My fingers dig into my pocket to feel the small can of pepper spray there.

I'm not feeling afraid, not exactly, even though everything feels off. But the hairs on my neck are standing up.

It's instinct. My body knows something isn't right, even without my conscious mind trying to make sense of it. Maybe it's the exhaustion, the long hours of work catching up to me.

I try to shake it off. Just get home, Elena.

Then I hear something.

A sound cuts through the fog.

Low, but desperate. Whatever it is, it's deeply pained.

It comes again, but lower.

It doesn't sound human.

I freeze, my heart thudding immediately, feeling like it's about to burst from my chest. My ears strain for the sound again, listening very closely and carefully. My mind already sorts through memory and instinct.

It's an animal. A pained animal.

I know that immediately. The cry is too raw, too broken. Years working as a vet have trained me to recognize animal sounds.

It comes again. Another whimper, but it sounds closer now.

I move toward the sound, trying to locate it. It happens involuntarily, even before I can think properly about what to do.

My mind races, thinking about how whatever's hurt might be somewhere around, but that's not enough to stop me.

I look directly in front of me. My eyes scan everywhere, even though nothing is visible through the haze. My hand shakes as my fingers quickly search my bag for the flashlight, my thumb finding the switch.

I turn it on.

The beam slices through the fog in front of me, guiding my legs as I take one step, then the next.

And then, I see it.

A massive black dog lying helplessly on the roadside. Its fur is soaked with blood. The sight hits me like a punch.

Its body jolts hopefully as its silver eyes catch the light.

They lock on mine.

In that moment, everything in me goes still.

It's not just the size. The animal is huge. Obviously bigger than any stray I've ever seen.

But somehow, I know there's something more. Something I can neither comprehend nor explain.

It's too aware. Too calm. Its breath comes in shallow, uneven pants. Its blood is dark and fresh beneath it, surrounding it like a pool.

I look carefully for the wounds. They are deep and fresh, cut intentionally. Deep gashes along the flank.

It's not the work of another animal.

Someone did this.

I swallow the saliva forming in my throat and bend down slowly, keeping my light steady, and observing.

"Hey, there," I say softly, the exact way I talk to every other scared animal I've dealt with. I keep my voice calm, but my nerves are tense, wired with adrenaline.

The dog doesn't move. Doesn't growl. It's just watching.

I open the zipper of my bag and pull out my emergency kit. Gauze. Antiseptic. Gloves. I can't stitch him up here, not in an alley, but I need to stop the bleeding.

"You're not gonna hurt me, are you?" I ask under my breath, mostly to myself. It's more like a question I ask to make myself more confident.

I put on my gloves and press the gauze gently to the worst wound, bracing for a reaction.

He doesn't twitch. Doesn't even flinch.

He just stares.

Its silver eyes are unsettling. Too observing. Like he's not just seeing me, but reading me. Studying me.

My pulse thuds hard in my ears as I work. I focus on the familiar rhythm of cleaning wounds, applying pressure, keeping calm. That's something I can control.

The bleeding slows, but these cuts need real care.

Stitches. Antibiotics. Rest.

If I leave him out here, he'll die.

The clinic is too far, and I can't carry something this heavy on my own. My apartment is just a few blocks away. It's not ideal. But it's the only option.

"I'm gonna take you with me," I whisper. "We'll figure this out."

I pull back, half-expecting him to resist. But when I stand and pat my thigh, he moves. It's a struggle. Slow. Shaky. But he does try to get himself together.

My breath catches as I watch him rise.

Blood drips from his flanks, leaving a red trail behind us as we walk. The fog closes in again, muffling our footsteps as we make our way out of the alley.

He stays close, his massive frame just a step behind me. I keep glancing at him, uneasy and strangely comforted at the same time. It should be the other way around. I'm the one helping him. But somehow, walking beside him, it feels like he's protecting me.

The night gets darker, but the warmth of his presence comforts me. I grip the flashlight tighter. My chest is heavy with questions I can't answer, and even though he might be able to, he can't talk.

Where did he come from?

What did this to him?

