The bus creaked to a stop with a hiss of brakes, and Aria Monroe stepped out into the gray mist of Blackridge. The wind was sharp, colder than it should have been for late August, and it carried a scent she couldn't place—pine, damp earth, and something older, wilder. It made her skin prickle.
She tugged her jacket tighter and glanced around the near-empty lot. The town sat cradled by a range of brooding mountains. Trees stretched tall like silent sentinels, watching, listening. Not a single bird chirped.
No one had come to meet her.
A crumpled letter fluttered in her pocket—the last communication from her aunt, who had offered her a place to stay after the fire. The accident that had taken everything. Her parents. Her memories. Her home.
Aria remembered nothing before the hospital. Just flames. And eyes—silver and fierce—watching her from the dark.
A honk from the bus jerked her back. She gave a stiff nod to the driver and hauled her duffel bag over one shoulder. Her boots crunched on gravel as she moved toward the lone road winding up into the hills. This was supposed to be a fresh start.
The town itself looked like it belonged in a forgotten painting—stone cottages with mossy roofs, iron lampposts, and winding cobblestone paths. A sign creaked in the breeze:
Welcome to Blackridge. Where the Moon Never Sleeps.
Charming. And ominous.
She passed an old bookstore with windows fogged from the inside, a diner with a flickering neon sign, and a church with black iron gates. A few people walked past—eyes low, mouths tight. None smiled. No one greeted her.
Something was wrong here.
"Aria Monroe?"
She flinched. The voice was deep, smooth, and came from behind her.
Turning, she faced a man in his thirties—tall, rugged, wearing a sheriff's badge and a black coat. His eyes were an unusual shade of amber, almost glowing.
"I'm Sheriff Riker," he said. "Your aunt sent me. She's waiting at her house, up near the northern ridge. Come, I'll give you a ride."
Aria hesitated. Everything about this man was calm, collected… and off. But she nodded. "Thanks."
---
The sheriff's truck rumbled through winding roads. Thick forest crowded the way, branches clawing at the windows. Fog clung to the trees like a second skin.
"You'll be starting Blackridge High next week," he said without looking at her. "It's small. Keep to yourself, and things will be fine."
Aria raised a brow. "That supposed to be a warning?"
"No. Just advice."
They rode in silence until he pulled into a gravel driveway. A small wooden cottage sat nestled against the trees, smoke curling from its chimney. Her aunt, a thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes, stood waiting on the porch.
"Aria!" she called, rushing forward to hug her.
The warmth of arms around her was unexpected. Aria blinked, unsure of how to respond. But something inside her softened.
"You must be exhausted. Come in, let's get you settled."
Sheriff Riker gave her a long look before driving off. Aria didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on the woods behind the house.
---
That night, she couldn't sleep.
The wind howled outside like it was alive. The trees groaned. And in the distance—just barely—she swore she heard something else. A sound that made her blood pulse harder. A howl.
She got up and pulled the curtain back. Nothing but darkness. Yet her heart thundered.
She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing heavily.
That's when she saw them.
Eyes.
In the woods.
Silver, glowing, unblinking.
They vanished in a blink.
---
Blackridge High was even smaller than she expected. Barely a hundred students. Everything about it felt... off. The hallways were dim. The students watched her like she was some strange animal.
Whispers followed her.
"She's the girl from the fire…"
"New blood…"
"Does she even know?"
Know what?
She pushed open the cafeteria doors and froze.
He was there.
Sitting in the far corner, surrounded by others, yet entirely alone. Black shirt. Muscular arms crossed. Tattoo crawling up one forearm like smoke. And those eyes—storm-gray and unreadable.
Kade Thorn.
Everyone looked at him, but no one approached him.
His gaze met hers.
And something shifted.
Like the room fell away. Like her heart forgot how to beat.
She looked away, breath caught.
---
Later, walking home through the forest shortcut her aunt told her to avoid, Aria paused. The forest felt alive again. Humming.
Then, a rustle. A growl.
A wolf stood ahead of her on the path.
Massive. Black as shadow. Eyes silver-bright.
She didn't scream. She didn't run.
She stepped forward.
And the wolf didn't attack.
It bowed its head.
Before vanishing into the woods.
Moments later, Kade Thorn emerged from the trees—no shirt, only jeans, his skin covered in sweat and dirt and something ancient.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low.
Her heart pounded. "Neither should you."
He stepped c
loser. "You're not what you think you are."
"Then tell me what I am."
He stared at her for a long moment before whispering:
"Mine."