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10

LANDON

D inner with Aunt Jen was always a coin toss—either good food and a quick escape or an hour of folklore-soaked rambling and herbal tea that tasted like the forest floor.

Tonight was both.

The little cottage she’d moved into on the edge of town still looked like a thrift store had exploded inside it—mismatched chairs, cluttered bookshelves, candles in every corner.

A dreamcatcher hung above the woodstove, and a tiny cauldron she insisted was “purely decorative” sat on the mantel.

Landon nursed a mug of cider while his aunt, wrapped in a shawl that might’ve been a curtain in a past life, stirred the soup pot.

“You look wired,” she said over her shoulder.

He blew on the cider.

“Rough day.”

Her gray braid swung as she turned to raise an eyebrow.

“That have anything to do with the ice-blond girl you’ve been seeing all week?”

Landon nearly choked.

“Jesus. Do you have cameras on me?”

Jen cackled.

“This town’s smaller than you think. People talk. You bring a girl around, they notice.”

He shrugged, cheeks heating.

“It’s not like that.”

“She pretty?”

He hesitated.

“Yeah. But... it’s more than that. She’s... different.”

Jen handed him a bowl and sat across the table, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Ah. One of those. ”

Landon groaned.

“Please don’t start with the destiny crap.”

She grinned.

“I didn’t say destiny. You did.”

He tried to focus on the soup—creamy potato and garlic, comfort in a bowl—but her stare was all-in.

“You feel something,” she said, more softly now.

“That pull? It’s real.”

“Aunt Jen...”

She leaned back, steepling her fingers.

“Did I ever tell you the story of Adric Graves?”

Landon frowned.

“Sounds familiar. Was he the bootlegger?”

She laughed.

“No, you’re thinking of my ex. Adric was your great-great-grandfather. A wild one. Disappeared in the forest for weeks at a time. Came back once with silver in his hair and a scar across his chest he never explained.”

“Yeah, well, people back then were built different.”

“They said he had the blood,” she pressed.

“Royal blood. From the southern packs. The kind that didn’t shift until it was needed. Until it was called. ”

He stared at her, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth.

“I know,” she said, gentler now.

“You think I’m nuts. But I swear to you, Landon, that blood runs in you. It always has.”

“Even if that were true,” he said carefully, “wouldn’t I have shifted by now? Isn’t that the whole thing?”

“Not all wolves are born with teeth,” she murmured.

“Some are made with fire.”

Landon looked away, throat tight.

He wanted to laugh it off—chalk it up to one too many crystals and full-moon tea rituals —but something about her tone.

.. the conviction in it.

.. it rattled him. Especially after the dreams he had been having more frequently.

Aunt Jen had always been half crazy and her stories never seemed to hold onto Landon, but right now, after recently…

they held something more than before.

“You think she’s a part of it, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

“Sonya.”

Jen just smiled softly with no need for words.

Just looked at him like she was weighing a thousand thoughts and choosing only one to share.

“I know that family. That group. They’ve been around here for a long time, but keep to themselves. All I will say is that I think she’s the reason it’s waking up,” she said.

“And I think you already knew that.”

Later, after he’d driven the long way home and tried not to think too hard about what she’d said, Landon lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.

The cabin creaked around him like it always did—settling into the night.

The wind outside rustled the trees in soft sighs, and somewhere deeper in the hills, a coyote cried out.

He shut his eyes.

Sleep didn’t come easy.

But when it did, it came hard and heavy.

The dream started the same way it always did.

The forest. Lit by firelight.

The trees stretched taller than skyscrapers, branches like claws scratching at a red-stained sky.

He was running—barefoot, fast, unafraid.

The scent of ash and fur filled his lungs.

Not smoke. Burned fur.

And behind him, always behind, was the sound of something massive.

Then the voice came.

Wake.

It wasn’t a whisper this time.

It boomed.

Landon dropped to his knees, ears ringing from the force of it.

The ground cracked beneath him, heat surging through his veins like molten iron.

He screamed—or tried to—but nothing came out.

Before him, the forest parted like a curtain pulled back by unseen hands.

A figure emerged.

A wolf.

Not just any wolf— the wolf.

Gold-eyed. Taller than a horse.

Its fur shimmered with strands of ember and moonlight, its gaze burning right through him.

It didn’t growl.

It bowed its head.

Then everything turned to flame.

Landon woke with a ragged gasp, sweat soaking his shirt.

The sheets tangled around his legs like chains.

His chest heaved, heart threatening to punch its way out.

He sat up, clutching the edge of the bed.

Outside, the forest was still.

But the air was different.

Charged.

Like something had seen him.

Like something was waiting.

He looked down at his palms. They were glowing.

Just faintly. A shimmer of gold under the skin—flickering, then gone.

Landon stared in stunned silence, not trusting his eyes.

Not trusting the calm that followed.

Somewhere in the dark, he swore he heard it again.

A whisper this time. Soon.