Chapter 3: The Pack's Return

Seraphina stepped past him, her hand still pressed to her shoulder. “Someone’s been here recently.” She pointed at the lantern. “That’s still burning.”

Danny limped to the nearest cot and collapsed onto it, his face pale. “I don’t care. I just need to sit down before my leg falls off.”

Chloe moved slowly, her eyes scanning the walls. She stopped in front of a wooden shelf cluttered with old cans and a single leather-bound book. “Mason,” she said quietly. “Come look at this.”

He joined her, his body still humming with that restless heat. The book was worn, its cover cracked and stained. He opened it. The pages were filled with tight, shaky handwriting—a journal. The first entry was dated three months ago.

I can feel it slipping. The pack doesn’t know how weak I’ve become. If I don’t pass the spark before the full moon, it’ll die with me. I have to find someone. Anyone.

Mason’s blood went cold. “He knew.”

“What?” Seraphina came up behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“The wolf that bit us. He was dying. He wrote about passing something—the spark.” Mason turned the page. Tonight I’ll lure them into the woods. The four of them. Young, strong, adaptable. They’ll hate me for it, but the pack needs a future. I’m sorry.

“He planned this,” Chloe whispered. “He chose us.”

Danny sat up abruptly. “Chose us for what?”

Before anyone could answer, a sound cut through the night—a low, guttural howl. It wasn’t distant. It was close. Too close.

Seraphina’s breath hitched. “That’s not the same wolf. That’s—”

Another howl answered, then another. A chorus rising from the trees around the cabin.

Mason’s vision swam. The heat in his chest exploded, and his fingers curled into claws. He slammed the journal shut and forced himself to breathe. “They’re looking for him. For his killer.”

“We didn’t kill him!” Danny’s voice cracked. “He was already dying!”

“They don’t know that.” Chloe moved to the window, pulling back the dusty curtain. Outside, shadows moved between the trees—low, fast, deliberate. “There are at least five. Maybe more.”

Mason’s wolf surged, demanding release. His muscles screamed to shift, to run, to fight. He grabbed the edge of the table, knuckles white. “We can’t stay here.”

“We can’t go out there either!” Seraphina’s composure finally cracked. Her voice rose, sharp and desperate. “They’ll tear us apart.”

“Or they’ll accept us.” Chloe turned from the window, her expression unreadable. “The journal said he chose us to carry the spark. That means we’re part of the pack now. Maybe they sense that.”

“Or maybe they smell the blood on us and see us as prey.” Mason’s eyes flickered gold, the glow seeping back. The heat was winning. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

Danny stood, bracing himself on the cot. “Then don’t. Let it out. We’re all going to shift eventually—maybe it’s better if we do it together.”

“That’s insane,” Seraphina said.

“That’s survival.” Danny’s voice was steadier than Mason had ever heard it. “We fought the first change alone. Maybe together we can control it.”

Mason looked at each of them. Seraphina, scared but fierce. Chloe, quiet and calculating. Danny, terrified but standing. His best friend. His pack.

“Okay,” Mason said. “But if I eat anyone, you have my permission to shoot me.”

Seraphina let out a shaky laugh. “Deal.”

They moved to the center of the room, forming a loose circle. The howls grew louder, closer. A thud hit the cabin wall, and the lantern flickered.

Mason closed his eyes. He let the heat rise, let the wolf uncurl inside him. The pain was blinding—bones snapping, skin tearing, the world narrowing to scent and sound and hunger. He heard Danny scream, heard Chloe’s sharp gasp, heard Seraphina curse.

And then silence.

He opened his eyes. Four wolves stood in the dim light of the cabin. He saw himself in the reflection of the window—dark fur, gold eyes, a body built for speed and violence. The others were the same. Danny was lean and grey, Seraphina a sleek black, Chloe a reddish-brown that looked almost like rust.

They were beautiful. They were monsters.

Another howl, right outside the door. The wood splintered as something heavy slammed against it.

Mason turned to the window. The pack was there, waiting. Their eyes glowed in the dark—not hostile, not yet. Watching.

He looked back at his friends. At his pack.

Then he pushed the door open with his snout and stepped into the night.