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REYES

"L ord, grant me the strength to endure..."

My voice is low, hoarse, barely audible in the quiet of the outdoor chapel.

"Help me keep the beast at bay tonight, as I’ve done every night before."

The words stumble out of me like they’re dragging my soul behind them. My hands are clasped tight, knuckles white, trembling as I kneel on the worn wood floor.

"Forgive me for the hunger I feel—the hunger I can’t control. For the thoughts that creep in, dark and desperate, when the moon is full and the wolf rises."

I’m on my knees at the altar, hands clasped tight, head bowed. The chapel is makeshift in every possible way–no floors, plain logs for pews, an altar that used to be a music stand bedecked in garlands of flowers, and a cross made of rough-hewn oak. Still, I can feel the divine here…and this is, even without the glitz and glamor of the old church, a sanctuary.

My lips move in prayer, the words quiet but insistent, flowing out of me. “Heavenly Father, grant me strength. Help me hold fast to Your path, even when the beast inside me fights to stray.”

My wolf snarls in my chest, restless and clawing at the edges of my will. He doesn’t care about vows or paths or righteousness. All he cares about is the pull of the moon, the intoxicating scent of sex on the night breeze, the primal need to claim and devour.

The scent of wild sage and incense clings to the air, faint but steady, grounding me just enough to keep the wolf at bay. My nails bite into my hands where they’re clasped together. Every muscle in my body is taut, locked in a battle I’ve fought every full moon since the Angels cursed me with this…thing.

This monster.

My gaze lifts to the cross above the altar, and I force the prayer to continue. “Forgive me, Lord, for the weakness in my heart. For the hunger that tempts me. For the ways I’ve failed You, and for the ways I might fail still.”

The words are a lifeline, but they’re fraying fast.

Outside, the pack’s howls echo faintly from the caverns. Laughter follows, wild and unrestrained, the sound of my fellow lycanthropes indulging every lust and instinct the full moon pulls out of them. It’s a knife in my chest, twisting the more I listen.

This is the life I chose—a life of restraint, of devotion, of denying myself the things I once thought I didn’t need. I took my vows long before the wolf ever took me, long before the Heavenly Host descended and turned the world upside down.

I gave up a family. I gave up love. I gave up all of it for God. And I was at peace with that.

Until they came.

When the Heavenly Host arrived, it turned everything upside down—my faith included. How could it not? I’ve never claimed to understand God’s plan, but I was pretty damn sure it didn’t involve angels invading Earth.

And real angels definitely wouldn’t have kidnapped humans, pumped them full of otherworldly technology, and turned them into monsters.

For two years, I fought them. City to city, burning bridges and building resistance wherever I could. The heat of those nights is still burned into my memory—fires reflecting off the Celestial Curtain, blood and gunpowder in the air.

When they finally caught me, I figured I was dead.

I wasn’t. Instead, they gave me what they called a “blessing.”

Turned me into this.

Now, every full moon, I fight to keep the Alpha Prime—the wolf inside me—caged. He’s relentless, clawing at the walls I’ve built around him, hungry for blood and omega pheromones. The scent of an omega during the full moon? It’s enough to drive him mad. Enough to drive me mad.

He doesn’t care who it is, either. He’s not picky.

It’s horrifying, losing control like that. Makes me feel like I’m not even me anymore, like I’m just some beast wearing human skin.

So I stay away. I don’t go near the omegas during the full moon.

Instead, I hide out here in the chapel with my best friend: a bottle of bourbon.

I take a swig and hiss out a breath as the burn hits. Cicadas sing in the live oak canopy overhead, a hum of normalcy in a world that hasn’t been normal in years.

Will and Grant are on watch tonight. I can see their glowing eyes flash every so often from the watchtower at the perimeter fence. Poor bastards drew the short straw, missing out on all the…festivities.

I haul myself up from my knees and head toward the fence, catching the faint green flicker of a laser rifle’s sights. We stole those rifles from a Heavenly Host supply depot just a couple days ago, and even though we don’t need them—our teeth and claws do just fine—it’s still good to have backup. Especially on nights like this.

By the time I reach the watchtower, the faint sound of shuffling cards filters down, accompanied by Grant’s distinct voice. He’s mid-ramble, asking Will some ridiculous question about pirate diseases.

“Was it really scurvy that killed the most pirates, or was it, like, drowning?” Grant says, his tone entirely too serious for the subject matter.

Will, ever the patient one, replies without missing a beat. “Definitely scurvy. You don’t hear about mass drownings on pirate ships, do you?”

I can practically hear Grant nodding thoughtfully. “Fair point. But what about those guys who walked the plank? Drowning and scurvy, probably.”

Will chuckles under his breath. “You’re exhausting.”

It’s funny how Will pretends to hate these conversations. Claims he doesn’t miss his days as a professor, but the way he indulges Grant’s endless questions says otherwise. Sometimes I think he misses teaching more than he’s willing to admit.

He discarded the life he had before the Convergence. I wonder if I should do the same.

It’s not like anyone believes in God anymore.

I grab the ladder, the metal rungs cool under my palms, and climb without bothering to announce myself. They’ll know it’s me by my scent before I even get to the top, one of the perks–or curses, depending on how someone smells–of having enhanced senses. Sure enough, the moment my boots hit the wooden platform, Grant glances up.

