Chapter 1
【Elsa POV】
Steam spiraled from the espresso machine as I wiped it down, my movements careful and controlled in the cramped space behind the counter. My fingers traced the edge of the metal, catching a droplet of water before it could fall. Outside Kafebonor, the early spring thaw sent rivulets of melting snow down the sidewalks of Ljusviken, but inside, the warmth and rich aroma of freshly ground beans created a sanctuary from the harshness of the Nordic wilderness.
Linnea bumped her hip against mine as she restocked cups beside me, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun that somehow still looked stylish. Her cheeks flushed with excitement as she leaned in close.
"Come out with me tonight," she whispered, eyes sparkling as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure our manager wasn't listening. "There's an amazing electronic music festival in Helsinki tonight. DJ Nordlys is headlining—you know, the one we listened to last week?"
I shook my head, shoulders tensing as I scrubbed harder at a stubborn coffee stain. "Can't. Father wants me home right after work." My voice dropped to barely audible.
"Always 'Father wants' this and 'Father says' that," Linnea groaned, dramatically throwing her head back. She set down a stack of cups with more force than necessary. "God, Elsa, you're twenty years old! When was the last time you did something for yourself?"
Her fingers drummed impatiently on the countertop as she waited for my answer. When none came, she sighed and brushed a strand of hair from my face.
"You should move out," she said, her voice softening. "We could get an apartment together, enjoy Finland's nightlife during the long nights. I've been looking at places in Granudden. Affordable, close to transit."
I glanced up at her, a fleeting smile crossing my lips before fading. "If I could, I would. You know that." My eyes darted to the growing line of humans at the counter, their impatient shuffling growing louder. "Shouldn't you be refilling our cup supply? Dinner rush is about to hit."
Linnea reached out and squeezed my arm, her touch lingering. "Fine, fine—" She grabbed the empty tray and backed away, pointing a finger at me. "But I still think one night of telling him to fuck off wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would teach your parents you're an adult and they can't control you with those ancient Nordic family traditions."
I busied myself with the coffee grounds, shoulders hunched forward as Linnea mercifully dropped the subject.
If only she knew. My name is Elsa Graberg—wolfless, weak, the shame of the Graberg family. I had nothing but this job, my savings, and dreams of escape. My father, Beta of the Svartskogens Pack, only allowed me to work because he'd grown tired of seeing me around the house. Most of my paycheck went to gas and payments on my beat-up Volvo—my only means of independence.
My family had loved me once, before they discovered what I was—or rather, what I wasn't. On my twentieth birthday, when my wolf should have emerged, there was nothing. No second consciousness, no primal power surging through my veins. Just empty, ordinary me.
Father had dragged me deep into the cold Swedish forests of central Sweden after that, leaving me naked, foodless, and shelterless.
"The Nordic cold will bring out what you desire most," he'd said before leaving me. "Your wolf."
It didn't.
Three days later, they found me half-frozen but stubbornly alive. That was when the scar on my neck appeared—a crescent moon shape. No one could explain it, and no one particularly cared to try.
"Text me when you get home," Linnea insisted as we stood in the parking lot after our shift. She hugged her jacket tighter against the chill of the spring night, her breath forming small clouds in the air. She stomped her boots against the wet pavement, refusing to leave until I was safely in my car.
"Your lips are turning blue," I said, fishing my keys from my pocket with trembling fingers. "You don't have to wait. What if you break down somewhere?" I asked, guilt twisting in my stomach. I'd never told her I was a werewolf—a defective one, but still.
Linnea's nose wrinkled as she laughed, the sound echoing across the nearly empty parking lot. "Then I'd call you, obviously." She stepped forward, and grabbed both my hands in hers.
"I worry about you, Elsa," she said, her voice dropping to a serious tone. Her eyes searched mine. "Those bruises last month weren't from 'falling down stairs.' I'm not stupid."
I looked away, my hair falling forward to shield my face. "It's complicated."
She squeezed my hand, her grip firm and uncompromising. "You would help me. So I help you. That's what friends do." She tapped my car door with her knuckles. "Now get in before we both freeze to death out here."
Linnea thought I came from a normal human family that neglected and abused me. I'd had to stop her from calling the authorities more than once, especially when I showed up with fresh bruises. Social services getting involved would be catastrophic.
My only hope lay in finding my fated mate—the one guaranteed escape from my family and Pack. But what if I didn't have one? What if life in a new Pack would be just as miserable?
The lights of the commercial district faded behind me as I drove through the quiet Ljusviken community. My fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel, keeping time with the radio's soft folk melody. I adjusted the rearview mirror, checking that no one followed me, an instinct born from years of vigilance.
As I turned onto the unlit rural Swedish roads, I rolled down the window a crack. The cold air hit my face, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine. Towering spruces and pines seemed darker now with the spring melt, looming like sentinels on both sides, their branches swaying slightly in the wind.
"Just twenty more minutes," I murmured to myself, eyes constantly scanning the treeline. "Twenty minutes and I'm home."
The night was darker than usual. The moon provided little illumination through the cloud cover.
My headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating patches of half-melted snow and muddy road ahead. I leaned forward, squinting at something in the distance.
A massive shape burst across my headlights, a blur of fur and muscle.
"No!" I gasped, recognizing the silhouette immediately—a werewolf in shifted form.
I slammed the brakes, my knuckles white against the wheel. My car skidded on the muddy, half-frozen road, tires losing their grip. The seatbelt cut into my chest as the vehicle spun. My head smacked against the steering wheel, stars exploding behind my eyes, and I bit my tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, warm and coppery.
The car lurched to a stop, half in a ditch. I sat stunned for a moment, heart pounding in my ears like a drum. My hands shook as I tried to insert the key again, missing the ignition twice before succeeding.
"Please, please, please," I begged, turning the key. Heart hammering against my ribs, I tried to restart the engine. It whined pathetically.
At the edge of the spruce forest, two eerie yellow points of light watched me.
Prey. Cornered. Weak.
These thoughts weren't from a wolf inside me—I had none. They were simply the brutal truth. As wolfless, I was the Pack's punching bag, lowest in the ancient werewolf hierarchy. A favorite pastime of young wolves was hunting the wolfless through the vast forests.
They couldn't attack humans—that would violate Varglag—but me? I was fair game.
I had planned to go home tonight because, despite the beatings, at least my parents would call the Pack healer if things got too bad. Now I sat like a snow hare on the Nordic plains, waiting for the wolf's jaws to close.
The yellow eyes blinked once, then began moving closer. Slowly. Deliberately.