The moon was a silver coin pressed against the dark vault of the sky, spilling a thin light over the sleeping city of San Oscuro. Shadows stretched long beneath the towering oak trees that lined the streets, their branches swaying as if whispering secrets to the wind. Tonight, carried the weight of change—silent, but undeniable.
Rafael Moretti stood at the edge of the forest, his breath clouding in the crisp night air. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of pine and damp earth fill his lungs. His pulse drummed steadily beneath his skin, but there was an ache stirring inside him, old and familiar. He had stood at this threshold many times before, always poised between two worlds—the man and the wolf, neither entirely one nor the other.
But tonight, was different. His father, the once-mighty alpha of the Moretti pack, had been found dead only hours ago—his body broken, his blood painting the cold earth like ink spilled across a canvas. And now, the weight of leadership pressed upon Rafael's shoulders, jagged and relentless.
He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the simmer of anger beneath his skin. Not anger at death itself—that old beast was no stranger to him. But at the way it had come. His father had not fallen in battle, nor met his end beneath the light of the full moon. No. His death reeked of treachery—of human hands dipped in the blood of wolves.
Rafael's eyes, golden even in human form, flicked to the horizon. Somewhere beyond the city lights, hidden within concrete walls and leather-bound offices, the Court of Shadows whispered their schemes. He could feel their presence like a stain on the night—faint but spreading. The Court had always kept their distance from the packs, but something had shifted. The rules that had kept them at bay were breaking, and the balance between predator and prey was crumbling.
He needed answers. And fast. But tonight, before anything else—before revenge, before politics—there was the matter of the Rite.
The pack needed an alpha. A leader to steady them. To protect them from the storm that was building on the horizon. And that leader was now him.
Rafael turned and stepped deeper into the forest, his movements fluid, quiet as a predator in the night. The ceremony awaited—the ancient rite under the moon's gaze, where his claim to the throne would be sealed with blood and teeth. He would shed his human form beneath the stars and rise anew as the wolf. Stronger. Faster. Bound to the moon by instinct and tradition.
The sound of soft footfalls pulled him from his thoughts.
"Rafael," a voice called, low and familiar.
Isabelle Delacroix.
She moved through the shadows like she belonged to them, her long, dark hair catching the moonlight in strands of silver. Her emerald-green eyes glimmered, cutting through the night like shards of glass. She was the kind of beautiful that left wounds—sharp and dangerous, beauty with edges that could cut. And yet, there was softness too, hidden in the curve of her lips, in the way she looked at him now, as if she could see the weight he carried and wished, for a moment, to share it with him.
"You don't have to do this alone," she whispered, stepping closer.
Rafael's jaw tightened. "I do."
She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist, and the touch sent a jolt through him, like lightning threading through the marrow of his bones. Her scent—lavender and smoke—wrapped around him, anchoring him in place when everything inside him screamed to run, to fight, to tear something apart just to feel alive.
"I'm with you, no matter what," Isabelle murmured, her voice barely more than a breath.
Rafael looked at her, and for a moment—just a heartbeat—they stood together in the quiet, the night folding around them like a cocoon. The forest, the ceremony, the crown waiting to be claimed—none of it mattered in that fleeting second.
But then, the howl came.
Low and mournful, it echoed through the trees, carried by the wind. A signal from the pack. They were waiting.
Rafael exhaled slowly, the moment shattering like glass.
"Come with me," he said, his voice rough with unspoken emotion.
Isabelle nodded, her hand slipping from his wrist, and together they moved through the forest, toward the clearing where the pack awaited their new alpha.
When they arrived, the wolves were already gathered—silent shadows beneath the moon. Eyes glowing in shades of amber and silver watched Rafael approach, the air thick with tension. These were his kin, his brothers and sisters, bound not by blood but by the old laws. They would fight beside him, bleed beside him, but only if he proved himself worthy tonight.
Rafael stepped into the center of the clearing, the moonlight pooling around him like water. He could feel the shift starting already—the heat in his veins, the pull of the animal beneath his skin, eager to be free.
With a low growl, he let the change take him.
Bones cracked and shifted, muscles twisted, and fur spread like wildfire across his flesh. His breath hitched as the wolf emerged—huge, sleek, and midnight-black, with eyes that burned like embers. The pack watched, their ears perked, their postures tense. This was their future standing before them—their new alpha.
Rafael raised his head and let out a howl—a deep, resonant sound that shook the air and sent shivers through the spines of every creature within earshot. It was a declaration, a promise, and a warning all at once.
He was not his father. He was something else entirely.
The pack responded, their howls rising into the night in a haunting symphony. One by one, they stepped forward, bowing their heads in submission, acknowledging Rafael as their alpha.
And just like that, it was done.
The forest fell silent again, the ritual complete. But as the last echoes of their howls faded into the night, Rafael knew that this was only the beginning.
Somewhere, far beyond the trees and the stars, the Court of Shadows was watching. Waiting. And Rafael would be ready for them when the time came.
He turned to Isabelle, still in wolf form, and their eyes locked—his glowing gold, hers a brilliant green.
We begin here, those eyes seemed to say. But this story is far from over.
And beneath the light of the moon, with the weight of the future pressing against his bones, Rafael Moretti embraced his destiny.
The night was his. And the hunt had only just begun.