“Hey, Garza,” he says, a mop of red hair falling into his eyes. He blows it away with an exaggerated puff of air. “About time you joined us.”

I shrug, straightening my collar. I still wear it, even on nights like this– especially on nights like this. It feels like armor, a reminder of who I’m supposed to be.

“Couldn’t sit still anymore,” I say, sinking onto the empty chair at their card table. “There’s…something weird in the air tonight.”

Grant smirks. “Pheromones?”

Will snorts but doesn’t look up from his cards. “You buying in, or are priests not allowed to gamble either?”

I groan, stretching out my legs. “I’m in. What’s the game?”

“Blackberry rations,” Will says, dealing me in.

I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s what we’ve come to?”

Grant grins, showing teeth. “It’s the only fruit we’ve got. And, y’know, scurvy’s a bitch.”

Will snorts, finally glancing up. “Says the guy who thought ketchup was a vegetable. Pretty sure you’re the one most at risk here.”

Grant’s mouth drops open in mock indignation. “That was one time . And I was desperate.”

“For ketchup?” I lean back in my chair, arching a brow.

“A man can’t live on canned beans alone,” Grant says, shrugging dramatically like he’s delivering a monologue. “Some of us have standards.”

Will deadpans, “Yeah, and those standards got you banned from the kitchen rotation. Didn’t Mateo say your last stew tasted like…what was it? Regret?”

Grant clutches his chest like he’s been shot, groaning theatrically. “I’ll have you know that stew was a culinary masterpiece.”

Will huffs out a laugh, leaning forward. “You dumped canned peaches into beef stock and called it fusion.”

“It was bold,” Grant says, lifting his chin with mock dignity.

“A bold waste of supplies,” I mutter, shaking my head.

The banter flows easily between us, a lightness in the air that I haven’t felt all night. It’s a temporary distraction, but one I welcome. For a moment, it’s almost enough to drown out the tension thrumming beneath my skin. We play the first hand, Grant getting the rations he’s so concerned about.

But as I deal the second hand, a chill brushes the back of my neck, sharp and insistent.

The air shifts.

At first, it’s nothing—a faint breeze, barely noticeable over the shuffle of cards and the low hum of Grant and Will’s banter. But then it hits me.

Blackberries. Sweet and ripe, their sugary tang sharp against the night air. Leather, warm and rich, like a well-worn saddle.

I freeze.

The scent wraps around me, cutting through every rational thought, tearing down every wall I’ve built to keep my wolf caged. It’s not just a smell—it’s a command, a summons that pierces through my senses and drags my instincts to the surface.

The cards slip from my hands, forgotten, fluttering to the floor. My chest tightens, my breath catching as the wolf surges forward, clawing to get out.

A low growl rumbles through me, vibrating in my ribs.

It’s her.

I don’t know how I know, but I do. The scent is hers –who, I have no idea, even if my wolf is certain she’s important–and it calls to every primal part of me. My wolf howls inside, his hunger raw and insistent. He doesn’t just want to find her; he wants to claim her. To mark her. To make sure the entire world knows she’s his.

She’s mine.

The thought crashes through me, hot and undeniable. My hands flex, nails lengthening into claws as my wolf pushes harder, desperate to take control.

“Reyes?” Will’s voice cuts through the haze, but it’s distant, like it’s coming from underwater.

I can’t answer him. I can’t think. All I can do is inhale, pulling that intoxicating scent deeper into my lungs. It’s everything—wild and untamed, sweet and dark, like berries crushed into wine.

The leather grounds it, gives it weight. A rich, earthy undertone that anchors the sweetness and makes it impossible to ignore. It’s a perfect contradiction, sharp and soft, light and heavy.

It’s her.

And with her…hoofbeats.

The rhythmic pound of hooves on dirt slices through the air–distant enough that any ordinary person couldn’t hear it, but getting closer. My wolf snarls, a warning growl that I barely manage to keep from spilling out of my throat.

“Get your fucking guns,” I snap, my voice rough, already on my feet.

Will’s up in a flash, but Grant lags. “How the hell do you?—”

“You don’t hear it?” Will says, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Shit. They must know we’re vulnerable tonight.”

“Or maybe we’re just sloppy because we’re all so damn horny,” Grant mutters.

I don’t wait to hear the rest. My feet hit the ladder, and I’m sliding down, landing in the grass with a thud. I shrug out of my collar, my shirt, my pants. My limbs start to twist and contort, the Alpha Prime pushing to the surface as I sprint for the perimeter.

“Reyes, wait!” Will shouts.

But I’m already scaling the wall, claws digging into the wood.

Blackberries. Leather. Her.

I drop into the field, the tall grass whispering against my legs as I push through, barely aware of the world around me. The moonlight streaks across the landscape, painting the crumbling asphalt road ahead in pale silver. It snakes its way into the forest, a dark tunnel of trees that seems alive, breathing, waiting.

She’s there. I can feel it.

The wolf inside me is pacing, snarling, his hunger bleeding into my own. He knows what’s waiting in the shadows. He can taste it, smell it, feel it. Her scent is everywhere now, invading every thought.

It’s maddening.

Every nerve in my body is alive, hyper-focused on one thing: finding her.

Claiming her.