And why does he feel so familiar?

The thought makes my stomach twist. I push it down. Focus on what I can fix.

I'm a veterinarian. I deal in biology, medicine, and logic. I don't have time for gut feelings and eerie stares.

We reach the edge of the alley, and the fog lifts just enough to see the faint outline of my apartment building down the block. I walk faster, my heart pounding heavily. The dog limps beside me without a sound, never slowing.

My mind goes in all directions, searching for answers that it cannot get.

The wounds. The eyes. The silence. Every part of this is wrong.

And yet... I didn't leave him behind.

I couldn't.

The city disappears around us as we move. It's just the two of us. The only company in my home after a very long time.

I don't know how he got into the situation I found him in.

But there's one thing I know.

Something is definitely wrong.

My apartment door squeaks as I push it open, my whole mind still trying to figure out what could have happened before I met this massive black dog that's now right beside me. His warmth presses into my side as he leans closer to me, even slightly brushing against me.

Every step we took through the foggy streets of Crescent Bay made me extremely tired. My arms burn from supporting his bulk. He's heavy and wounded, but he limps on his own, persistent and silent.

Now we're inside, out of the cold, but the strangeness of everything settles hard in my chest.

The air inside smells faintly of coffee, dust, and antiseptic. The whole place is cluttered with books piled on every surface, yesterday's sandwich still abandoned on the counter, but it's my space. I live here. I survive here. I fix myself here. The thought steadies me as I help Shadow, the name I gave him in my heart, lower himself onto a blanket I spread out over an old tarpaulin in one corner of the living room.

He makes a deep rumbling sound as he collapses onto his side. Blood still quietly seeps from the worst wounds, soaking into the layers of fabric. His silver eyes flick to me, still alert, still watching, still not trusting.

There's intelligence behind that gaze, something that feels almost human. I ignore it, focus instead on pulling off my jacket and snapping open my emergency kit.

"Alright, Shadow," I say, squatting beside him. "Let's get you stitched up. You didn't hurt me out there, so stay calm here too."

The gloves snap onto my hands, the sound louder in the silence. My fingers move automatically, muscle memory guiding me through a process I've done hundreds of times.

But this is different.

The wounds are different. Now I can see them clearly under the light of my floor lamp, and my stomach tightens. The cuts are deep, very deep, but very clean also. Not the struggles from a dogfight. Not the chaotic mess from a car accident. These are precise.

Someone did this to him.

The thought sends a jolt through me. I swallow it down and begin rinsing the wounds with saline, watching the blood thin and drip across the blanket. Shadow doesn't flinch. He doesn't whimper or growl. He just watches me with those steady eyes. It should be comforting, but it's not. It's unsettling. He's too calm.

I dab antiseptic onto the worst of the gashes. The tissue is inflamed but already starting to knit together in places. That doesn't make sense. These injuries are hours old at most, and yet some of the smaller lacerations are healing like days have passed. My brain pushes back. Adrenaline, maybe. Genetics. Some healing ability. I tell myself there has to be a reason, but the truth is, I've never seen anything like it.

"You're a weird one," I murmur, more to myself than to him.

I reach for the suture kit. My hands are steady as I thread the needle and begin stitching the largest wound along his flank. The skin pulls cleanly together, the needle sliding through with practiced ease.

He still doesn't move. His breathing is shallow but steady, like he's holding still on purpose. Most animals would be trembling, fighting me, snarling. But Shadow doesn't. He watches every stitch with those silver eyes like he understands what I'm doing.

"You're letting me do this with ease," I say under my breath. "That's unusual, you know?"

I finish the last stitch and tie it off, then press gauze over the wound before wrapping it in clean bandages. My knees ache from kneeling, but I stay there a moment longer, studying him. The way he lies, the way he holds himself, even the way he blinks his eyes, it's all too controlled. It's not just the pain that's keeping him still. It feels like he's intentionally choosing not to react.

I set the used supplies aside and grab a bowl from the kitchen. I fill it with water and place it beside him. He lifts his head and begins to drink slowly.

