed walls, a reminder of the unyielding burden that comes with upholding an esteemed lineage.

"Ah. My brother returns. Judging by that swagger in your step, I would say you have made another conquest?" Elliott asks me as he walks down the staircase. He is wearing a blue turtleneck that clings to every muscle on his body, his chest straining the fabric.

"Your tailor must be beheaded," I say to him and he shakes his head.

"Your obsession for fashion is not something I feel should be encouraged. While you were away twisting the arm of someone you could have gotten many of your underlings to twist for you, this happened," he says and hands me a tablet. I look at it and the news on it makes the day suddenly seem darker than it already is.

"What the fuck is this?"

"They is what happens when you get a woman to do a man's job, my brother."

"What the hell do you mean? Anna has always been very efficient."

"At being a good hostess and keeping the guests entertained. Business isn't her forte and you know it. Send me in and I will fix this," He says to me.

I look at him and I can see it. I can see that eagerness and that anger. He wants to prove himself, not only to me but to the pack. He wants to show that he is worthy to be called my father's son and I know from experience how reckless that makes him.

"You won't insult our sister. This is a worker's riot, nothing over the top. Have the chopper readied. I am going by myself," I say to him. He starts to speak but I meet his eyes and he stops, shakes his head then nods once, and walks away. I watch him leave, remembering a time I was just like that, just five years ago. I start walking to my room to change.