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.

Chapter 5: Warning Signs

(Elena's POV)

Pale gray morning light filters through the clinic windows, providing the perfect illumination for the morning. I'm back at the Crescent Bay Veterinary Clinic, my fingers wrapped around a coffee cup, trying to shake the exhaustion that's sunk deep into my bones.

Last night doesn't really seem to have happened. A giant bleeding dog in an alley, its silver eyes set on me as if he could read my mind, and now he's stretched out on a heap of blankets in my living room. I keep reliving how he looked at me. Like he knew something. Even though it's strange to feel, I feel like he was a person.

But I can't dwell on that part. It's obviously not true. But its whole calmness, even when I tended to the wounds, was unreal. I need an explanation for it. Something normal.

The clinic hums with the usual sounds of morning: machines whirring to life, paws shuffling in cages, and the soft quiet sounds made by the animals. I lean against the counter, sipping the bitter coffee, as I remind myself of how happy I am doing what I love.

Luna's already here, perched behind the front desk like a caffeine-fueled gargoyle. Her purple-streaked hair bounces with every animated keystroke. She's probably toggling between patient records and her dating app.

"Morning, Dr. Voss," she says with a grin. "You look like you wrestled a bear and lost."

I smile. "Long shift, and... I found a stray. Big one."

She grins. "Is he cute? Like adoptably cute? Or one of those scary ones you secretly fall in love with?"

I focus on organizing the supply drawers, hoping she doesn't see the hesitation in my face. "Big. Black. Injured. He's at my house for now. I'll bring him in later for a proper examination."

She raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Not yet.

The lights overhead flicker. A sharp buzz fills the room, then fades. I freeze, clutching the edge of the counter tightly with my fingers. That's the third time this week. This place has always had sketchy wiring, but this feels worse.

"Creepy," Luna remarks, glancing over her monitor. "You think it's the ghost of that cranky chihuahua we had to put down last month?"

I roll my eyes. "Wiring. I'll get the electrician to come check tomorrow."

But as I turn away from the cabinet, there's a low vibration through the floor. It vibrates through my feet and into my spine. It's not the machines. It vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving me clueless about what it could be.

"Feel that?" Luna asks, her voice softer now. She's no longer joking. Her hands are still on the keyboard, but not moving.

"Just the building settling," I answer back. My voice isn't quite as steady as it sounds.

I walk into the kennels. The elderly Siamese curls up and relaxes. But the rest of the animals are wide-eyed and alert. A tabby with a broken leg presses against the back of her enclosure. A rabbit thumps once and remains silent. Their ears perk. They are alert like they see something I don't see.

I look back at Luna. She is standing now, arms crossed, no sign of her usual playfulness.

"That was weird," she says. "Like, horror-movie weird."

I'm about to respond when there's a slow tapping starting. Rhythmic. Scraping at the back door.

My heart skips a beat. That door opens up onto the alley. The same alley where I found him.

I tell myself it's a raccoon or maybe a branch moving in the breeze. But the memory of those neat, deep cuts on the dog's flank flashes through my head. Fear runs through me immediately.

"Luna, you just stay here," I instruct her. I try to sound firm, but I can hear the tremble in my voice.

"No way. I'm not letting you walk into that horror cliché alone."

She follows me, close on my heels, and I'm glad she did, even though I don't admit it.

We reach the door, the tapping stops, but the silence that replaces it is heavier than the noise.

I take a breath, then open the door.

The alleyway is empty. Fog creeps around the corners, thick against the dumpster. Nothing moves. No sound. Just that same thick quiet.

"See? Nothing," I tell her, though the tightness in my own throat betrays me.

I turn to go back inside, but Luna grabs my arm.

"Look," she says, pointing toward the ground.

Faint scratches, but very obvious. Curving lines slice into wet pavement. Shallow and precise. Too clean to be any animal's claw marks. Too deliberate to be an accident.

My blood turns to ice.

"Okay, that's not normal," she breathes. Her normal bravado is absent.

I kneel, brushing my fingers over the marks. They're cold. Not just from the climate. There's something not right about them. As though they don't belong here.

I pull back my hand.

"We should go inside," I say quickly.

She doesn't argue. We move back through the door, close it behind us, and stay quiet.

The animals are now making no noise at all. All tense.

I try to keep my mind busy with prep for the day's appointments. Charts, syringes, IV packs. Anything to keep my mind off things. But my hands keep shaking.

Luna watches me.

"You're freaked out," she says quietly. "What's going on, Elena?"

I want to tell her. About the dog. His eyes. The weight of that gaze. The impossible things. But the words are trapped behind my teeth.

"It's just a weird morning," I say at last.

She recognizes that I'm lying. I can see it in the way she holds my gaze before nodding and getting back to her desk.

I return to the kennels. Check Whiskers' IV. Adjust the heating pad. My hands move automatically, but my thoughts are elsewhere.

I glance at the vacant crate. The one I'd planned on bringing the dog to.

Shadow.

Even in my head, how the name just came feels strange. Not quite right.

I'm unable to shake those silver eyes. The way he looked at me, not like a pet, but like a person. Like he was waiting for something from me.

The lights flicker again. A quick buzz. Then that hum returns. Low and faint.

I look up.

Luna stares at the ceiling, frozen.

"Faulty wiring," I said, even though the words feel lifeless.

She doesn't respond. Just stares.

And I realize something. This is not going to end. Whatever it is. It's here now. And it's not simply about a dog in an alley.

Something else is happening.

And I don't know what it is, or even how to make it stop.