I sink back onto the floor, leaning against the couch, trying to settle my thoughts. It's past one in the morning. The apartment is quiet except for the sound of his lapping and the soft creak of the old floorboards.

My body is drained, but my mind won't stop turning.

Who would hurt a dog like this?

What was he doing in that alley?

Why the deep clean cuts?

And why did he look at me like he was studying me?

That last thought makes my chest tighten, and I try to shake it. I've been through a long shift before encountering this. I'm exhausted. My brain is filling in blanks and thinking just as it feels like.

I pull the thin blanket over him, tucking it gently around his injured side. His fur is coarse and still damp in places. As I run my fingers through it, I feel that odd sense of calm again. Like his presence quiets something in me, something I didn't know was loud.

"You'll be alright," I whisper. "You're safe here."

He closes his eyes, and for the first time since I found him, he relaxes. His body goes slack. His breathing deepens. He trusts me, like he understood. That realization fills me with something I can't quite name. I'm used to patching up strays. I'm used to being alone. But this feels different. Like he's not just here to be saved, like he's here for a reason.

I push myself to my feet, my joints cracking as I stretch. The weight of the day hits me all at once, and I glance around my messy apartment. My eyes catch on the photo tucked behind the lamp on my side table. My parents, smiling. Both gone now. The loneliness I live with every day flares up sharp and hot, but I don't look away.

I turn back to Shadow. He's asleep now, or at least pretending to be. His ears twitch when I move, but he doesn't open his eyes. I wonder what kind of life he had before today. Where he came from. Who let this happen to him. And most of all, I wonder why he feels so familiar. Like I've known him longer than a few hours.

Tomorrow, I'll take him to the clinic. I'll scan for a microchip. Run blood tests. Try to make sense of what's going on. There has to be an explanation, even if it doesn't fit the usual mold. I'll figure it out. I always do.

I grab a pillow and collapse onto the couch, too tired to make it to the bed. My eyelids droop. I tell myself I'll only rest for a minute. But the moment I close my eyes, all I can see are his silver eyes. Watching. Waiting. Knowing something I don't.

I want to believe this is just a fluke. Just an injured dog and a vet too tired to think clearly.

But somehow, I feel like I've stepped into something I don't understand. Something I won't understand.

(Kael's POV)

The Blackwood Forest breathes with a pulse older than Crescent Bay's steel and glass. Its gnarled trees claw at the moonlight, casting long shadows across the forest floor.

I'm lost, trapped in this cursed canine shell, my senses sharpened beyond reason, my whole body aching with every step. The scent of damp earth and pine floods my nose, laced with the musk of my pack. They are all restless tonight. I can feel it in the way their howls rise sharp and mournful. A chorus of both frustration and fear.

I am their Alpha.

I was.

Now I'm nothing more than a shadow of what I used to be, bound to this black dog form by a curse I never saw coming. Guilt settles over me like a second skin, heavier than the wounds she stitched tonight. I abandoned them, and the weight of it crushes me from the inside.

I crouch in the darkness, hidden beneath a thick tangle of branches. My silver eyes reflect the moonlight. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig echoes like a gunshot. I hear the low growls of my pack gathered in the clearing ahead. Rylan, my beta, stands at the center. His tawny fur bristles with tension. His voice is steady but shaky as he speaks.

"Kael's out there," he says. The conviction in his voice reminds me of what I used to be. "We track his scent. We find him. We break the curse."

Some nod. Others shift uneasily. Loyalty still burns in their hearts, but doubt and fear aren't far from them either.

An Alpha who vanishes for weeks, leaving them to fight off hunters alone, isn't someone they can rely on. And I can't even tell them I never meant to disappear. That I never stopped fighting.

I clench my fist tightly. Frustration builds in my chest until it threatens to burst. I want to howl. I want to step into that clearing and reclaim my place. But the curse clamps down on me. It steals my voice, chains my soul to this beastly shape.

The witch who did this? I never saw her face. I only felt the magic crawl under my skin like fire. Thirty-two years I led them. Fought beside them. I protected them, did it with everything in me. And now I'm just a silent black dog skulking in the forest, relying on a human woman who doesn't even know what I am.

