Chapter One

The forest was my home.

I felt my breath still when a sound came from behind me and I knew I had ventured farther into it than I should have, but there were no limits to how deep a person could fall, were there?

I clutched the hilt of my sword and listened for the sound while realizing my stomach was churning.

It was a boar. I knew this and I knew it had seen me.

Slowly, I pivoted on my heels, my gaze running wildly in trying to pick up its sight. I wasn’t a huntress, far from it, but too many times in this part of the wilderness I had managed to stumble upon wild animals with a craving for me.

Werewolves’ smell drove them insane and pulled wild animals toward us with a crazed passion. It was why this place was off-limits, but if there was anything that satiated my own passion was the risks that involved plunging into dangerous situations.

A chill ran down my spine and I knew it had nothing to do with the thick cold that settled on the air—my eyes finally caught the boar.

It was large, larger than I’d expected. It stood massively built, with black furs gleaming, and its black, sharp eyes filled with hunger were fixed on me.

My wolf fought, pounding my insides begging to be let loose. She was an even more risk-lover than I was, but this time I forced her back down; this was my win to take.

The thicket that surrounded us seemed to freeze in anticipation, breaths held at our locked gaze. In the farther distance, I heard something feral that seemed to be the rough pounding of my heart.

If I died tonight, no one would ever find my body. No one would be bothered enough to venture to this part, but if I died tonight, it would give me a respite—perhaps.

“Come on, big guy,” I whispered under my breath, taking a fearless step closer.

If I died tonight...

The boar mirrored my movement, its cold eyes flickering to the shining blade that I was clutching in one of my hands.

I could smell its bloodlust and it caused a quiver to travel through me. If the boar’s craving was anything to go by, tonight really could be it.

Sometimes, I wondered why I bothered to fight if I longed for an end as much as I did, but then the realization that fighting back was where the thrill lay hit. It saddened me — there really was no winning.

Fighting with a boar in my human form would be something I’d never done and with everything in me, I needed this fight. What I wanted to prove to myself went beyond my knowledge but when the pounding remained as it did currently, I fought with it, never against it.

The boar bared its fangs at me, and drool ran down its jaw right before it dashed toward me. If anything, I never expected an animal as big as it was to be that fast but I’d been taught to be faster—just as it reached me, maintaining its momentum, I ducked down and slid underneath it, my blade slashing across its stomach.

It was one of the advantages of having my figure, my trainer had told me. I could fit in almost anywhere and it heightened the stealth in my movement. I always had the advantage of sneaking up on a person.

The boar skidded to a halt before turning sharply toward me, blood trailing down from its insides, but the bastard didn't seem deterred by it and once more it attacked me; its large body slammed into me, flinging me to the tree behind and I felt a ringing resound inside my head as it came in sharp contact with the solid body of the tree.

“Fuck!” I whispered before staggering to my feet, in time to dodge the animal that once more charged at me, missing his pointed canines by an inch.

I swung up onto the closest tree branch and crouched there, taking a fighting stance. My escape angered the large animal and it furiously shot up toward me, its claws scratching at my leg, slashing and tearing the material of my trousers.

I hopped from one branch to the other, the pain in my leg stinging. Just when the boar had lost sight of me, I leaped, landing on its back, my blade burying itself in the boar’s neck before I pulled it out and once more stabbed the boar.

The animal lurched, throwing me down, and from my position on the ground, I watched as it stumbled before falling and rolling down the ridge to its final death.

I let out a breath and shut my eyes, hoisting myself into an upright position.

I didn't die tonight.

Dragging my bloodied blade along, listening for the scraping noise that trailed me and letting it comfort me, I made my way back home.

The manor was blanketed in silence; it was, after all, past midnight and every other person would be asleep—except for the one with gnawing guilt that threatened to suffocate them.

The doors made a creaking sound as I pushed them open and stepped inside. The warriors who stood guard, the only other people awake, stared at me as I came inside the house but their eyes had long lost the element of shock they used to hold.

I missed it.

“Alpha,” they greeted me, bowing down and not rising until I’d walked past them.

I climbed up the stairs slowly, still dragging my blade along; the last thing that bothered me was the noise I made with it.

My hand paused at the doorknob in my bedroom and I felt rancid trepidation, unlike anything I’d ever felt while fighting. This feeling was nastier and it held me hostage, tearing at my insides.

It was the fear of what lay beyond this door, the fear of what it held when the sun has set and the darkness enveloped the air.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Immediately my eyes caught a silhouette by the window.

Long ago, my trainer had told me I was too weak for the killings. He had called my mind my biggest weakness—the wild imagination it had wasn't the issue, it was the beauty in how it managed to transform those horrors of its imagination into reality.

If I could stop the killings, perhaps everything else would stop. My trainer had suggested that if there were fewer people killed, then there would be fewer horrors for my mind to witness and even fewer bodies to transform into physical form to visit me.

My room was cold, which was to be expected; there'd never been a time my room held warmth in whatever form whatsoever.

I placed the blade on the table and proceeded to remove the dress shirt I wore, leaving me in another shirt and my torn trousers. My hands went up to my hair and I yanked down the hair band, freeing up my blonde locks and they came down in all of their thickness and length, curtaining my face.

“Who are you tonight?” I asked the silhouette that remained motionless by the window.

When the silence remained, I felt my stomach tighten in suspicion of the person’s identity.

Tonight would be ugliness, I could feel it. I could taste it.

The figure turned, the rays of the moonlight settled on their face. I froze.

My sister, Sephora, stared at me with the same pain in her eyes as the last time I had seen her. The same pain from being stabbed, those eyes just before they’d shut forever.

Tonight my mind had conjured up my sister’s ghost to visit me. The sister I hadn't been able to save from dying.

Raw pain and anguish slammed into me, snatching away my breath.

“Natalie,” Sephora’s figure called out to me.

“You are not real,” I whispered, a tear falling down my face. “Please, not you of all people, Sephora, I beg you.”