Chapter 1 Prologue – An Encounter

• The early morning air was crisp as Lucia shuffled along the winding path behind the squat farmhouse. Her steps were uncertain, heavy from both disuse and the quiet dread curling in her chest. Every muscle ached as if waking from stone. It was only her second walk since waking from the coma—and the first she’d taken alone.
• Her doctor had told her she’d been unconscious for over two years. It didn’t feel real. She still expected to wake up in her bedroom, still expected to hear her mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, telling her to eat or rest or stop overworking.
• Instead, she found herself in a strange countryside cottage surrounded by trees and fog.
• Her fingers twitched as she brushed them against the rough bark of a passing tree. Is this even real?
• Behind her, the low farmhouse was barely visible through the trees. Abby and her mother were likely still asleep—or pretending to be. They worried too much. Hovered too much. Lucia didn’t blame them. But she needed air, needed to breathe without their stares.
• She remembered the laptop, phone, and writing notes stacked on a makeshift reading table in the corner of her room. That small discovery gave her hope. Maybe she could recover her old life, reach her readers again. Maybe even finish the werewolf series she started before everything fell apart.
• Lucia sighed, adjusting her coat. "God, I hope this place has Wi-Fi."
• A soft, eerie howl pierced the quiet air. She froze.
• Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Coyotes?” she whispered aloud, trying to convince herself. But this place—this strange, remote land—wasn’t listed on any map she remembered. Her mother had said it was a private gated reserve.
• A rattle in the underbrush jerked her out of thought. She scanned the trees, her eyes darting toward the sound. Her feet stopped moving, her lungs tight.
• Then she saw it. Not one—six.
• Wolves.
• The first one emerged from the thicket like a shadow cast too sharply under the sun. A massive gray beast with piercing golden eyes and lips peeled back to expose jagged fangs. Then came another, and another, until the clearing pulsed with predator breath.
• Her bladder gave out. Warm liquid trickled down her legs, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.
• The trauma of the coma, the physical weakness, the shock—all bound her like chains.
• Then, from nowhere, a roar exploded through the air. The earth seemed to tremble beneath her feet. Another creature lunged into view—a black beast, larger than anything she had ever seen in fiction or film. Its fur gleamed obsidian under the pale sun, and a crescent-shaped mark glowed faintly on its forehead. Its eyes were molten silver.
• The monstrous wolf stood on its hind legs—upright. Lucía’s breath hitched. It was impossible. Wolves didn’t do that. No creature did.
• But this one did.
• It didn’t just move like an animal—it moved like something ancient. Regal. Cursed.
• In seconds, the black wolf tore into the others. The clash was brutal—snarls, whimpers, and yelps echoing as fur flew and blood sprayed across the leaves. Lucia couldn’t look away. She couldn’t move.
• By the time the other wolves limped and retreated into the shadows, the black beast stood alone, panting. Blood matted its fur, but it was unbowed. Untouched.
• And then—it turned to her.
• Its eyes met hers.
• Lucia felt something deep within her stir—something primal. Then shame replaced fear as the creature’s gaze dropped to her soiled pants. It huffed, turned away, and vanished into the woods.
• Lucia didn’t know how long she stood there.
• Eventually, her limbs obeyed, and she stumbled back to the house. She slammed the door behind her and screamed, "Never again! I swear, I'm not taking another walk in this creepy forest!"
• She bolted to the bathroom, ripped off the wet pants, and tossed them into the trash. But as she scrubbed her skin, the memory wouldn’t leave her.
• “What the hell was that?” she whispered to her reflection.
• That wolf… it wasn’t just any animal. It was something else. Something she thought only existed in the novels she used to write.