Chapter 1 Whispers In The Mist

• The cold wind howled through the cedar forest, carrying with it whispers of old legends. The villagers of Rudrakund called it the Bhediya Vana—the Wolf Forest. A place where mortals dared not venture after sunset. They said the trees could hear your breath, the shadows could smell your fear, and if you weren't careful, the forest would never let you go.
• For Meher Malhotra, it was exactly the kind of place that stirred her curiosity.
• Clutching her camera and backpack, she trudged up the narrow path, her boots sinking into the soft, moss-laden earth. She had come to this remote Himachali village chasing a story. Mysterious animal attacks had plagued Rudrakund for months. Livestock found torn apart. Villagers spoke of glowing eyes in the night. Authorities blamed wild wolves. But the locals spoke of something else.
• “Ye koi aam bhediye nahi hain, bitiya. Ye toh shraapit hain.”
• These are no ordinary wolves, child. They are cursed.
• Meher wasn’t one to believe in ghost stories. She was a journalist, trained to chase facts. But something about the fear in the villagers’ eyes told her this was more than just folklore.
• The forest canopy thickened, filtering the sunlight into pale green beams. The deeper she went, the quieter it became, as if the forest was holding its breath. Only the rhythmic crunch of her footsteps broke the silence.
• And then, she heard it.
• A low growl.
• Freezing mid-step, Meher's heart pounded in her chest. Slowly, she turned around, scanning the trees. The growl came again, this time closer. A ripple of movement flickered between the trunks.
• Her throat went dry.
• "Calm down, Meher," she whispered to herself. "Probably just a wild dog."
• But in her gut, she knew better.
• Suddenly, from the underbrush, a massive shape lunged at her. Time slowed as Meher stumbled backward, her camera slipping from her grasp. The creature was unlike anything she’d seen—larger than a wolf, with jet-black fur and eyes that glowed an eerie gold.
• It snarled, baring fangs meant for tearing flesh.
• Meher's legs refused to move. Fear rooted her to the spot.
• The beast pounced.
• But before its claws could reach her, a blur of motion intercepted it. A second figure crashed into the wolf mid-air, sending it tumbling away. Snarls and growls echoed as the two beasts collided, snapping and clawing with feral rage.
• Meher watched in disbelief as her savior—another wolf, even larger than the first—pinned the attacker to the ground. This one was different. Its fur shimmered with hints of silver, and its eyes—intense, intelligent—locked onto hers for the briefest moment.
• It wasn’t just an animal.
• Something… someone, stared back at her.
• The rogue wolf yelped as the silver wolf sank its jaws into its neck. Beaten, it fled into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as it had appeared.
• Silence returned.
• The silver wolf stood still, its sides heaving. Then, before Meher’s stunned eyes, the impossible happened. Its form began to shift. Bones cracked, fur receded, and limbs straightened. Within moments, where the beast once stood, there was a man.
• Tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating an aura of raw power.
• His dark hair was tousled, his sharp jaw streaked with dirt and blood. But it was his eyes that held her captive—an uncanny blend of gold and grey, swirling like molten metal.
• "You shouldn’t be here," he said, his voice deep and commanding, yet with an undercurrent of concern.
• Meher opened her mouth, but no words came out.
• "Go back to the village," he continued, stepping closer. "This forest isn't safe."
• "W-who are you?" she finally managed, her reporter’s instincts kicking in despite her racing heart. "What was that thing? And what are you?"
• For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Anger? Regret? She couldn't tell.
• "I am Ayaan," he said simply. "Alpha of the Garun Clan."
• "The... what clan?"
• "Werewolves."
• The word hung in the air like a forbidden incantation.
• Meher laughed nervously. "You're kidding, right? This is some kind of prank? Villagers messing with the outsider journalist?"
• Ayaan’s expression remained stone-cold. "This is no prank, Miss Malhotra. You crossed into sacred territory. That wolf you saw was a rogue, cursed by his own greed. He would have killed you. Do you still think this is a game?"
• The weight of his words sank in. This wasn’t a prank. This was real. Terrifyingly real.
• Meher took a step back. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her curiosity was louder. "Why save me? If humans and... werewolves don't mix, why bother?"
• Ayaan’s jaw clenched. "Because not all wolves are monsters. And because whether I like it or not, your presence here changes things."
• Before she could press further, a distant howl echoed through the forest. Ayaan's head snapped up, his muscles tensing.
• "You need to leave. Now."
• "But—"
• "No buts." His voice brooked no argument. "Go back to the path. Don’t look back. And whatever happens, do not return to this forest after sunset."
• With that, Ayaan turned, shifting back into his wolf form in a ripple of silver fur and sinew. Within seconds, he vanished into the trees, as if he had never been there.
• Meher stood frozen, heart hammering in her chest. Her camera lay forgotten on the forest floor.
• The story she had come looking for had found her.
• And this was just the beginning.
• ---