Werewolves exist.
I know humans think we’re folklore. Stories told around campfires to scare children, but we truly exist.
We live in packs. We have rules and a system of doing things, and live just like normal humans.
Our world runs parallel to the human one, yet it cannot co-exist with it, and an average werewolf cannot live with humans.
Our climate is different. Our needs are different. The thought of living under the bizarre laws of the human world would drive any werewolf insane. We need to run, to hunt, and to shift under the full moon or whenever we want.
Only Direwolves, hybrids of werewolves, can exist in the human world. I don’t know when or how we first came into existence, but we have a mutated gene that allows us to adapt and survive in the human world.
We have the ability to go years without needing to shift or to run, and neither do we lose control during full moons like regular wolves. To put it simply, we’re almost humans, only we have wolves.
I’m a Direwolf.
But I’m also something else.
Every werewolf goes through their first shift at puberty. Your wolf spirit calls out, and your bones break and reform, birthing your wolf, but mine never came, even after my eighteenth birthday. I never shifted.
I waited through my teenage years, watched my half-brothers shift one by one, felt the shame of being the only Ward son without a wolf.
I endured years of abuse from my stepmother and insults from my half-brothers, who never missed an opportunity to remind me of my wolfless state. My stepmother would rail endlessly about my mother and how she seduced and stole her husband’s love from her.
It wasn’t like I was the only son born out of an affair by our father, Adam Ward, but my stepmother picked on me in particular for reasons I couldn’t understand.
Until the night I turned twenty-one.
My stepmother had been drinking. She always drank on the anniversary of my mother’s death. She always got mean and would say things that would hurt me deeply.
That night, she went too far.
She said my mother was a whore and died because even the Moon Goddess was ashamed of what she’d done.
Something broke inside me, and for the first time, the urge to be violent seized me. In the heat of the moment, a beast emerged.
It was twice the size of an Average Alpha Wolf with fur that looked like streaks of molten silver. Its eyes glowed crimson-ringed silver with pupils slit horizontally like a snake’s. Its claws were long enough to rip through the flesh of a vampire.
Its voice was a deep guttural snarl and a bone-chilling howl that would paralyse the strongest of Alphas with fear. A sigil glowed faintly across its chest, an ancient symbol that appears when someone carries the curse.
The Ward Family curse, and for this generation, I was the curse.
It turns out, I am a Raze or what some call a Cull Wolf.
It is a corrupted evolution of the Direwolf gene that awakens when the host endures severe betrayal, soul-deep grief or bloodlust.
So, I did not shift like every werewolf would when they get their wolves; the Raze possessed me.
One thing about a Raze is that every full moon, it goes into a blood rage where it kills anything on sight, and as soon as the bloodlust episode passes, the host remembers nothing.
That night, I killed eight people.
Since then, my father has tried to suppress it with injections, binding spells and trauma conditioning and every full moon, I’m locked in a cage made from the purest of Iron, bound with the essence of Mugwort (I am immune to silver).=
And the more I shift into the Raze, the more I lose my identity and my humanity until one day, there’ll be nothing left except the monster.
Unless I find my Veylar.
’An ancient word meaning "soul chain" in the lost Lycan tongue. The destined Master of a Cull Wolf.’
In simpler terms, a warden. The only one who can bond with a Raze and control it.
Having a master would help control the beast. Allow me to live an everyday life. Maybe even keep my humanity intact.
But finding a Veylar is nearly impossible. Fate makes them rare. They could be any species—Fae, Vampire, Werewolf, Lycan, even human.
And you don’t find them. They reveal themselves when it’s time.
I’ve been waiting for six years.
And yet my Master hasn’t found me.
***
My blood was still thrumming with want as I stepped onto the balcony to answer the call.
"Hansel." Beta Thomas’s gruff voice came through. "Just confirming your travel plans for next week’s Full Moon Festival. The Alpha wants you to confirm when you will arrive.
The festival. Right. I’d almost forgotten.
"I’ll arrive two days early," I said. My voice came out rougher than usual. "I still have a lot of things to wrap up on set for a new movie. So, I’ll try to finish up as soon as possible and arrive two days before the festival."
"Splendid," Beta Thomas replied. "Also. The Alpha wants to know if you’ll attend the pack dinner beforehand..."
"No."
"Hansel—"
"I said no." I gripped the balcony railing. "Tell him I’ll see him at the festival. That’s it."
Thomas sighed. "You know he’s trying, son."
"Is there anything else?"
A pause. "No. That’s all. Safe travels."
I hung up and exhaled deeply, spreading my hands to the night sky, hoping the need still strumming through me would stop.
But my mind kept replaying what had just happened in that suite. The kiss. The heat. The way she’d felt in my arms.
And that voice. That small voice in my heart that had whispered:
Mate. Or was it Master?
I couldn’t remember. I’d been too busy trying to get her clothes off.
For the first time in my life, I’d been attracted to a woman so much that I wanted her badly.
With women, especially human women, nothing was exciting about them. They didn’t interest me, and I never understood the whole lust rage that would make a sane man go crazy for a woman.
But now, I understand.
If this was what my father and my brothers always felt, that made them sleep with anything under a skirt, it’s justifiable.
I ran my hand through my hair, shuddering with delight as her scent wafted up my nostrils again.
Moons, her scent.
At first, I thought it was her perfume. But the more I kissed her, the more I realised it wasn’t artificial.
It was her. It wafted from the essence of her humanity, bringing me comfort and filling me in a way I couldn’t understand.
"You’ve got this under control, Hansel," I murmured under my breath. "When you go into the room, you’ll ask her to leave and you’ll forget this ever happened."
Even as I gave myself the pep talk, it felt like I was pouring water on a rock. I took a deep breath one last time before turning to head back to the suite.
I quietly opened the balcony door and was surprised to see her standing by the bar.
She had her back to me, completely naked. I watched as she broke a vial and poured the entire contents into my unfinished drink.
I continued watching silently.
This wouldn’t be the first time someone had been sent to kill me. Supernatural politics were messy, and I’d made enemies both within my family and outside. But they always sent other supernaturals: trained assassins, Vampires or Rogue wolves.
Never a human actress.
I watched as she tried to put the drink in the position she met it before turning. As she turned and our eyes met, she gasped with shock and the colour drained from her face.
"What are you doing?" I asked calmly.
" I-I was just—I wanted a drink. I didn’t know if I could help myself, so I—" she trailed off, stuttering.
I tried to concentrate on her face, but my eyes kept slipping to her chest, taking in her rose-colored bud. And with her standing naked, looking at me with those eyes, I couldn’t concentrate. My body was already responding again.
I crossed to the bed, picked up my discarded shirt and tossed it to her.
"Put it on."
She caught it and pulled it over her head quickly.
Better. Now I could think.
Though watching her in my shirt, with her long legs bare beneath the hem, wasn’t helping much.
I crossed the room to where she was standing. As she saw me coming, she backed up until she hit the bar.
The vial had fallen to the floor. So, I bent down and picked it up, holding it to the light.
It was empty.
"What is this?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I don’t—I don’t know what that is. It must have been there before."
I gave her a long, cold look and stepped closer. "You don’t know? So it magically flew into your hand and poured itself into my drink?"
"No," she whispered. "I mean...I thought it was something else. A drink mixer, maybe."
"You don’t even sound convinced by your own lie," I said. "What is this?"