Her face flickers through my mind. Her eyes, green and guarded. Her hands, steady and gentle as she stitched me up. She could sense that something was wrong, but she didn't let me stay hurt anyway.

Her touch eased the pain. It gave me something I hadn't felt in weeks. It gave me relief. Warmth. Something close to hope. I don't know what she is to me yet, but I know she's important. Still, dragging her into this mess? It feels like betrayal.

Rylan's voice pulls me back to the clearing. "The hunters are closing in," he says. "They've got silver and they're after the artifact. If they find Kael first..."

He doesn't finish his statement, but the silence that follows says everything. The artifact. The relic that did this to me. The thing that woke the hunters and started this nightmare. My curse is tied to it. So is the danger to my pack. If they get to it first, we're all done.

I growl lowly, feeling a surge of pain and hopelessness. My pack is in danger because of me. And I can't even stand beside them. I'm not even as powerful as the people I'm obliged to protect.

Lila steps forward. Her voice trembles but doesn't waver. "What if Kael's gone? What if the curse took him?"

Her words slice through me like a double-edged sword. The pack falls silent. Rylan snarls, trying to bring back hope.

"He's not gone," he snaps. "He's our Alpha. We don't abandon him."

Lila lowers her gaze, but the question stays, hanging in the air like smoke.

I want to roar, to make them see I'm still here. That I'm still trying. Still fighting. But I'm silent. Useless.

Rylan begins to pace. His claws dig into the dirt. "His scent is strong near the city," he says. "Crescent Bay's outskirts. We start there. We start tonight."

The others nod with determination. Even though I see the despair they're all feeling, there is no fracture in their unity. They trust Rylan. They believe him. But it's not just belief. They need me.

I think of where I am again. The apartment is warm and homey. Her hands moved with the kind of precision that came from doing what had to be done. She didn't know what I am. She just helped, like a human should. Scared, but still, she reached for me.

Her touch sparked hope in me. But hope can be dangerous. And involving her could cost her everything. Her fragility, her humanness, and the kind of world she loves.

The forest hums with very old magic. I can sense it. It feels older than anything I can think of. It's the kind of power that doesn't care who gets hurt. The artifact is part of it. A key. A key to what, I still don't know.

I don't know what it does. Only that it cursed me. That it has hunters crawling through the trees, armed with silver, looking to end us. My pack is on edge. And they're right to be. Everything feels wrong, but what I sense is dark.

I am still Kael Draven. Not just a beast anymore.

But the clock is ticking. Each full moon takes a little more. Each night stretches the line between man and monster. I think of Elena's hands again. The way she touched me without fear. The way her eyes saw more than a dog even though she couldn't tell what.

I know she's either the answer. Or maybe, the end of me.

Rylan's voice rises again. He lays out the search plan. "Pairs. We cover the city outskirts. Stay low. Avoid the hunters. If you catch Kael's scent, signal."

They split up, each of them moving into the forest. Rylan stands alone for a moment. His head bows. I feel the weight on him. The strain of leading without me. The fear he hides.

I want to walk into that clearing. Tell him he's not alone. But I can't. My body won't let me. I just stay here. Listening to what I can.

The pain in my side flares up again. Despite the stitches, it still burns. I should be healing faster. The curse is slowing it down.

Her face won't leave my thoughts. The curve of her jaw. The focus in her eyes. She didn't flinch when I bled on her floor. She didn't look away, even in her doubt.

She's human.

But there's something else there.

I felt it. When she touched me, it wasn't just pain that faded. Something shifted.

Something shifted inside me.

Maybe that's why I let her take me in. Why I didn't run. Why I'm still here, hiding safely, instead of fighting my way back to the forest.

She's my only shot. But if I'm wrong, if I drag her into this and the hunters find her...

No. I can't let that happen. I won't.

My pack is searching. The hunters are closing in. And time is running out.

She has no idea what's with her. She has no idea what she's brought to her room.

But I'll protect her.

Even if it costs me everything.