It was the dead of night, and the forest was suffocating in silence.
Moonlight struggled to pierce the thick mesh of clouds, casting a faint, silvery haze through the tree canopy. In the center of a cold, shadowed clearing stood two figures: Zeke and Alishba. Both were teenagers—barely adults—but right now, their bodies were shifting into something ancient. Something primal.
Zeke's hoodie was already torn at the seams, bulging from his partial transformation. His hands had become paws tipped with lethal claws. His bones creaked with every breath, muscles swelling, fangs stretching from his gums. His height nearly doubled, and his shadow now loomed like a beast's.
Beside him, Alishba was going through the same change—her silver fur glinting under the moon, ears pointed, fangs gleaming. Her eyes, once a soft brown, now blazed with that unnatural, golden glow only werewolves had in heightened emotion.
But despite all that, they weren't afraid of each other.
No, they were afraid of the others.
Surrounding them was a pack—five fully transformed werewolves, each with pitch-black fur, silent as specters. They said nothing. They made no move to parley. No growls. No threats.
They just stood there… watching.
Whether they had shed their human forms to hide their identities, to intimidate, or to gain a physical edge if things went south, Zeke couldn't be sure. But one thing was clear: the moment felt like a powder keg, and every breath tightened the fuse.
He shifted a little closer to Alishba, eyes flicking left and right.
"How the hell… did this happen?"
It all started less than an hour ago.
The night had begun normally—just a casual outing with friends. They were all students from a combat academy where supernatural beings trained to defend their kind or hunt threats. Zeke and Alishba were part of the same training group, often paired in both history and combat classes.
There was chemistry. Everyone knew it. They just didn't talk about it.
Until tonight.
After a long ride out into the wilderness, the group had left—somehow all at once—leaving Zeke and Alishba alone by the road. Just asphalt, trees, and stars above. No cell signal. No streetlights. Nothing but the quiet hum of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the wind.
Zeke suspected something was up. But he didn't mind.
Not when he was alone with her.
The walk began in silence, broken by awkward questions and hesitant answers.
They laughed nervously. Stole glances. Traded stories. Her voice was softer than it sounded in class. His was less cocky, more thoughtful.
At one point, they stumbled across a clearing where the moonlight struck just right—silver light spilling like water onto the grass. They stopped. The tension between them thickened.
Alishba took a breath and asked him a question that sent a current through his chest:
"Why haven't you ever asked me out?"
Zeke blinked. "I just figured… you'd say no."
She raised a brow. "That's it? That's your excuse?"
He smirked, but it was defensive. "That's what my friends always say: 'The worst she can say is no.'"
He shrugged. "I'm not good with rejection."
She studied him for a moment. Then, without another word, she stepped forward, gripped his hoodie, and kissed him.
Zeke's breath caught in his throat. His heart raced. He kissed her back, hands trembling slightly as they found her waist. The world seemed to fall away. There was no academy. No combat training. No pressure. Just two teenagers in the middle of nowhere, wrapped in silver moonlight and something dangerously close to love.
When they finally pulled apart, she smiled. "Your fur… it's silver too."
He blinked. "Is that good?"
She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It means we match. Another sign."
The words hit deeper than she probably meant.
But before Zeke could say anything, he froze. His ears twitched.
Then Alishba stiffened. Their werewolf senses—sharper than any human's—picked up the sound: twigs snapping.
Not one. Not two. Several. In every direction.
The air shifted. The pressure changed.
From the darkness between the trees, figures emerged—at first just shadows. But then their eyes lit up: five black-furred werewolves, fully shifted, stepping forward as one unit. All silent. All calculated. Not a single growl. Just presence.
They closed the circle around Zeke and Alishba, locking them in a death ring.
Zeke whispered, "What do they want?"
Alishba whispered back, "Don't know. But we're not getting out without a fight."
Zeke's claws extended further. His hoodie ripped down the back. Alishba's bones cracked louder as she shifted to meet the threat head-on.
Then—a thud from above.
Before Zeke could even react, a much larger black werewolf—easily eight feet tall, muscles like sculpted stone and fur like midnight—dropped from the trees, landing in front of Zeke with a monstrous roar.
A blur of claws slashed across Zeke's face—a deep, raking gash from eyebrow to cheekbone. Blood sprayed. His body was launched back, crashing through a tree and skidding through wet soil with a sickening crunch.
His face healed fast. But the rage didn't.
The massive werewolf—clearly the leader—turned to Alishba, who barely dodged a lunging strike.
She landed in a low crouch, teeth bared.
They had no time to regroup.
No time to think.
Because the pack attacked.