Awaken

I stood in the doorway of my grandmother's bedroom, watching the dust motes dance in the blank space where she used to sleep. She had been gone for two months, but the scent of her favorite soap still clung to the floral wallpaper like a stubborn memory. The mattress was bare, stripped down to its sterile blue stripes, looking more like an exhibit in a museum of abandonment than the place where I had watched her life click away to the rhythm of knitting needles.

I reached for the silver locket resting against my collarbone, my thumb tracing the intricate, worn engravings on the metal. Gran had given it to me on her deathbed, demanding I never take it off. It was a heavy, old-fashioned thing, completely out of place with my oversized black hoodie and scuffed combat boots, but it was the only piece of her I had left. I adjusted my grip on the cardboard box in my arms, intending to pack up the last of her vanity table, when a high-pitched whine cut through the quiet afternoon.

It was a sound I had never heard before, a mechanical buzz that vibrated in the soles of my feet. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I walked to the window, pulling back the lace curtain. Through the thick canopy of the deep woods surrounding the cabin, three sleek, black drones hovered just above the tree line. They were silent save for that irritating, high-frequency hum, their red camera lenses scanning the overgrown lawn. Before I could even process what a trio of military-grade surveillance drones was doing in rural Oregon, the glass in front of me shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.

A metal canister bounced across the hardwood floor, hissing violently.

I barely had time to cover my face before a blinding flash of white light erupted, accompanied by a bang that rattled my teeth. The world turned into a roaring, colorless void. Panic spiked, hot and sharp, overriding the ringing in my ears. I stumbled backward and tripped over the cardboard box. Through the haze of smoke and flashing spots in my eyes, the heavy thud of boots echoed from the porch. The front door splintered as it was busted in. 

Men in tactical gear poured into the cabin. They wore black helmets and visors that obscured their faces, but what hit me hardest was the smell. Underneath the scent of burnt gunpowder, they reeked of peppermint and antiseptic. It was a sterile, terrifying odor that made my stomach turn.

"Target is in the back bedroom!" a voice barked, sounding hollow through a respirator. "Deploy the nets!"

I did not think. I did not ask questions. I lunged toward the window, ignoring the jagged glass remaining in the frame, and scrambled out onto the damp earth of the flowerbed. A heavy, weighted net woven with thin silver wire whistled past my ear, snapping a branch off Gran's favorite rose bush. The moment the silver brushed against the sleeve of my hoodie, a wave of intense, nauseating heat radiated through my skin, as if I had touched a hot stove.

I hit the ground running, my lungs burning as I bolted into the deep woods.

The forest was a blur of dark green pine needles and wet moss. Behind me, the heavy crashes of the tactical team echoed through the trees. They were fast, too fast for normal men carrying gear, their boots pounding the earth with terrifying rhythm. My heart hammered against my ribs like a terrified bunny. As I leaped over a decaying log, the old, jagged scar on my left shoulder began to throb with a phantom, searing heat. It was a scar from a dog attack when I was five that I barely remembered. Right now, it felt like someone was pressing a branding iron into my flesh.

I ran harder, the branches clawing at my face and tearing my clothes. I knew these woods. I had grown up in them. But my feet felt heavy, and the air in my chest felt like liquid lead. I broke through a thicket of ferns and skidded to a halt, my boots sliding on the wet ground.

A sheer, rocky ravine blocked my path, dropping thirty feet down into a rushing creek. I spun around, my back to the drop, just as three armed men stepped out of the brush, rifles raised. The silver-laced nets were loaded into wide-barreled launchers, ready to fire.

"Nowhere left to run, Miss Chase," one of them said, his voice sickeningly polite behind his visor. "Make this easy on yourself."

I clenched my fists, masking the terror trembling through my limbs with a dry, desperate snarl. "I would love to, but I really hate group activities. Especially when the dress code is this ugly."

Before the leader could pull his trigger, a low, guttural roar shattered the forest air. It was a sound that vibrated through my very bones, filled with a primal, suffocating power.

From the dense brush to my left, a massive wolf erupted like a freight train. It was colossal, easily the size of a horse, with a thick coat of sun-bleached brown fur and a chest marred by jagged, pale scars. The beast did not hesitate. It slammed into the lead hunter, sending him flying into a pine tree with a sickening crunch. The other two men fired, but the wolf moved with impossible, predatory grace, dodging the projectiles and snapping its jaws. Within seconds, the remaining hunters were on the ground, their weapons shattered, groaning in pain as the massive beast stood over them, a terrifying guardian of the forest.

I pressed my back against the rock, my breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Great, I thought. First high-tech kidnappers, now a monster. Today is just spectacular.

The giant wolf turned its head toward me. Its eyes were a stormy, turbulent sea green, but the moment they locked onto mine, the color shifted, burning into a brilliant, electric blue. The beast froze, its heavy chest heaving, staring at me as if it had just found something it had been searching for its entire life.

Then, the bones in its body began to crack and reshape.

I watched in horrified fascination as the fur receded, the massive frame shifting and stretching until a man stood in the clearing. He was a mountain of a man, easily six-foot-four, with broad shoulders and the same sun-bleached hair as the wolf. He bore pale silver scars across his bare chest, and those electric blue eyes remained fixed on me. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, completely unbothered by his lack of clothing.

"You are safe, little wolf," he said. His voice was a deep, rumbling baritone that seemed to vibrate directly inside my chest.

"I am not a wolf, and I am definitely not little," I spat, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound tough. "Who the hell are you, and why are those men trying to net me like a stray dog?"

"They are hunters. The Wolf's Bane," he said, taking another step. The distance between us closed, and a strange, magnetic heat began to radiate from him, pulling at me. "And they want you because you are a dormant shifter. You have been living a lie, Rowan."

He knew my name. My eyes darted to his face, then down to my locket.

"That locket," he continued, his voice softening slightly as he looked at my neck. "It is a signal dampener. Your grandmother used it to hide your scent. Without it, you smell like prey to them. And to me, you smell like..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Mate."

"I don't know what kind of drugs you're on, but I don't do biological tethers," I said.

As he reached out a hand toward me, the sheer absurdity and terror of the situation boiled over. I balled my hand into a fist and swung, aiming straight for his jaw. I put everything I had into the punch.

He caught my fist effortlessly.

The moment his palm met my knuckles, a jolt of pure electricity surged up my arm. It wasn't painful; it was a terrifying warmth that flooded my veins, making my heart race for a completely different reason. My knees went weak, and my breath hitched. The pull between us was a physical force, a biological lock snapping into place. He looked down at our joined hands, a slow, dark satisfaction settling into his features.

"The spark does not lie," he murmured, his grip firm but incredibly gentle.

In the distance, the wail of high-tech sirens began to echo through the trees, accompanied by the smell of burning wood. I looked back toward the direction of my cabin. A thick column of black smoke was rising into the sky. My home, the last place that held any memory of my family, was burning to the ground.

"We have to go," he said, his stormy eyes turning back to the path.

Before I could protest, he scooped me up into his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. I tried to wriggle free, but my body felt heavy, drugged by the overwhelming warmth of his proximity. I leaned my head against his shoulder, hating myself for how safe it felt, as he carried me away into the shadows of the deeper forest, leaving my old life behind in ashes.